Soon we pass into George's Channel. The land is treeless, but clothed with elegant verdure. The surf beats wildly and unhindered against its rocky ramparts. Here and there, nestling cosily on the hillsides, are small Irish cabins, one-story high, built of stone, plastered and whitewashed, having thatched roofs, a few small windows, and a single door. Next appear a few Martello Towers of stone, some twenty-five feet in diameter, and perhaps forty feet high,--designed as fortresses, having formerly, if not at present, cannon on their level, and, it may be, revolving tops. And now appear fresh evidences of civilization, in the fishing-boats with tan-colored sails; and next we arrive at a little hamlet, Crooked Haven, the seat of the telegraph to Queenstown. We next pass Kinsale Head; in less than an hour more Daunt's Rock, with its bell-buoy; and after that a sail of five miles carries us to the opening into Queenstown Harbor, and we are at the end of the voyage. It is now 5 o'clock A. M. Our ship for the first time in eight days shuts off steam; her pace slackens; and--as though while not tired, yet willing to rest--she floats leisurely. How majestic and calm! The small "tender" steamer is alongside, and now what scenes begin! How others retire before the hurry, the bustle, the good-nature everywhere manifest. A veritable "Paradise Regained." No matter for corns trodden upon, nor lack of respect for dignity or age. Every one destined for a landing minds his own business. Never was work of the kind done better. All the Queenstown passengers on board, the tender starts for the desired haven. The City of Richmond starts her machinery, and is soon lost to view on her journey of eighteen hours to Liverpool; but we on board the small steamer are full of admiration for the new sights and sounds. Have just passed through the great opening two miles across, and one mile deep or through, and so are inside the harbor lines. In passing, on our left were high, verdant hills. On the right were higher hills, crowned with a few chalk-white buildings,--the lighthouse and its keeper's dwelling, the grounds enclosed with a wall, white like the buildings, resembling fairy-work in that setting of emerald. And now has opened an expanse of great extent and rare beauty. "No finer harbor in the world can there be," think and ejaculate all, at that early day, when few if any of the party have travelled; and "No finer in the world is there," say we now, when we have gone a good part of the world over.