"Allow me to explain!" exclaimed Aylmer.

My dear sir," said Millikin, “I think the words need no explanation."

"A tay-kittle on wheels!" cried Bacchus, and the wheels moved by the stame from the spout of the kittle !"

'No, no!" cried Aylmer, "I never said the steam was to come from the spout of a kettle! In fact it was Dr. Lanklegs called it a tea-kettle. I only said "

"Yes, yes, my dear sir," said the Doctor, we all know what you said. And so that point being settled—”

"But it is not settled!" cried the unfortunate victim of popular prejudice and ignorance; "it is not settled!"

"We'll come to the other point," continued the Doctor.

"My dear sir, let us settle the first! you mistake me entirely."

"The second point is," said the Doctor, "now that we have got the kettle of hot water in motion-that is to say, assuming it so upon your report of the matter-though I must say it entirely passes my poor comprehension, how, in the devil's name, the action of steam on a pair of wheels could set them rolling."

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See, Dr. Lanklegs, I'll explain the whole thing."

"I now want to be informed_" "Ah, my dear sir! look now-just listen to me for one moment."

"How the passengers are to travel in this wonderful coach-this kettle on wheels? Are they to be soused in the hot water?"

And if," continued Aylmer, raising his eyes to heaven for inspiration, "if an intervening hill be of great size and height-as, for instance, the hill of Glanmire-why should not an archway or tunnel of a mile in length be bored through it, along which the carriages, laden with passengers and merchandise, may move?"

The astonishment of the audience at the notions expressed in this piece of oracular eloquence, notions so utterly out of their wonted range of thought, was such that they almost rolled on the ground with laughter,-when the door opened, and the maid-servant ushered in the steward of the Bristol packet, who came to announce that the wind had changed, and the captain would sail in an hour.

This intelligence caused the party to break up, much to the discomfort of Dr. Lanklegs, who, on principles of the purest economy, loved to indulge long and late, at another man's expense. He consoled himself, in some slight degree, by slipping some of the biscuits, and some lumps of sugar, slyly, into his pocket on principles of the strictest economy.

Ir was a dark, rainy night, and the unfortunate passengers had to splash and scramble as well as they could, with their luggage, through the dark wet streets, and dirty lanes to the river.

After many a misadventure they reached the packet, into which men, women, and children were crowding, in all the confusion that total darkness, and a down pour of rain, and the fear of being

too late, and the hurried partings of friends, could occasion. The packets of those days were not floating palaces, with saloons and marble chimney-pieces, and beautiful sofas, and gildings, and all manner of luxuries. The Rapid, for such was the name of the packet in which our travellers crossed from Cork to Bristol, was a very small vessel with one mast, and one small cabin for passengers, into which ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, nurses and infants, were all to be squeezed, and to sleep, (&c., &c.)—all in this one little stifling room, attended by one steward, a stout, active man-and no stewardess. Each party brought their own provisions, calculating the quantity according to the probable duration of the voyage.

About midnight the packet started, and went slowly with the retiring tide down the river, as far as the little vil lage of Passage, when the wind changed again, and the prudent captain cast anchor; wisely judging that, as they must stop, it was best to stop where the passengers, as well as himself, would find a house of entertainment, and so save their sea-stock of provisions. At this house of entertainment,-a little public-house, kept by one Darby Twohig, the passengers amused themselves for a couple of days; some sleeping on shore, and some on board, till the wind came right again, and the Rapid proceeded on her voyage. A month elapsed from her leaving Cork before she arrived in Bristol. She lay for a week off Dungarvan in a dead calm. Each morning, for a week, did the weary passengers, rubbing their eyes at day-break, ask the steward,

Steward, where are we?" And as often did they meet one and the same answer, “Off Dungarvan, Sir!" Then came a storm, which drove the packet up channel towards Waterford,—and then a calm again-and then another storm, which drove her over to Wales, and then she went tacking about the Bristol Channel; and then came a third storm, which blew her to the coast of Devonshire; and then she went tacking again; till after a weary month, the Rapid came to a prosperous conclusion of her voyage; and vomited forth the passengers from their den of stench and misery.

The Squire, with his son, and Aylmer, put up at the Bush, in Bristol, for the night after their landing: and then came the important question, how they

were to get to London. It appeared, on inquiry, that some spirited and speculating individual had lately furnished forth a coach, called THE WONDER, which, with four horses, started from a place in the neighbourhood every second afternoon, at three o'clock; arriving in London the next morning at nine or ten; performing the journey of one hundred-and-twenty miles in eighteen or nineteen hours. It was, the waiter told them, "the wonder of the world;" and our three travellers secured places in it, for the next time of its departure, which happened to be the afternoon of the next day. It was a huge lumbering machine, holding six insides, and about double the number outside; and dodged heavily along the road, at the rate of six or seven miles an hour, to the astonishment of all beholders. As the hour of starting ap proached, a crowd assembled to witness the spectacle.

"A fine sight, this 'ere !" said a jolly farmer.

"Ah! I don't know," replied, with a groan, the individual addressed, a thin, dyspeptic, misanthropical-looking old fellow, with a face that would have been worth any money to an undertaker, "I don't know that. I am an old man now, and have seen a deal of the world, and I never yet see'd no good come of such like new-fangled customs. When I was young, folks were content to travel slow, like decent quiet Christians and peaceable subjects; and those were the good old times, and everything went orderly and peaceable then. But what do I see now? Changes! nothing but changes!-people thinking themselves wiser than their forefathers. Mark my words; the nation will be ruined before ten years are out."

"I agree with you, Mr. Longchops," said a third bystander, "I agree with you. The nation will be ruined, if things goes on this way. Why, now, there's our coach, the Royal George, I am one of the proprietors, you know, a quiet, slow, decent, respectable, safe conveyance, that all the folks went in; was only twenty-four hours on the journey; and here's this new upstart company, with their dd Wonder,' a taking all our custom from us!!! Come, neighbour, and let's have a pot together."

And the pair retired, to mingle their groans over the degeneracy of the times and the ruin of the nation, and

to drown their sorrows in a pot of ale. At last, all was right: the insides and outsides were packed in their places; the boots, hind and fore, were filled with parcels; and trunks, portmanteaus, and bandboxes, and a parrot's cage, belonging to an old lady, were safely piled in enormous pyramid on the roof; the coachman, a vast rotundity of great-coats, capes, and mufflers, proudly mounted his box, and assumed his whip; the word was given, and off they went, amid the cheers of the ostlers and stable-boys.

Inside the coach, besides the three Irish travellers, were three huge, elderly John Bulls, who seemed to enjoy the extraordinary rapidity of this improved system of locomotion greatly; and spoke with infinite contempt of their reminiscences of travelling in former times.

Tis vonderful, sir, the himprovements of the hage ve live in!" said Bull, No. 1.

Vy, then, sir, it is vonderful!" said Bull, No. 2.

They may vell call the coach the Vonder!" said Bull, No. 3.

"Vot vould our hancestors say if they could see us a goin' now?" said Bull, No. 1.

"Vy, sir, they vouldn't believe their heye-sight," said Bull, No. 2.

Tis vonderful, hindeed, sir!" said Bull, No. 3.

The coach arrived in Bath in time for the passengers to take tea. At midnight they stopped again for supper; and then the six insides packed themselves in the coach again, and put on their nightcaps, and resigned themselves to a blessed state of slumber and stertoration, which lasted for several hours, when they were awakened by shouts and screams, and the abrupt stopping

of the coach. They looked out. The dawn of the morning was beginning to break. They were on a desolate heath. Several men, on horseback, with black masks on their faces, and pistols in their hands, had surrounded and stopt the coach, and, with furious oaths and imprecations, were demanding the money and watches of the passengers, under penalty of instant death. Resistance was vain. The passengers were all compelled to dismount, and surrender their purses; and the pyramid of luggage, and the contents of the boots, were all thrown on the grass, and ransacked. The robbers then rode away, leaving the Wonder of the World at liberty to proceed on her journey to London. The wretched passengers, thankful, at least, at having escaped with their lives, or with whole skins, endeavoured gradually to recover from their terrors; and, after an hour or so, spent in picking up the contents of their trunks, which were strewed about the heath, and in disputing in the twilight about meum and tuum, and in settling their things again, and in having the pyramid badly re-edified on the top of the coach, and in raising the off leader, who had been thrown down, and in mending some of the harness, resumed their places, and the coach went on. At the next stage much time was consumed in effecting a more perfect arrangement of the luggage than was practicable on the heath, and further time was occupied in lodging a complaint of the robbery before a magistrate, who had to be knocked up for the purpose; and the Wonder ar rived at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill, in some two-and-twenty hours after leaving Bristol.

"Pity they havn't a railway !" thought Aylmer.

OUR travellers stayed only a short time in the great metropolis, and then wended back to their Mononian domicile. Corney kept his law terms most creditably. Aylmer had found the books he wanted; and he thirsted for the hour when he should deposit them on their shelves, in his sweet mountain home. And he had found an opportunity-'twas one day walking with the squire in St. James's Park—of insinuating-in short, of offering what

might be called a sort of a-kind of a timid insinuation; and he met a cordial response; and he slept pleasantly that night. And he purchased a piano-forte, and had it sent by waggon to Bristol, to be ready when they returned, on their way back to Ireland. And the three friends, after only a week's voyage, found themselves again at the Crown and Woolpack, from whence they journeyed by short stages to Castle Sherkin.

The piano-forte was adjudged to be beautiful; and even the squire was mollified into admitting the superiority of its tones to those of the old cracked harpsichord.

One day, as Fanny was seated at the instrument, and Brooke was sitting by her side, and they were alone, they found out that-now, I am sure you guess-well, then, if you guess, I am saved the trouble of writing a chapter.

The gossips of Macroom were all amazed, and made a great fuss about it. They had never had the least notion of such a thing; always excepting the more knowing ones, who had heard of it long ago; at least, so they said; but in the exercise of a lofty, moral principle, they had never mentioned it to nobody; for why, said they, should they be meddling in their neighbours'

affairs?

The bridal morn arrived. A merry party went to the church, and merrier still, came back.

The squire had invited the hunting club to an evening entertainment, similar to that described in our first chapter. But Aylmer-there is no disputing about tastes-declined being present at it, and led his fair bride,

"From the rude gambol, far remote"

to a cottage, which he possessed, by the shore of Bantry Bay.

It is a glorious scene-that bay;the noblest and grandest of those grand inlets of the ocean, which indent the southern coast of Ireland. It presents such infinite variety, and such a rare combination of the beautiful and the majestic, as can never be forgotten in the heart of him who has surveyed its loveliness, and who has served, amid its glens and mountains, that glorious apprenticeship to beauty and grandeur, which we are privileged to serve in this beautiful world."

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And there the lovers lingered day after day; and could not prevail on themselves to quit it for their home at Glendruid. And oft, to the latest hour of their life, would memory revive, as with a gush of fragrance, the happy

days they had spent in that sequestered bower.

It was a beautiful summer evening. Aylmer and his bride were wandering sloping hills, that overlooked the maz amid the heath and grass of some gently nificent expanse of the bay; which, with its islands, promontories, and surrounding mountains, was illuminated by a glorious sunset. On the opposite side, darkly purple against the brilliant sky, arose a lofty barrier of mountains, amid whose gigantic masses, the romantic recesses of Glengarriff presented forms of deeper tint, and more exqui site loveliness. side of one of the hugest of these muntains, a silver line indicated a cascade of immense height. The noble plain of water was smooth as a mirror, save where its surface might be ruffled by the sea-bird's wing, or by a transient oar, or where, with scarce audible murmur, the sparkling wavelets gently rippled on the beach. Far to the west,

On the perpendicular

between the mountain headlands of the bay, at the end of a long line of golden ea, the eye caught a glimpse of the Atlantic ocean, toward whose horizon the sun was descending, amid a gorgeous cloud-land of crimson, of azure, and of gold. No sound was heard, no object seen, that did not suggest sentiments of peace, of beauty, or of grandeur. The faint breeze of evening wafted fragrance and freshness. A few swans lay scattered like specks of snow on the blue, tranquil bosom of the water. An eagle soared in the sky. The islands seemed to float lightly on the mirror that reflected them. From among their green, swelling knolls, the smoke of the cottage chimnies ascended in thin, lengthened lines into the air; and the song of the youthful milk-maid was heard. The cheerful voices of peasants arose from the market-boats as they glided along. The sweet music of distant horns came mellowed over the silent waters. The fitful murmurings of rills and waterfalls became audible from afar in the stillness of the evening. And in the deepening twilight of the east, the crescent moon began to smile upon the enchanting scene.

WHEN Christophero Sly discovered that he was "indeed a lord, and not a tinker," his wonder could hardly have exceeded ours on learning that Mr. Borrow was no gypsy. His intimate acquaintance with the language, ways, means, recondite usages, and extra-mural manners of this mysterious tribe, and his cordial acceptance in their most exclusive of all circles, appeared to leave no room for other inference than that he was, if not a gypsy "by the four sides," at least a scion of the race. All our anticipations have been deceived, as it now appears that George Borrow was the son of an officer in a marching regiment, the descendant of a family long settled in Cornwall, and that his mother was of Huguenot extraction. Thus, it would seem, must the gypsies lose the only names which connected them with lite rature, those of Borrow and of Bunyan. The former is clearly gone. Their claim to the latter was recognised by so good an inquirer as Sir Walter Scott, but in an able article in this magazine,† on the life of Bunyan, a fellow-contributor has shown what, we admit, are good grounds for doubting that this view can be maintained. Still, we profess ourselves unconvinced, not liking, it may be, to deprive the outcasts of the only good name which they ever had. Without resting altogether on the mystery of the question which Bunyan asks his father, "Are we of Jewish race?" and on the assumption it implies that they were of foreign origin, which Scott, connecting with the laconism of the answer, "No, we are not," takes to mean gypsy origin; we would suggest a further and more popular ground for our impression. Bunyan was, as is well known, of a tinker tribe, and practised in that line himself. Now it is an admitted fact, and referred to by Mr. Borrow in his "Gypsies in Spain," that the tinker trade in England is, and has been from early times, from a date long prior to the days of Bunyan, chiefly in the hands

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of gypsies. We then, on the whole, recur to the persuasion that the author of the " Pilgrim's Progress" was of a stranger-race, and no less a person than a Rommany chal.

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Lavengro," the title of the book before us,means, in the gypsy tongue, wordmaster, and was a mark of honour given to our author by a chief of that tribe on his distinguished proficiency in their language. The work was long announced as an autobiography, but is now published with the apocryphal assurance that it is an endeavour to describe a dream, partly of study, partly of adventure, in which will be found notices of books, and many descriptions of life and manners, some in a very unusual form." This is a provoking mystification, adopted, we presume, because of some touches of the marvellous, which had been better left out, but which the author did not like to spare. As to "notices of books," we can hardly call to mind one, unless it be "Moll Flanders," which was long a hand-book of the thieves, but is now forgotten. Taking "Lavengro" as its author wishes, it would be the most unsatisfactory of all books, neither dream nor drama, fact or fiction, reality or romance. Making, however, allowance for one or two incredible facts, and a few over-marvellous scenas, the work is obviously a pretty faithful narrative of certain passages in the writer's life, from his first to, as we calculate, his twenty-second year. Names and dates are given in blank, but the former are often easily recognised, and by comparing the latter with admissions made by the author in his other works, and with public events, they are easily made out. Thus, for example, in the Bible in Spain," he states that, in 1836, he was thirty years of age. This gives the date of his birth; and again, at the close of the last volume of his present work, he refers to the Roman Catholic Relief Bill as being about to pass. Thus, it appears that the present narrative embraces a period commencing with the