IRISH INSECT-HUNTER. 141 



Never having visited a foreign country, I cannot say that my 

 feelings on landing were the same as if I were setting foot for 

 the first time on any other shore. Nor will I give the slightest 

 countenance to any consideration of Ireland, as a thing sepa- 

 rate and apart from ourselves. I have always had for that 

 country a place in my affections — a kindly interest and regard, 

 like as for a sister, from whom the mistaken partiality and 

 caprice of a parent had kept me asunder and in ignorance of 

 from childhood. I loved her, — not, perhaps, with the glow of 

 earliest acquaintance, and the attachment that springs from 

 daily interchange of kindness and full community of feeling 

 and pursuit, — but with that spontaneous, undefined emotion, 

 not unmingled with a degree of curiosity and excitement, that 

 is sure to be awakened, in the heart not barbarized, the more 

 strongly towards an unknown but rightful claimant, when 

 neglected and oppi'essed. There might be untoward features 

 of person or character to account for our parent's conduct, but 



this does not satisfy or stifle the call of natural affection 



There is abundance that is characteristic on first landing in 

 Ireland. 



You have secured your carpet-bag or portmanteau, — mounted 

 with the throng the steps of the paddle-box, — escaped over the 

 plank on to the adjoining steamer, and finally gained the broad 

 flight of steps leading up to the quay. Now beware of those 

 ragged urchins that, jabbering like monkeys, instantly seize 

 on such portable luggage as you have about you, and seem as 

 if they would tear it to pieces like rats. A tremendous 

 thwack across the shoulders of one of them, from a man who 

 saw we were annoyed by their ofliciousness and clamour, 

 instantly scattered the crew. We pitied the poor little fellow 

 that received the blow, but were glad to get quit of their excess 

 of civility. About two or three minutes brings you to the 

 train, waiting for the steam-packet passengers. 



Rail-road travelling, to me, is the most tedious of all kinds of 

 locomotion. The time is undoubtedly shortened ; but that 

 by which you measure time, namely, the succession of ideas, 

 is retarded by the paramount monotony in at least equal pro- 

 portion. It is a singular paradox, that in proportion to the 

 paucity and slowness of your ideas will time on hand appear 

 tedious in passing, but rapidly to have passed on retrospection, 

 because there is nothing to occupy space, nothing but a vacuum 



