and each Sunday, every jaded citizen who can muster a horse and car, has his wife and children apparelled in their gayest attire, and sallies forth to enjoy the pure fresh air, and cheer his sight with the view of the delicious country around him. Every house is deserted immediately after breakfastthe service of the Catholic Church is brief; it stays the eager citizen but a short time, and the roads about the metropolis present, early on the Sunday morning, a concourse of all sexes, ages, and conditions, hurrying to enjoy themselves. The Irish are particularly fortunate in the possession of their jaunting-car, as it is called. It is a vehicle drawn by one horse; the carriage of it is like that of a gig; the driver sits on a small raised seat behind the horse, and on each side, their feet supported by footboards, covering the wheels, sit two, or sometimes three persons, those on one side having their backs to those on the other. Thus may five, or six, or seven people be carried with little more inconvenience to a horse than a gig would occasion. This sort of vehicle is cheap; it enables people of humble fortune to move about; it places them nearly on a level with the wealthy, in respect of that sole remaining article in which the latter enjoy a real and substantial superiority in the goods of life; and it is perhaps the only instance in which the middle class possess, in Ireland, a comfort which does not belong to the same class in England. We are surprised that the jaunting-car has not been introduced into use in England. It is not well suited to a great town; but for the the country it is admirably adapted.

In regard to the travelling between Dublin and London, the Holyhead road is a perfect pattern; and the great bridge now erecting over the Menai at Bangor, must not be passed by without a word. It is a work of the most magnificent description. The span of the arch is three hundred and sixty feet! It is scarcely possible to persuade oneself that the passage will

be safe: and we cannot answer for what might not have been our vulgar scepticism on that point, had we not been, in a most piteous voice, assured by our host, whose little inn at the Ferry will be deserted when the avenue to the bridge shall be opened, that there is not the remotest fear (hope he would have said) of a failure in the project. Camden, in his Britannia, takes notice of an attempt made by Edward the First to throw a bridge over the straits, that his army might pass by it into Anglesey. The monarch was unsuccessful. How would he wonder at the feats of Mr. Wyatt, the engineer! Not, certainly, more, however, than would the mariner of his day at a voyage of six hours and a half from Holyhead to Howth. What a contrast does the expedition and celerity of the passage of the steam-boat present to the doubt and difficulty of the seamen of early times, anxiously straining his eyes to discover, in the dark horizon, the summit of some headland, by which to conjecture his course!—If the homeliness and common-sense nature of these remarks on the route to Holyhead through North Wales, should give umbrage to any sentimental reader, who expected to hear of peaks lost in the clouds, of horrific precipices, of eternal snows, of sequestered vales, of goats perching on fearful crags, of the screaming of eagles, or the flight of wild geese, with all the addenda of torrents, and caves, we can only recommend, that he visit the place in his proper person, and content ourselves with referring him to the narrative of a journey to Brundusium, given by the first lyric poet of the Augustan age. He will find,that strong as is the precedent afforded by Horace's notice of the "gritty bread" and bad water, we have not condescended to drop a single hint, that even in Wales, small mutton is not necessarily delicious, inasmuch as it is often young and that Welsh rabbit, even in Wales, is sometimes made of bad cheese.

passion into his bosom, he opens the door to a restless and active enemy; who, if not watched with the most unceasing care, will throw down all the barriers against evil which virtue has raised; nor rest till he has left no empire there but his own.

Attention to decorum is one of the greatest bulwarks of female virtue.

It is a painful, but well-known fact, that the envy and rivalship of near relations is the most bitter and inveterate. It would be as kind to plant a dagger in the heart of a young woman, as to endeavour to persuade her that an amiable young man beholds her with partiality, unless there is no possible doubt of his having serious intentions of becoming her lover; as women commonly love because they are beloved, and gratitude in a well-disposed mind is the foundation of passion. Then let not those imagine, to whom is delegated the task of watching over the conduct and propensities of young women, that on the subject of love they may venture to sport with the hopes and vanity of an inexperienced girl. If such an one be in the habit of hearing from the weak woman, or flattering men, who surround her, (persons more desirous of saying a pleasant than a true thing,) that she appears the object of decided preference to a man, whose attentions are gratifying to the self-love, she learns to view him with more than common complacency, and may be betrayed by even the best feelings of her nature, into the miseries of a hopeless attachment for true love like the Cretan monster of old, is fond of preying on the CHOICEST VICTIMS; and the PUREST streams reflect images more DEEPLY and more PERFECTLY than

OTHERS.

The man who has lost his reason, and the child who has not gained his, are equally objects for reproof and restraint, and must be taught good and proper habits by judicious and firm controul, and occasionally by the operation of fear.

There is nothing more likely to so

teach us of how little value, are the praises of the creature, than the reflection, how soon even the most celebrated of men and women are forgotten: how soon the waters of oblivion close over the memory of the distinguished few, whose wit or whose beauty has delighted the circles, which their charms attracted round them; and that even they, when they cease to be seen and heard, soon cease to be remembered also.

Temper, like the unseen but busy subterranean fires in the bosom of a volcano, is always at work where it has once gained an existence, and is for ever threatening to explode, and scatter ruin and desolation around it. Parents! beware how you omit to check the first evidences of its empire in your children; and tremble lest the powerless hand, which is only lifted in childish anger against you, should, if its impotent fury remain uncorrected, be aimed in future life with more destructive fury against its own life, or that of a fellow creature.

Some persons err, not so much in over-rating their own ability, as in under-rating that of their associates. They do not imagine themselves to be giants, but they think their companions pigmies.

All persons given to anger are apt to dwell on the provocation they have received, and utterly to forget the provecation which they gave.

The difficult part of good temper consists in forbearance, and accommo dation to the ill-humour of others.

Temper is one of the most busy and universal agents in all human actions.

Philosophers have said that the electric fluid, though invisible, is every where at work in the physical world; and I believe that temper is equally at work, though often unseen except in its effects, in the moral world.

Nothing is so rare as a single motive, almost all our motives are compound ones; and, if we examine our own hearts and actions with that accuracy and diffidence, which become us as finite and responsible beings, we shall

find that, of our motives to bad actions temper is often a principal ingredient, and that it is not unfrequently one incitement to a good one.

The crimes not only of private individuals but of sovereigns might, I doubt net, be traced up to an uncorrected and uneducated temper as their source.

How many heart-aches should we spare ourselves, if we were careful to check every unkind word or action towards those we love by this anticipating reflection. The time may soon arrive, when the being, whom I am now about to afflict, may be snatched from me for ever to the cold recesses of the grave, secured from the assaults of my petulance, and deaf to the voice of my remorseful penitence.

How mortified one ought to feel at being told a tale of scandal; because it proves that the relator believes one able of enjoying it, and certainly it is an enjoyment of a very diabolical nature.

The virtues, like the vices, are so fond of one another, that they are seldom or ever found separate; and if a virtue or two be sometimes found crowded in amongst many vices, they are only like sprigs of geranium set without roots in a garden, which, before they have time to take root, are thrown down by the first shower or gust of wind, and wither away directly.

Spite is of no sex and is common to both equally, I believe: nor is it always the result of rivalship; it is as often the result of a mean, malevolent pleasure, taken by a person who indulges in it, in traducing and lowering every one on whom conversation may happen to turn. Nor is gossipping a fault more common to women than to men. Emptiness of mind, and want of proper and wholesome occupations, are common to both sexes, and consequently their result is so-a gossipping spirit, and a traducing tongue; and though some faults, like some diseases, may be for the most part confined to women, yet back-biting and slander, like the attacks of a fever, are common equally to men and women.

The happiness of the married life depends on a power of making small sacrifices with readiness and cheerfulness.

Few persons are ever called upon to make great sacrifices, or to confer great favours; but affection is kept alive, and happiness secured, by keeping up a constant warfare against little selfishness.

How many perhaps are the drawbacks on the apparently most brilliant situation, could one but commune with the closely veiled heart. The saying is only too true, that in every house there is a closet with a skeleton in it.

Never, probably, were excessive conceit and excessive vanity unaccompanied by malignity.

The conduct both of the low, and of the high born, when under the domi❤ nion of temper, is commonly the same. Temper is the greatest of all levellers, the greatest of all equalizers; and the peer and the peasant, when under the influence of passion, are equally removed from having any right to the name of gentleman. But it is not temper, as exhibited in the shape of violent passion, that has the most pernicious influence on the conduct and happiness. It is temper, under the shape of cool deliberate spite and secret rancour, that is most to be guarded against. It is the taunting word whose meaning kills, the speech intended to mortify one's self love, or wound our tenderest affections. Temper under this garb is most hateful and pernicious; and, when inflicting a series of petty injuries, it is most hideous and disgusting. The violence of passion, when over, often subsides into affectionate repentance, and is easily disarmed of its offensive power. But nothing disarms the other sort of temper. In domestic life it is to one's mind what a horse-hair sheet is to the body; and, like the spokes of Pascal's iron-gridle, whenever one moves, it inflicts pain most difficult to endure with fortitude.

The good-breeding ought highly to be valued, which, typical of benevo lence though not benevolence itself, loves to put every one in good humour, and call forth the good feelings only of those with whom we associate; a habit of acting, which, when it does not militate against sincerity, nearly borders on a virtue; and those persons, on the contrary, may be classed amongst the

vicious, who, from coarseness of feeling and sometimes perhaps from want of humanity, wound the self-love even of their dearest friends by vulgar jokes on the defects of their persons, their dress, nay, sometimes on their professions, their trades, or even on their poverty.

IT is little more than ten years since the editor of this Magazine received a letter from his friend FULTON, in New York, to apprize him of the success of his first steam packet between that city and Albany. The substance of that letter was inserted in the Monthly Magazine for March 1811; but, before it was printed, the Editor read it to the late Earl Stanhope, whose experiments on mechanical navigation had excited much attention. That nobleman, however, like the Douay professors in the case of the telescope, set about to demonstrate the impossibility of the thing, and convinced himself, if not his auditor, that Fulton had misrepresented the fact. The letter how ever appeared, and the attention of our speculative mechanics being drawn to the subject, the American steamboat was not only soon imitated in the rivers of Britain, but essentially improved by their skill and science. We have now, therefore, more than one hundred steam vessels plying in various parts of the empire, not merely against the current of our rivers,

so as to render parallel canals as ridiculous as the aqueducts of the ancients, --but performing their voyages, in the face of tides and winds, in the adjacent seas. Thus London and Edinburgh, London and Calais, Liverpool and Dublin, Holyhead and Dublin, Bristol and Liverpool, Brighton and Dieppe, are now connected by steam vessels, which perform their voyages in measured time; but within the past month

an iron vessel, of 280 tons burthen, has performed its first voyage from London to Paris direct. It reached Roi en in fifty-five hours, and proceeded from Rouen to Paris in a day and night, notwithstanding an accident in its tackle. We regard this as an event of great social importance to mankind, and record it with singular pleasure. It is the triumph of isolated genius over the inveterate prejudices of arrogant societies, all of whom have virulently opposed themselves to the improvements of our age; and, in no case have done more to accelerate them, than the rudeest persons in the community. Thus, notwithstanding the royal associations of men of science, France alone has succeeded in establishing but two or three steam-vessels. In Austria JEROME BONAPARTE, almost unaided, has munificently expended 100,000l. in vainly endeavouring to complete one to navigate the Danube. Only one has been established on the Adriatic; and, if one has been started on the Baltic, it is the speculation of a Scotchman. The lakes and rivers of North America are nevertheless filled with them, and we may soon expect to hear of their connecting the northern with the southern continent; and all parts of the lat ter by means of the vast rivers which penetrate the interior. The public are now awaiting with anxiety the results of Mr. Griffith's patent for steam landcarriages, of the progress and experiments on which we shall duly apprize our readers.

after encountered, on returning to

their boat,

-- "Three very important Turkish looking men, one of whom saluted us in English. They proved to be an Italian and two Americans; the former, named Rossignoli, was a physician on the staff, and the others were renegades; the more consequential of the two, is named Mahommed Effendi-it is said, that he is of a good family, and that after deliberately weighing, with all the advantages of education, the merits of the two religions, he declared in favour of the Mahometan*. He then wrote a book, to prove to all the Christian world how well he had decided, and of which he greatly wishes, we were assured, to obtained the publication in England. He was now an officer of artillery in the Pasha's service; he is a pale, delicate-looking man, of above thirty, and has been successful in acquiring the grave and calm look of the Turks, and the slow motion of the head and roll of the eyes. Two other Americans followed his example, and also (to use the orthodox expression) "took the turban," and they have since been heard to express their repentance of an act performed (as they say) at his persuasion. Of their conversion, or rather transformation, (and it seems to have been almost miraculous,) I can give no better account than by a literal translation of one I received from an eye-witness: One day at Cairo, I saw pass by, two Americans, dressed like common sailors (which they were) in a blue jacket and trowsers; and then for eight or ten days, I saw no more of them. After that interval I observe them again, dressed in red, with a white turban on, and I say, "What thing is this?" (Che cos' èquesto?) and I am told, that they have made Turks of themselves; and since, it seems, they have also made gentlemen of themselves." One of these was our third visitor. It is, perhaps, unjust to sus

This person is a native of Boston.

visit was curiosity to know on whaservice we were employed by the Pa sha; supposing, as they did very naturally, that it was not a voyage of mere pleasure, that we were making to such a place and at such a time. Amiro had before met us under the same impressions, except that he was led by his own pursuits to suspect us of being professed antiquarians, as the Americans did, no doubt, of being very able engineers. Their apparent, and perhaps only, motive for being at some trouble to see us, was highly honourable to their humanity. They had, as they fancied, very strong reasons to believe that Gentile had been poisoned, and that Demetrio had administered the drugs, at the instance of the Protomedico, who intended thereby to escape the payment of eight thousand piastres, which he owed the deceased." They talked of the Protomedico's general character, and mentioned a similar act, which he had notoriously committed at Cairo, by the hand of the very black who had so lately heen our fellow-traveller; and, in short, were more successful in proving him capable of such crimes, than guilty of this; for it appears that Gentile's complaint (whatever may have been the cause of it) was a dysentery of some weeks' standing, and that there were no marks of poison to be discovered on the body. Their conviction, however, that such had been his fate, was very strong, and, as it appeared to us, principally founded on extremely slight, though very singular, grounds. During the last hours of the sick man's life, Demetrio was observed to be particularly pressing to obtain from him his pardon: pardon for what? Now, I know not whether it be one of the tenets of the Greek Church, but I have been often assured that it is a general belief among that worthy peo ple, that the pardon of the dying victim ensures the mercy of God to the murderer, who thus whitewashed, without fear, and therefore without remorse,