through the four years required to confer the honourable title of A. B. It is, to be sure, a tempting opportunity of self-commendation, because it is a field in which I might expatiate without much danger of refutation at home, nor am I altogether without an encouraging precedent. I might tell, like Mr Edgeworth, that I was a young man of very considerable talents, but too idle to give them fair play that I deserved premiums which were given to my inferiors, in reward of their greater diligence; and, in short, that it was my own fault, if I failed in the attainment of any literary honours within my view. Being of opinion, however, that a man who has nothing better to say for himself, acts more wisely in holding his tongue, I shall decline imitating the example, and be silent on the subject.-By the by, I remember Mr William Foster, (afterwards a bishop,) of whom Mr Edgeworth speaks, but have no recollection of Edgeworth. Foster, indeed, was above me in standing, and Edgeworth might have left college before I entered; but whatever fame he might have had when there, he certainly carried with him when he departed

I never even heard of his name.

Among the striking peculiarities which distinguished the cities of that day from those of the present, were the sign-posts projecting from shops of every description, vying with each other in magnitude of dimensions, ingenuity of device, and splendour of decoration. Here was the golden fleece of Jason, that is to say, an animal intended to represent a sheep, but often as much resembling a wolf, and indeed more appropriately, being suspended by a rope round the middle, as if it hung in terrorem to sheepstealers, which brilliant exhibition informed you that a woollen-draper dwelt at one end. The Drapier, however, also a head, purporting to honour, but really caricaturing the celebrated Dean of St Patrick's, was the favourite emblem of this class. Kings, princes, generals, and patriots, designated abodes and occupations not very compatible with their titles or characters, and were hung in effigy, without the smallest compunction, in every street. Birds, as well as beasts of prey, were in great requisition, for the rather preposterous purpose of telling, that under their auspices trade flou

rished, and the peaceful productions of civilized industry were to be pur chased. Contrast was, indeed, à favourite feature of the graphic art of the city sign-painter, but what he most delighted in was a happy pun. If the head of a hero informed you in one place that a magnanimous tailor dwelt within, la Belle Sauvage was in another happily metamorphosed into a wild Indian, standing by a large bell. In narrow streets, many of these signs projected so as almost to meet each other in the middle, so that an unfortunate monarch, advancing from one side, seemed in danger of the claws of a lion, which rushed forward to meet him from the other. In calm weather, all these heterogeneous hydras hung in silent and tranquil proximity, drawing the wonder of the gazing peasantry, and exciting unqualified admiration of the mighty powers of the paintingbrush; but, in the time of storm, the creaking, crashing, and rattling of such an assemblage was really tremendous. To this Gulliver alludes, when he says his box, for which eagles were contending, swung like a sign-post on a windy day. The comparison was apt, though probably very little understood by those of the present time, whose reminiscences do not extend to the days of my youth.

Another great disparity between that time and the present, was the different style and mode of travelling, both as to velocity and accommodation. Posting had been established in England, but not in Ireland; in consequence of which, journeys of whatever length were performed without change of horses or carriage, and travelling by night never entered into contemplation. Dublin could boast but of few post-chaises, and Cork, I believe, had none. The harness, carriage, horses, and drivers, have been so well described in some of Miss Edgeworth's amusing tales, as to supersede the necessity of repetition. Five days in winter, and four in summer, were the usual allotment for the distance between Dublin and Cork, a journey which is now commonly performed in 22 or 23 hours. Chaises conveying passengers to Cork waited there for a back fare, by which means Dublin carriages answered the purposes of both cities. But the gentlemen of this county who did not live in the vicinity of Cork had another resource, which was, to

ride on horseback to Kilkenny, between which town and Dublin a stage coach ran, the only one at that time in the south of Ireland. This unwieldy vehicle, the first coach I ever entered, took two days to get to Dublin, distant only 56 or 58 miles. From Kilkenny, such as could get places in the coach sent their horses back by a servant, and such as could not, either rode on to the metropolis, or waited the chance of the next day's coach.

A chaise and pair, miserable in show and substance as both really were, was, however, a species of luxurious conveyance to which the ambition of the middle class of travellers never ventured to aspire. Such as were content with a less dignified mode of travelling on wheels, the city of Dublin accommodated with a vehicle unparalleled, I believe, in any part of the world, and singular in name, as well as construction. It was called a Noddy, drawn by one horse, and carrying two, or, if not of overgrown dimensions, three passengers. The body of this leathern convenience, which bore some resemblance to an old-fashioned phaeton," beetled o'er its base" in front, the better to protect the inmates, and being slung from cross-bars by strong braces, instead of springs, nodded formidably at every movement of the horse, hence deriving the appropriate appellation of Noddy. În case of rain blowing in, a curtain of the same material afforded its friendly shelter, wrapping the passengers in total darkness, though, as far as prospect was concerned, the inconvenience was little; the only visible object, when it was undrawn, being the broad back and shoulders of the brawny driver, who rested his legs upon the shafts, and his sitting part on a sort of stool, a very little way removed from the knees of the person seated within. Simple, awkward, and uneasy as this contrivance was, it was not disdained even by senators at an earlier period than that of which I write; and a nobleman some thirty years older than myself, too, of high rank and large estate, assured me that it was his usual conveyance to and from college, accompanied by a trusty servant, or private tutor. And what wonder? All improvement in luxuries is gradual. Did not Queen Bess some time before jog to the Parliament of Great Britain on her pillion?

and why should not an Irish senator ride without degradation in his Noddy?

Yet the travelling between Cork and Dublin, saving the indifference of the roads, and the discomfort of the conveyances, circumstances causing no complaint, because expectation looked to nothing better, afforded gratifications for which we shall vainly look at the present time. Inns were not only more numerous, but, with a few exceptions, better provided for the reception and accommodation of the lingering guests. Modern rapidity of travelling, which requires little more than postcarriages ready at a moment's call, and rarely stops but for a hasty refreshment, has greatly diminished the good cheer of the old landlord, and obliged his successor to seek compensation in extravagant prices. Excellent breakfasts might then be had for 6d. or 8d., good dinners for one shilling, superlative for 2s. 6d., and right good Bourdeaux for two British shillings per bottle, inferior wines in proportion. With those, therefore, (and they were not few,) who relished the delights of a bottle and a friend, a journey from Cork to Dublin, instead of being hurried over with the break-neck rapidity of a king's messenger, partook more of the nature of a pleasure excursion prolonged by the unwillingness of the parties to leave good cheer and good company. Business then was not of the hurrying nature that it is at present; we were mighty well satisfied to get our news and letters twice a-week; and to go to and return from Dublin in the course of a fortnight, was considered an extraordinary instance of despatch and expedition. A gentleman about to undertake such a journey generally employed two or three days in looking out for a companion or two, and, if fortunate, was seldom very anxious about its termination. I can myself remember a party of bon vivant lawyers, some living in, and others near Cork, regular attendants of the Dublin law terms, who made it a practice to set out from Cork eight or ten days before the term's commencement. With some of them I was acquainted in their latter days, and one of them was raised to the dignity of the bench. They were men of classical attainments, agreeable conversation, and, as you may easily believe, ardent lovers of the bottle. As they were very well known on the road, the landlords were

peculiarly solicitous to please, certain, that where the wine was remarkably good, they would have the pleasure and profit of their company for more days than one. I have been assured, that this journey of 120 miles did not often terminate before the evening of the tenth day. One of the party was a relation of mine, and though I visited him while a college-boy from motives of respect, I was always in a great hurry to get back on pretence of duty, for he was a good scholar, and terribly given to examining into my proficiency in classical lore, a kindness I would most gladly have excused.

Though I have very satisfactory reasons for saying nothing of my own progress through the University of Dublin, it would be by no means pardonable to be silent respecting a few others, who there commenced that career which conducted them to subsequent distinction of very high degree. The late Lord Clare, (John Fitz-Gibbon,) and Mr Grattan, both my seniors, were, as I remember, in the same class, and constant competitors for literary honours. The advantage, I think, as far as there was any, rather leaned to Lord Clare, who, on one occasion, was honoured by an optimé; a judgment very rarely given, and never, within my knowledge, to any one else. Both were bred to the bar; but Fitz-Gibbon only, whose advancement was rapid, succeeded in that pursuit; aided no less by his own talents, than by the established fame of his father, who had long been an eminent barrister. Both these distinguished men came into Parliament pretty nearly at the same time; the latter under the wing of Government, a side to which he steadily and successfully adhered; and the former under the auspices of Lord Charlemont, one of the most honest and independent, though not perhaps always one of the wisest, patriots of the day. This threw them into perpetual, and sometimes violent contention, and converted early friendship into late hostility, the too frequent result of political disagreement. In manner and character, they were as strongly contrasted as in party opinions. Fitz-Gibbon, careless of words, but confident of matter, always spoke to the point, neglecting or despising the adventitious aid of polished diction, or rhetorical ornament. Grattan, shrewd,

sarcastic, and sententious, founded his fame on the elaborate construction of his speeches. In point of oratory, there was no comparison; but in my own opinion, Fitz-Gibbon possessed a deeper knowledge of the world, and was endowed with superior talents as a statesman. Mr Grattan, however commendable as a theorist, does not seem to have been particularly happy in reducing that theory to practice. His ministry was short, and perhaps fortunately so. A late Bishop of Cloyne (Dr Bennett) made a sharp observation on it in the House of Lords"All I can see, my Lords, of the promised benefits of this fine administration, is this:-That they have turned out one set of public officers, and put in another, and left the nation to pay both."

As much below me in standing, as the two great men now mentioned were above me, in the University of Dublin, was another young man, neither obtaining nor seeking college honours, though destined to fill a large space in public estimation, at a subsequent period-I mean John Philpot Curran. Of this extraordinary man's life and character, a copious account has been given to the public by his son, which I believe to be generally correct. In one circumstance I think he must be mistaken, when he intimates the doubts entertained both by Curran, and some of his friends, of his future success at the bar, in consequence of diffidence, of the embarrassments attending a young speaker's first efforts, and the difficulty of finding apt and ready words for the expression of his thoughts. Now, I knew Curran familiarly, though not intimately, and my knowledge of him long before he studied law, emboldens me to say, that this could not be the ease. When he was yet a mere stripling, he has often astonished me by the brilliancy of his conversation, by a volubility of speech, never at a loss for clothing his thoughts in the best array, and by a vividness of imagination that unceasingly presented him with lively figures and appropriate illustrations. Conscious as he was of this, and unoppressed by native modesty, he did, he could, feel no embarrassment in addressing any audience. Whatever diffidence he might feel as to strength of argument, he possessed full confidence in the power of his

wit, and as to words, no man possess ed a more copious and ready supply. In truth, Nature seemed to have conferred upon him, in one of her fond and frolicsome moods, what other men attain by pains, practice, and studya ready-made stock of ideas, a language to adorn them, and a tongue to give them utterance. Yet was he not above mediocrity as a Parliament orator. He wanted depth of knowledge, soundness of judgment, and comprehension of mind. His great forte was addressing a jury, and his powers most

Spectator.

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Saltmarket, 20th January, 1826. Eight o'clock morning.-Thought it time to rise for half an hour before, but recollected it wasn't shaving dayso much time gained-once read that time was money-so says "Poor Richard,"-never got much for mine-suspect it has fallen in value since the days of Franklin-glad of it-hate to be hurried, and no getting much of anything when high priced. Heard fresh fish calling-such a pack of lies -no such thing as fresh fish-doubt very much if they are caught fresham told the fishwives of Billingsgate are paragons for everything save good manners-would like to try them—a little afraid though. Wonder why fish are so destructive to their moralityperhaps corrupted by Jonah-will ask the minister-sneezed a good dealsuspect a hole in my night-cap.

Nine o'clock.-Rolls not yet comehear Kirstie chattering with the baker's boy-a perfect gawkie that girl -women take to flirting as naturally as straws to amber-dreadfully cold this morning-wouldn't like to be at the North Pole just now-great opening that, for the export trade of coal -wonder there should be none where they are so much wanted-suppose it may have been intended by nature for the good of our Western Metropolis. No butter on the table-can't understand the connexion between the breaking of the London banks and the fall in the price of it-God's mercy I was born in Glasgow, where our banks can no more break than ironstone china. Talking of banks, puts me in mind of the butter-won't eat so much in future-forms acidity, as Doctor Sutherland says-and costs too

much for magnesia. Might not things have been made right at first, without requiring so many helps to keep them so? Very true-but what would then become of our Apothecaries' Hall?

No appetite for breakfast-thinking of drugs has hurt me-must take something to keep wind out of my stomach -hate wind-never liked wind all my life-was whipped when a boy for losing my cap in a squally day-took a settled disgust to it after I became underwriter-very genteel business that though; fit for those who are fit for nothing else-learned how to squeeze a lemon at their club-don't recollect anything else I have to thank them for. When stirring my second cup, tax-gatherer entered-always swear when he comes round-think it does me good-lets off ill-humour, like the flood-gates on Clyde Terrace. Charged in the schedule with keeping a gardener, though I have nothing but a threepenny pot and a bunch of daisies at my window. Was brimful of Mr M'Culloch's discoveries in political science, and let the tax-gatherer know it, and, in a pet, pushed away the tea, sugar, and every exciseable article on the table. N. B.-Never to admit these people again at mealtime-no telling what may be the consequences of my empty stomach. One should have a peel'd wand to hang before their doors when the table is spread, as my friend Bailie Jarvie tells me they do in Highland change-houses when the folks within are busy.

Ten o'clock.-Morning gloomyordered my patent shoes that let the water out, having never met with any that would keep it out-thought of what I should do-scolded the servant for bringing my best wig when the weather-glass was so low-wonder why Mr

has not introduced caoutchouc peruques-would keep the curl in spite of a dripping-and one could go in, and come out of the water, like a sea-god, with glossy locks of India-rubber-still at a loss what to do-resolved to walk to Carmyle, to see our newly-acquired privileges by the river side.

Eleven o'clock.-Quite proud I was born a citizen of Glasgow-had a narrow escape though-was intended for Lesmahagow, had not my mother been detained in Glasgow, waiting for a new bonnet.

VOL. XIX.

Had some refreshments in my pockets-not sandwiches though-once made a vow against them; so to keep squares with my oath, put the bread in one pocket, and the ham in the other: no perjury in that. Felt quite on tip-toe as I walked along the banks, and very vain of my share in them, it being the only landed property I ever possessed-much lifted up on being mistaken for the great Mr Ferrie, the hero of the late law-suit -met a Cambuslang weaver, who said a coach called the Carmelite was to be run along the river from Glasgow to Carmyle-lying fellows these weavers

don't believe one half they saysitting so much on their bottom inclines them to fib; all the effect of indigestion-had a sensible crack with a man in a shabby black coat, who showed me the traces of what he called "immemorial possession”—can't understand how people can acquire anything by forgetting when they got it-thought him a philosopher from the College, or at least a writer, till I discovered some threads sticking to his sleeves-after all may be a weaver

better at a shuttle than a sophism.

Twelve o'clock.-On my way back to Glasgow, mused a good deal-quite zealous to preserve our rights over the banks of the river-almost wished I had subscribed to the law-suit.Thought of all the great men Glasgow had produced-Baillie Convener

and Sir John Moore -wish Sir John (talking of great folks), was in better company,-hear a great many loose women frequent George's Square,* and that he spends too much of his time in their company. Still musing-wonder what all this can mean-never troubled with thinking before-all the want of my breakfast-cursed the tax-gatherer over again-resolved to join in the process against the provost and magistrates, to edge myself into notice; but recollected that his lordship had once sent me some limes, so let him off for this time-wished I had been born in a more elevated condition of life, in spite of Young, who calls "wishing the constant hectic of a fool;" won't read that book againno fun about the fellow-" Night Thoughts" indeed! I would as soon listen to a Somnambulist preachingfound myself at the foot of my four

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