river as before, at the bottom of the precipice, which is so steep and the depth so great as to be quite fearful to look down. This horrid precipice, the pointed bleak mountains in view, with the roar of the water, all conspire to raise one great emotion of the sublime. You advance scarcely twenty yards before a pretty scene opens to the left--a distant landscape of inclosures, with a river winding between the hills to the sea. Passing to the right, fresh scenes of wood appear; half-way to the bottom, one different from the preceding is seen; you are almost inclosed in wood, and look to the right through some low oaks on the opposite bank of wood, with an edging of trees through which the sky is seen, which, added to an uncommon elegance in the outline of the hill, has a most pleasing effect. Winding down to a thatched bench on a rocky point, you look upon an uncommon scene. Immediately beneath is a vast chasm in the rock, which seems torn asunder to let the torrent through that comes tumbling over a rocky bed far sunk into a channel embosomed in wood. Above is a range of gloomy obscure woods, which half overshadow it, and rising to a vast height, exclude every object. To the left the water rolls away over broken rocks--a scene duly romantic. Followed the path: it led me to the water's edge, at the bottom of the glen, where is a new scene, in which not a single circumstance hurts the principal character. In a hollow formed of rock and wood (every object excluded but those and water) the torrent breaks forth from fragments of rock, and tumbles through the chasm, rocks bulging over it as if ready to fall into the channel and stop the impetuous water. The shade is so thick as to exclude the heavens; all is retired and gloomy, a brown horror breathing over the whole. It is a spot for melancholy to muse in. Return to the carriage, and quit the Dargle, which upon the whole is a very singular place, different from all I have seen in England, and I think preferable to most. Cross a murmuring stream, clear as crystal, and, rising a hill, look back on a pleasing landscape of inclosures, which, waving over hills, end in mountains of a very noble character. Reach Dublin. July 20. To Drogheda, a well-built town, active in trade, the Boyne bringing ships to it. It was market-day, and I found the quantity of corn, etc., and the number of people assembled, very great; few country markets in England more thronged. The Rev. Mr. Nesbit, to whom recommended, absent, which was a great loss to me, as I had several inquiries which remained unsatisfied.