idely different
character. He must suppose himself no longer in Ireland, but in the
eastern corner of merry England. Bogs, ruins, and mountains have
disappeared amidst the vapours of the west: I have nothing more to say of
them; the region in which we are now is not famous for objects of that
kind: perhaps it flatters itself that it can produce fairer and better
things, of some of which let me speak; there is a fine old city before
us, and first of that let me speak. {131}

A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will; but
it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated,
overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands. Gazing from
those heights, the eye beholds a scene which cannot fail to awaken, even
in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration. At
the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique
bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either
side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the
city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen at present
extant of the genuine old English town. Yes, there it spreads from north
to south, with its venerable houses, its numerous gardens, its thrice
twelve churches, its mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks true, was
raised by human hands to serve as the grave heap of an old heathen king,
who sits deep within it, with his sword in his hand, and his gold and
silver treasures about him. There is a grey old castle {132a} upon the
top of that mighty mound; and yonder, rising three hundred feet above the
soil, from among those noble forest trees, behold that old Norman master-
work, {132b} that cloud-encircled cathedral spire, around which a
garrulous army of rooks and choughs continually wheel their flight. Now,
who can wonder that the children of that fine old city are proud of her,
and offer up prayers for her prosperity? I, myself, who was not born
within her walls, offer up prayers for her prosperity, that want may
never visit her cottages, vice her palaces, and that the abomination of
idolatry may never pollute her temples. Ha, idolatry! the reign of
idolatry has been over there for many a long year, never more, let us
hope, to return; brave hearts in that old town have borne witness against
it, and sealed their testimony with their hearts' blood--most precious to
the Lord is the blood of His saints! we are not far from h