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the alehouses any newspaper taken in here,' as is frequent in London, These people have certainly, as their superiors seem to think they too have, Jost all political weight and consideration. The mechanics and tradesmen all unite, however else they may differ, in bewailing the Union, which they deem to have been fatal to Ireland, because injurious to them immediately, and to their city. It is certain, however, that since that measure, Dublin has been most considerably enlarged and improved. It is not easy to explain the cause of this enlargement and improvement; there is no question that the trade of the city has declined. Belfast and Cork have possessed themselves of a part of what did once belong to the capital; and minor sea-ports now correspond directly with London and Liverpool, and the foreign ports, with all of which they used formerly to have nothing to do, but to get commodities from the Dublin merchant. This is not a consequence of the Union, but of the progress of trade, and general advancement of the country. There are in Dublin no houses vacant-none of the mansions of the nobility have gone to ruin; some have fallen into the plebeian lands of opulent lawyers and merchants; many are converted into public institutions and schools, and a great proportion into hotels. By this transition the inhabitants of Dublin are naturally much affected, and with many a bitter expression of sorrow they point out to the stranger the former residences of the various noble families. The Irish are a vain people, and impressed with a reverence for lords and ladies of high degree, very different from honest blunt John Bull's sentiments on that score ; and it may be fairly presumed that the loss of so much good company is felt as a considerable aggravation of the solid and substantial injury which the Union occasioned the citizens of the Irisb metropolis.

The number of hotels in Dublin is prodigious. All the members of parliament, going and returning, pass a few days in Dublin : it was formerly a great capital, the seat of legislation; it is now a great place of passage. Dublin is now as great as it was at the Union; not as great as it would have been, had that Union not taken place. The aversion to the Union, as a measure of policy, has augmented and maintained that dislike of England, which was once so strong in Ireland, but which is rapidly vanishing. The highest sense of the value and merit of English sobriety, prudence, industry, and exactness, is general ; but the coldness and reserve of the character is objected to. There is no doubt that the Irish are emulous of our virtues; and it would be well did we resolve to adopt the excellencies of their temper and good nature. There is one article, the improvement in respect of which we may condescend to notice, as (see Lord Londonderry's speech on the State of the Nation) one of his Majesty's ministers vouchsafed to make it the subject of grave congratulation to the legislature. With such an authority, we run no risk of derogating from our dignity by adverting to it. We have the happiness of stating, that within the last fifty years the babits of the Irish people have improved, in point of cleanliness, in a degree almost inconceivable. They are still far from that martinet purity which we boast; but except in minor and trivial particulars, the inhabitants of Dublin are little less cleanly than those of London. Most of the hotels are kept in as good order as any here. It is true we do not see the outer steps and window-stones of that dazzling and Cretan

whiteness they exhibit in England ; but it will be found, that wherever comfort demands that the brush and the scrubbing-block should be, they have been. In the north of Ireland, strange as it will sound to English ears, may be found a perfect pattern of cleanliness: the houses of the people engaged in the linen manufacture, are many of them as scrupulously and fastidiously neat and pure as possible. These remarks, however, must be confined to the more comfortable and happy olasses of the community. We will not speak of the peasantry; but directing ourselves alone to the population of Dublin, we must say, that it contains a large mass of human beings in the most squalid and wretched condition. An establishment for the relief and reception of mendicants does exist in Dublin : it is maintained by voluntary subscriptions, there being, as our readers are aware, no poor-laws in Ireland. But we mean to refer to a description of individuals who do not fall properly under the description of paupers, or constitute a fit object for alms,--we speak of the inferior orders of tradespeople and mechanics. There is a part of Dublin called the Liberty, almost wholly inhabited by these persons. St. Giles's, or the most wretched lane of London, is splendid compared with it. We were informed that the Earl of Meath, whose property it is, actually gets no rent; and that the old law doctrine of General Occupancy prevails. The houses are most of them ruinous, but having been originally well built and of good materials, they hold together. The languishing state of the woollen and silk trades in Ireland has had its effect, but the evil is mainly attributable to the great mischief under which that country suffers, the smallness of the recompence of labour. In London, too, there is much squalid misery, but it is more out of sight and out of the way than in Dublin. Keeping to the west end of the town here, nothing but opulence presents itself: penury hides itself in remote retreats. But in Dublin he must step warily who desires to avoid the view of wretchedness. It is not possible to walk in any direction half an hour without getting among the loathsome habitations of the poor. In traversing Dublin, the stranger will feel with peculiar force the poet's emotion, when, contrasting a rural retreat with the city, he says of the former

“ Here was not mingled in the city's pomp,

Of life's extremes, the grandeur and the gloom!"

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The first view of Dublin is prepossessing ; Sackville-street, by which the traveller from Howth enters, is one of the finest streets in Europe; and as he passes through it, and over Carlisle-bridge, the Post-office and the Custom-house are seen, a glimpse of the Courts is obtained, and the Bank and College lie immediately in the way. But these are almost all that are to be seen; and the consequence is, that the first emotion of a stranger arriving in Dublin, is admiration; and that disappointment succeeds. The Bank was formerly the House of Parliament. It is of Grecian architecture, and for purity and elegance, stands, we believe, unrivalled in these isles. Its beauty has been somewhat impaired since it fell into the hands of the monied gentry. It was surrounded by a series of porticos, the apt resort of Eloquence and the Muses"; but the worthy Directors have erected in the interstices between the columns, a stout rampart of stone and mortar, thus adding to the security of their coffers and the spaciousness of the building, however they may have detracted from the beauty of the architecture. The Exchange is a handsome building, but unhappily stands at the head of a street of which it does not occupy the centre. A precisely similar fault in the site, it may be remarked, injures the effect of the Exchange at Liverpool. Dublin Castle, the town residence of the Viceroy, is situated upon an hill: it is well built, chiefly of stone, and has a very lordly and imposing appearance. The servant is better lodged than his master at St. James's. There are two large and handsome quadranges, in the upper of which a stand of colours is always displayed. The entire of the building is not appropriated to the use of the Lord Lieutenant; much of it is occupied by the Public Offices, the Treasury, the Ordnance Office, the Chief Secretary's Office, the Council Chamber, &c. &c. The apartments are handsome, and the audience and presence chambers sufficiently spacious. The whole is surrounded by a wall of great height and strength. . Some parts of the edifice are old. The Birmingham Tower, where the records are kept, derives its name from Sir William de Birmingham, one of the early settlers and deputies.

The neighbourhood of Dublin is very delightful. Both sides of the Bay are crowded with handsome villas. The mountains of Wicklow occupy the south: the Phønix Park lies to the west, and beyond it opens the rich county of Kildare. The Glen of the Downs, the Dargle, the Devil's Glen, the vale of Obrea, Luggelaw, all the most charming scenery of Wicklow, is within a morning's drive of Dublin: on the other side, beyond the park, only a few miles from town, lies Lucan and Celbridge. Their vicinity to all these places leads the inhabitants of Dublin to make frequent country excursions ; 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 breakfast-the 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 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 steamboat present to the doubt and difficulty of the seaman 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 perched 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 a Welsh rabbit, even in Wales, is sometimes made of bad cheese.

S. M. T.

City of ancient time! in midst of thce
Once dwelt the mighty of the world, and thou
Wast wanton in thy pride, and round thy brow
Didst twine the wreath of immortality,
And sat'st a queen beside earth's loveliest sea.
The fatal fire-shower fell-thy ardent vow
To Isis, Venus, nought avails thee now-
That red rain fell, and thou didst cease to be!-
Full seventeen centuries fled, and thy lost walls
Still lived within their grave, though where they stood
Strange men knew not !-Once more the lizard crawls
O'er temples late discover'd ;-in rapt mood,
I trod on desolate streets, where the foot falls
And echo answers through the solitude !

REPUBLIC OF PLATO. Perhaps some apology may be deemed requisite for thus reviving a treatise which modern writers on government have thrown aside as mere chimera and reverie, and which has experienced a neglect even greater than the other compositions of its distinguished author. We are far from affirming that the charge of impracticability is unfounded, which is, indeed, evident enough. But it should be recollected, that the treatise was addressed to a people of manners and circumstances so widely different from our own, that great allowances must be made when the incongruity of the scheme with modern habits appears very prominent and revolting. No inconsiderable portion, too, of what seems fanciful and visionary in the treatise, arises from the unco

corrupt and undissembling sincerity of the author—from his complete recognition of the end proposed, as well as of the difficulties of attaining it, and bis strict determination to leave none of these difficulties unconquered. With but one or two exceptions, he is the only political writer, either of ancient or modern times, whose thoughts have been conceived with entire singleness of aim—who has kept his eye steadily fixed on the greatest happiness of those for whom he laboured, stating fully the obstacles which impeded it, and devising all the means in his power for their removal. It will be seen that he himself does not attempt to disguise the incompetency of these means: whereas modern writers on the subject appear to be less extravagant in the schemes of government which they propose, simply because their real end is very different from his, and much easier of attainment. Their actual aim is usually to promote the convenience of the governing aristocracy, not the happiness of the community ; and, when the two are at variance, they make no scruple of throwing aside the latter. To contrive a government for this purpose, requires but little deviation froni established models, and little stretch of inventive power; and therefore the framer of it will, of course, never be exposed to the charge of innovation or chimera.

With all these allowances, however, much exceptionable and visionary matter will be discovered in Plato's proposals. But they frequently, even when false, suggest instructive reflections; and the errors of so extraordinary a man well deserve to be unravelled, and traced to their source. The most valuable portion of the treatise is that which unfolds the moral effects of a vicious government--the mode in which it corrupts and debases, as well the reigning tone of philosophy, as the sentiments and action of private life. The remarks which he makes on the degeneracy, under such a system, of philosophy in general, and on the perfect inutility of the genuine philosopher, when such a character was accidentally formed, display a depth and penetration in sifting the influence of occult causes, which modern writers, with the exception of Helvetius, have not ventured to pursue.

Plato's Treatise “ de Republica” is delivered in the form of a dialogue between Socrates, Glaucon, and Adimantus. The chief speaker is Socrates, who details the scheme, and is throughout the organ by which the sentiments of Plato are delivered. In the following sketch, therefore, Socrates and Plato are to be considered as one—the latter speaking by the mouth of the former.

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