and they almost feared that the breaking of the thin stratum of earth, that seemed to separate the waters above from the waters below, might precipitate them "Into this wild abyss, The womb of nature, and perhaps her grave, Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire, But all these in their pregnant causes mix'd Confusedly----" Their passage through this dismal region seemed intolerably slow, as no object marked their progress, but one unbroken sea of black lifeless matter encompassed them on every side, from which the eye perceived no escape. When the sun set, the heavens, like the earth, seemed dark and uninhabited; no cloud travelled over its gloomy face, but one even fall of misling rain made the aspect of the ethereal regions as unvaried as that of the land they overhung. The passengers long looked in vain to leave this abode of desolation,-- "Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem length'ning as you go." CHAPTER XVIII. Lights! more lights! more lights! TIMON OF ATHENS. These words were a joyful sound to our travellers, as with delighted steps they once more trod on terra firma, on their way to the door of the Canal Inn, where stood a slatternly dressed woman, shading a miserable candle with her hand (in default of a lantern.) It was pitch dark, more from the cloudiness of the night than the lateness of the hour: and a considerable time elapsed before the vociferous demand for lights was answered. In the mean time a universal uproar arose between the passengers, the people belonging to the boat and the inn, and those assembled to be listeners, for they could not be called spectators in the total darkness. Portmanteaux, trunks, bags, bundles, and bandboxes, were missent and scuffled for without end. At last "Order, Heaven's first law," and the prime cheerer Light, "of all material beings first and best," made their appearance together, and the Webberly party entered this cold comfortless inn. It had been built by an English speculator, who ruined himself in the project, and remains very nearly as he left it, the walls unpapered, the floors uncarpeted; the only change it has undergone since he was its proprietor being the breaking of the bell-wires and the spoiling of the locks. Two or three women serve in the double capacity of chambermaids and waiters. Each room shows that it once had a bell; but you are soon fatally convinced, that, to procure any thing you want, you must trust to vocal exertions alone. To the never-ceasing cry of "Waiter! Chambermaid!" the answer is something similar to the following, which assailed our travellers' ears soon after their entrance:--"Arrah an't I go--ing? sure I'm going! Sweet Jasus presarve me! I can't answer all the quality at oncest. Molly here, and Molly there, and Molly every where; my brain's moidered, so it is. Och! Mollying on ye, an't I going?" Mrs. Sullivan's servant, provoked at