our honest American (naturalized) merchants smuggle tobacco, when piracy under Arligan colors or the slave-trade is dull. Tory island rises like the ruins of some gigantic castle, out of the sea. I presume that it is basaltic, like the Giant's Causeway, of which we could not get a distinct view; but Fairhead amply compensated us. I must not forget, however, the beautiful revolving light of Ennistra Hull, which at regular intervals of time broke upon us like a brilliant meteor, and then died away; while that on the Mull of Contire (mistaken by our captain, who had never gone the North Passage before, for Rachlin, or Rahery, as the Irish call it) was barely visible. It is a fixed light, and a very bad one. After passing Fairhead, I " turned in," and was called up at dawn to see Ailsa Craig, which our captain maintained would be too far distant to be seen in our course, while I as stoutly declared we must see it if we had light. And here, by the way, my dear, I found my knowledge of geography always gave me the advantage over my companions, and rendered every object doubly interesting. The Irish Channel swarmed with shipping, and as we "neared" the Isle of Man, and her Calf, I looked out for Dirck Hatteraick and his lugger. We hugged the Irish shore-Port Patrick, a nice little white town on our right; but the green hills of Erin were as "brown as a berry." When we came in sight of the entrance into Strangford Lock, I longed to go ashore and see Mrs. Cunningham, at Dundrum. Tell this to my friend Ed. C., and give my love to Mrs. Ariana, and the whole firm. Holyhead is a fine object; so is the Isle of Anglesea. At the first glance I recognized the Parry's Mine mountain, with Lord Grosvenor's copper treasures; and Gray's Bard rushed into my mind at the sight of the Carnarvonshire hills, with Snowdon overtopping them all-still, not a tree to be seen. The fields of Man are divided by stone "march-dykes," and the houses are without shade, or shelter from the bleak easterly winds. The floating light off Hoyle-sands, which we passed with the speed of a racehorse-a strong current and stiff breeze in our favor-was a most striking object. One view of it represented a clergyman preaching by candlelight, the centre light being the head; and the two others gave a lively picture of impassioned gesture of the arms, as they were tossed up and down.

Although our pilot, and the captain too, declared the thing to be impossible, we did get "round the rock," and passing a forest of masts in the Mersey, were safely moored at quarter-past twelve, in the dock, where ships are put away under lock and key, like books in a book-case.

After a very sound and refreshing sleep, I rose and went ashore, in search of breakfast-for not a spark of fire, not even a candle or lamp, can be brought into the dock, on any pretext whatsoever. At the landward gate I stopped, expecting to be searched, but the guard

did not even make his appearance; so on I passed with little Jem, a wicked dog of a cabin-boy, carrying my bundle, to the King's Arms, in Castle street; but I had hardly commenced my breakfast, when the femme d'affaires, in the person of a strapping Welsh wench, who had tried before to put me up two pair of stairs, entered the room, and with well dissembled dismay "begged my pardon, but the room was engaged (it was the best in the house) for the Lord Bishop of the Isle of Man, and the--the-the Dean of-of Canterbury." Here again my knowledge of England, to say nothing of innkeepers, stood me in good stead. I coolly replied that they would hardly arrive before I had finished breakfast, and requested to see her master or mistress, as the case might be. "Mrs. Jones was sick," but her niece would wait on me. She came in the person of a pretty young married woman; and now the tale varied to "the room being engaged for a family daily expected." "The name?" "The name had not been given-was very sorry for the mistake," &c. Mistakes, madam, must be rectified; as soon as this nameless family arrives, I will make my bow and give up the parlor." "Very handsome, and very genteel, and a thousand thanks" and a courtesy at every word. Next day, the arrival of a regiment from Ireland unlocked the whole mystery. The room was wanted for the officers. And here, my dear, I am sorry to say that, except by cross-examination, I have not obtained a word of truth from any of the lower orders in this country. I think that in this respect, as well as in honesty, our slaves greatly excel them. In urbanity they are also far superior. Now, don't you tell this to any body-not even to your father-but keep the fact to yourself, for a reason that I will communicate to you when I see you; and a very important one it is.

66

After receiving every civility from the collector, Mr. Swainson, and from my countrymen, Mr. James King, Mr. Maury, and Mr. Haggerty, and seeing the docks, and the Islington market, I was impatient to leave Liverpool, which bears the impress of trade upon it, and is, of course, as dull as dull can be. The market is of new erection, and I believe altogether unique-far surpassing even that of Philadelphia, not only in the arrangement (which is that of a square, roofed, well lighted, and unencumbered with carts, and unannoyed by a public street on each side of it), but in the variety and delicacy of its provisions. Here, for the first time, I saw a turbot, and Mr. King bought half a one for our dinner, for which he paid half a guinea. The variety and profesion of the vegetables, and the neat, rosy-cheeked "Lancashire witches," that sprinkled them with water to keep them fresh, who were critically clean in their dress and persons, was a most delightful spectacle. Whatever you buy is taken home for you by women whose vocation it is; and Mr. King's house is two miles off, at the beautiful village of Everton, commanding a

fine view of the Mersey and the opposite coast of Cheshire. For a full account of Liverpool, sec its "Picture," at Roanoke, where you will find, if you have them not, the other books referred to in this letter, and I shall write, by this packet, to Leigh, to send them to you. The packets sail with the punctuality of stage-coaches, and arrive almost as regularly. The Albion formed the first and most melancholly exception. We were long kept in painful suspense respecting the names of the passengers. I was afraid that my unfortunate friend Tubœuf was one of the "five Frenchmen." The Mr. Clark, and lady, I take for granted is an old acquaintance, George Clark, of Albany, son of a former royal governor of New-York, and a man of very large estate, returning with his wife to England, after fifteen or twenty years' absence. Dupont may be another very old acquaintance, whom I knew thirty-four years ago in New-York, and saw in Charleston in 1796, and a few months ago in Washington. His name is Victor Dupont, son of D de Nemours, and brother of Irenée D. They have a large powder and woollen manufactory on the Brandywine, in Delaware. Tubœuf. I see, had not left the U. S. Both he and Dupont told me they were about to cross the Atlantic. The history of the former is the "romance of real life." In education and feeling, he is more than half a Virginian. His father was killed by the Indians when he was a child, and he knows the rifle, hunting-shirt, and moccasons. His father was the friend of my near and dear relative, Jack Banister, of Battersea. When Tuboeuf l'ainè arrived at City Point he found his young friend had been dead several years. This connection determined him to Virginia, and he went out to the Holston country, where he was killed, and where the son lived until manhood. But I shall never get off from Liverpool.

On Wednesday morning, April 10th, I set out alone, in a postchaise; and now you must take an extract from my "log-book." Verdure beautiful; moss on youngest trees shows dampness of climate. Dr. Solomon and Gilead House. The Doctor dead, but quackery is immortal. Highfield, the scat of Mrs. Parke, on the right; very fine object. Around Liverpool, in their fine pastures, I saw the most wretched looking horses, and even cows-not a good horse in the town. To Prescot, with a fine view of Knowsley Park, and a glimpse of the house. Legs of Man, (the arms of the Isle of Man are three legs, and the Stanleys, Earls of Derby, were lords of Man, as Shakspeare will tell you, Hen. VI.) The park-keeper in the kitchen-send for him and talk about the horses; all in training on Delamere forest, except old Milo and one other. The Earl and Countess in town, (this always means London Kareέoxny. Mr. G. will decipher and translate my Greek for you.). So is Lord Stanley, the Earl's eldest son, who represents the county in Parliament. Cross the Sankey canal, the first executed in England. Soon after, pass

under the Bridgewater canal. To Warrington, Nag's Head; cross the Mersey, and enter Cheshire. At High Leigh, West Hall, Egerton Leigh, Esq., (the road-book falsely places this seat beyond Knutsford), and High Leigh (or East) Hall, Geo. Leigh, Esq. See Debrett's Baronetage. At Mere, which, as the name imports, is a beautiful sheet of natural water, too small to be dignified with the name of lake, but large enough to be quite rough with the wind, I came to the first descent that could be called a hill; for although hills and mountains too were in sight all around me, the roads are conducted on a level. On the right is Mere Hall, Peter L. Brooke, Esq., a fine seat. I ought to mention that all the seats are embosomed in fine woods. There were some noble pines at High Leigh, which a Virginian overseer would soon have down for tobacco sticks. The houses of the poorest people are adorned with honeysuckles, and have flower pots in the windows, with geraniums, &c. Dear Mrs. Bell, I thought of her at every step; and, by the way, Mr. G. writes that she was in Richmond on the 26th, and well, although he does not say a word of a certain E. T. C., or, indeed, any body else but the Brockenbro's, and to them he allows not quite a line. His letter of a page and a half is most provokingly concise. What there is of it is horribly stuffed with epithets of war, and what not, about "Fox, and Burke, and Pitt, and Brutus, and Cassius, and Junius, and Rome;" descending by regular anti-climax to "Russia, and Poletica, and Adams." Pray tell him from me, that I could hardly have expected much worse even from Mr. Walsh, if I had the misfortune to be afflicted with his correspondence. And I had rather have heard of old Aggy than all those fine ancients and would-be-fine moderns. Now, this from Frank G., who can write so well, and so much to the purpose, is too bad. I assure you, reading the result of the election of Ned Mayo, in Henrico, was more interesting.

Before reaching Knutsford, I travelled along the huge, high wall of Tatton Park, twelve miles in circumference. It extends to the very town. Dine at Knutsford, and drive into the park; superb domain; fine sheet of water on the right, with a view of the Lancashire hills, about Worsley. For the sixth time to-day it snowed. Returned, and struck off from the London road, to Northwich, to see the mines of fossil salt.

On the right of Northwich is the seat, and a very fine one it is, of Sir John Stanley, who married the eldest daughter of Gibbon's friend, Lord Sheffield. I felt when I saw him at Chester, as if he was an old acquaintance. He was foreman of the grand jury, and had his hands full of business, for there were seventy felons against whom bills were preferred. I breakfasted at a small inn, at Sandyway head, having passed through a road of heavy and deep sand, with considerable hills. But before reaching S. H., I made the

postillion drive through Vale Royal Park, the proprietor of which, Thomas Cholmondeley, Esq., is one of the new coronation peers, by the title of Lord Delamere. With the names and proprietors of all these places I was as familiarly acquainted as if I had lived all my life in the palatinate. Nothing can be more beautiful than these parks. Here I saw that rara avis (rare bird) the black swan, in company with white ones. I drove about two miles and a half before I reached the house, when I caused the postillion to return. There was no fear of disturbing the family, although his lordship had returned from town the day preceding, for it was only six o'clock, and the great in England seldom leave their beds before noon. The whole establishment, although not so great as Tatton, is princely. I told the keepers of the lodges, who were very grateful for their shillings, to tell Lord D., if he asked, that a foreign gentleman travelling for his health had taken the liberty to drive through his beautiful grounds. Over Delamere forest, a rough, barren tract, for eight miles. Very likely government have inclosed and planted it, for the "forest" contained not a tree or shrub; and individuals also have done much in this way. At present the trees are almost knee high. At Kelsah we leave the forest and emerge into the rich pastures and meadows of Cheshire. To Chester-the Albion hotel; drive to Eaton Hall, Lord Grosvenor's; return-dine; misconduct of innkeeper, who put me into his own filthy bed-chamber; (town full, it being assize time). Remove to the Royal hotel; visit the cathedral, "and let my due feet never fail to walk the studious cloisters pale," &c. At every turn since I came from Liverpool, I have been breaking out into quotations from Milton and Shakspeare. Bad Latin in a bishop; epitaph; and worse scholars in the Royal School. None of the boys could give the Latin of their coronation banner, and I offered half a guinea to him who would complete the following lines: "Vir bonus est quis? Qui consulta patruum, qui," and translate them. Only one boy could supply "leges juraque servat," and he began "Vir bonus est quis"-" He is a good man"- -so I took up my half guinea and walked out, thinking of Mr. Brougham and his bill. To the Castle-here two boys arraigned for robbery.

Saturday-through Eaton Park; see the horses and grounds, and pheasants, and hares, and deer, and stables-in comparison with which last, the finest house I ever saw in America is a mere hovel. (I except the public buildings at Washington, and the Bank of Pennsylvania.) To Wrexham, in Wales, which principality I entered six miles from Chester. Near W., on the left, is a magnificent entrance into Acton Park, Sir Foster Cunliffe's, with greyhounds, in stone, on the gates. Cross the Dee, to Overton, eight miles. The beauty of this country throws all that I have seen before or since into the shade. Nothing can be imagined finer. The village of Overton is a