The remainder of my day was spent in several other calls, which I will mention in their proper place. They gave me an opportunity of exploring the city, which seems immense. In reality it has 249,000 inhabitants. The streets are superb and relatively clean; there are several fine monuments, and one or two charming parks; but the city is spoilt by the miserable expression worn by every one I meet. When I ended my conversations with the chiefs of the Land League, I felt almost converted to English doctrines; but the sight of these miserable faces drew me back to the Land League. It is really impossible to leave things as they are. When, during the day, I saw people who had evidently neither breakfasted that morning nor dined the day before, and who had absolutely no reason for supposing that they would be more fortunate to-morrow, it seemed incredible, and I could not help remembering the contemptuous air which Englishmen assume when they allude to what passes in view on the Continent. Mr. Gladstone’s first political action was a letter in which he denounced King Ferdinand of Naples to all Europe. This document said that he deserved to lose his crown because he did not know how to govern his people. I do not see that Mr. Gladstone has succeeded much better. It is not enough to blame others; one must do better oneself. I have seen all the worst parts of Naples; I have seen the _ghetto_ at Rome; both are, or rather were, charming localities if we compare them to a part of Dublin that I passed through to-day, called the “Liberties.” The only liberty that seems left to the inhabitants is the liberty of remaining unwashed and of dying by starvation. This district was peopled by a colony of French Huguenots, who introduced the poplin industry, which has now almost disappeared, but which at one time employed four thousand workmen. If these unfortunate people whom I saw this morning are really the descendants of our fellow-countrymen, I can only advise them to try a second emigration. I quite understand that the results of the first may not encourage them to attempt a second, but they have nothing to lose by a change now. Here we see the great misfortune of this country. No industry that has been established here has been able to last: there is neither coal nor iron. How can they compete with England under these circumstances? When I say that all industries have collapsed I am mistaken. One of them is a great success. It belongs to Mr. Guinness, a brewer, whose establishment now occupies nearly one district in the west of the city, on the banks of the river, with which it communicates by means of a tunnel made under the quay, which serves for the delivery of the barrels of beer on to the barges anchored in the muddy bed of the Liffey. What an illusion the Liffey is! From the treacherous words of the Irish poets I had expected to find a superb river. I only saw a filthy ditch.