Adelaide thought the sound of his well remembered voice "pleasant and mournful to the soul, like the memory of joys that are past;" and it was insensibly leading her into a train of ideas, which she was not sorry to have interrupted by general conversation. How much did she enjoy the delightful freshness of the night, and the enlivening sallies of her animated companions; they were, however, at length terminated by Mr. St. Orme complaining of the increasing chilliness of the air, and proposing that she and her fair companion should take refuge from it in the body of her barouche, which was on deck. There they passed the remainder of the night most comfortably; and, when the sun rose, Miss Wildenheim was very sorry to hear they were entering the bay of Dublin, as she recollected her landing would put an end to the temporary release the packet had afforded her from the annoyances of the Webberly family. CHAPTER XV. To sail in unknown seas, To land in countries hitherto unseen, To breathe a fresh invigorating air: ----All this, I am convinced, Will renovate me a second time, To be what once I was. LLOYD'S MYRHA. Before any of the other passengers came on deck, Mrs. St. Orme and Adelaide contrived to make their morning toilet quite _comme il faut_, and when it was finished, and their dressing-boxes were repacked, they drew up the blinds of the carriage, and beheld a most beautiful scene. The sun was shining in all his brightness, and seemed to exult on beholding the fair isle, that, cheered by his smiles, was venturing to raise her lovely face from beneath its misty veil, no longer fearful of beholding the dark visage of Night, who, sullenly retreating from his glorious foe, had turned his louring brow on other daughters of the sea. The hill of Howth rose proudly from the bosom of the deep; and whilst its rocky sides, from age to age, beheld unmoved the fury of the sounding surge, the pointed summits of the distant Wicklow mountains courted the beams of morn and the dews of evening, ere they descended to visit the plains beneath. The bold promontory of Bray rushed to meet the foaming waves; and by its side the beautiful bay of Killina retreated from their half spent rage; whilst in the distant sky a darkened line of smoke pointed out the site of the fine city of Dublin. "Dear Ireland!" exclaimed Mrs. St. Orme, whilst the tear of feeling and the smile of joy struggled for mastery in her beaming eyes--"Oh! only those who have pined for their native land beneath a stranger sky, whose eye has been long unblessed by her loved face, whose ear has vainly paused to hear once again her kindly, though unpolished accents; who have held her-- 'dear by every tie Which binds us to our infancy, By weeping Mem'ry's fondest claims, By nature's holiest highest names;'