is provoking; inasmuch as no
scrutiny has ever enabled any traveller to pry into the habits and
peculiarities of the early voyager. Well, you lounge about till the
half-after, and then the _conveniency_ snorts by, whisks round at the
end, takes a breathing canter alone for a few hundred yards, and comes
back with a grunt, to resume its old drudgery. A general scramble for
places ensues--doors bang--windows are shut and opened--a bell
rings--and, snort! snort! ugh, ugh, away you go. Now--would you
believe it?--every man about you, whatever be his age, his size, his
features, or complexion, has a little dirty blue bag upon his knees,
filled with something. They all know each other--grin, smile, smirk,
but don't shake hands--a polite reciprocity--as they are none of the
cleanest: cut little dry jokes about places and people unknown, and
mix strange phrases here and there through the dialogue, about
"_demurrers_ and _declarations_, traversing _in prox_ and _quo
warranto_." You perceive it at once--it is very dreadful; but they are
all attorneys. The ways of Providence are, however, inscrutable; and
you arrive in safety in Dublin.

Now, I am not about to take you back; for at this hour of the morning
you have nothing to reward your curiosity. But, with your leave, we'll
start from Kingstown again at nine. Here comes a fresh, jovial-looking
set of fellows. They have bushy whiskers, and geraniums in the
button-hole of their coats. They are traders of various sorts--men of
sugar, soap, and sassafras--Macintoshes, molasses, mouse-traps--train-oil
and tabinets. They have, however, half an acre of agricultural
absurdity, divided into meadow and tillage, near the harbour, and they
talk bucolic all the way. Blindfold them all, and set them loose, and
you will catch them groping their way down Dame-street in half an
hour.

91/2.--The housekeepers' train. Fat, middle-aged women, with cotton
umbrellas--black stockings with blue _fuz_ on them; meek-looking men,
officiating as husbands, and an occasional small child, in plaid and
the small-pox.

10.--The lawyers' train. Fierce-looking, dictatorial, categorical
faces look out of the window at the weather, with the stern glance
they are accustomed to bestow on the jury, and stare at the sun in the
face, as though to say--"None of your prevarication with _me_; answer
me, on your oath, is it to rain or not?"

101/2.--The return of the doctors. They have been out on a morning beat,
and