e duties annually paid at the Custom House exceed the duties
annually paid at the Custom House of London in the most prosperous years
of the reign of Charles the Second. Other Irish towns may present more
picturesque forms to the eye. But Belfast is the only large Irish town
in which the traveller is not disgusted by the loathsome aspect
and odour of long lines of human dens far inferior in comfort and
cleanliness to the dwellings which, in happier countries, are provided
for cattle. No other large Irish town is so well cleaned, so well paved,
so brilliantly lighted. The place of domes and spires is supplied
by edifices, less pleasing to the taste, but not less indicative of
prosperity, huge factories, towering many stories above the chimneys of
the houses, and resounding with the roar of machinery. The Belfast which
William entered was a small English settlement of about three hundred
houses, commanded by a stately castle which has long disappeared, the
seat of the noble family of Chichester. In this mansion, which is said
to have borne some resemblance to the palace of Whitehall, and which was
celebrated for its terraces and orchards stretching down to the river
side, preparations had been made for the King's reception. He was
welcomed at the Northern Gate by the magistrates and burgesses in their
robes of office. The multitude pressed on his carriage with shouts of
"God save the Protestant King." For the town was one of the strongholds
of the Reformed Faith, and, when, two generations later, the inhabitants
were, for the first time, numbered, it was found that the Roman
Catholics were not more than one in fifteen, [676]

The night came; but the Protestant counties were awake and up. A royal
salute had been fired from the castle of Belfast. It had been echoed and
reechoed by guns which Schomberg had placed at wide intervals for the
purpose of conveying signals from post to post. Wherever the peal was
heard, it was known that King William was come. Before midnight all the
heights of Antrim and Down were blazing with bonfires. The light was
seen across the bays of Carlingford and Dundalk, and gave notice to
the outposts of the enemy that the decisive hour was at hand. Within
forty-eight hours after William had landed, James set out from Dublin
for the Irish camp, which was pitched near the northern frontier of
Leinster, [677]

In Dublin the agitation was fearful. None could doubt that the decisive
crisis was approachin