laid out under the pasha's canopy, gradually
clears. At the door there is a struggle, and the
scatter of new gravel, with the frantic leaping
up behind carriages of many footmen, and the
closing in of mounted soldiers. And then the
pageant melts away, and the work of the day is
done.

As I walk and wander from the light glass
arcades to the darker courts, and from the courts
to the open terraces, and hear the hum of
Saxons' voices, and from at least every third
mouth the sharp "burr" of some Saxon dialect,
and when I meet burly shoulders and massive
chests which are not of the country, some
out-of-place speculations come into my mind, and
I am tempted to make suppositions. First, I
speculate—of course shrinking away from the
dry bones of politics—whether there might not
have been some mistake in the old and constant
treatment of a people who seem cheerful and
grateful for a kind word or a kinder act, and who
are "willing" and even clever in their way—
and think whether the "want of progress" and
want of "capital" and of "self-reliance," and
the want of a hundred other things which puzzle
and dispirit the political physician, may not in
some degree be laid to the account of old
mistakes, old laws, old errors, old harsh treatment,
old jealousies and restraints, the folly of which
is now seen and admitted, but the fruits of which
remain to this day?

Just as the fruits of a bad education linger
in a grown man, and the marks of early hardship
are stamped upon the face and constitution,
it will take many years yet, in the life
of a nation, before old faults are worked out of
its constitution. And I think—still in the
walks of the Winter Garden—that if my friendly
Briton tell me that his experience of the lower
orders of Irish is that "you can't depend upon
a word they say," I cannot but recollect that half
a century ago they were civilly slaves, without
rights; and that a century ago they were a
proscribed caste, against whom one-half the laws
of the land were directed. If we have found
them indolent, and disinclined to perseverance
and the making of money, have we not dim
recollections of seeing acts of parliament passed
again and again to cripple their trade? A people
must grow up, as a child must grow up; and it is
hard to expect that a child whose body has
suffered by an unkind or an injudicious nurse, should
become at once strong under better treatment.
Then I speculate on the mysterious relation of
Irishmen to Irish land, through which the "bit"
of land is as necessary as the "bit" of bread;
where a tenant holds his tiny scrap, on which he
pays his thirty-shilling rent; and during the
whole year is struggling desperately to work out
of this great estate a few potatoes, and fewer
clothes for himself and family, besides the miserable
thirty shillings margin for the landlord. I
think how some estates have two, four, six,
eight, thousand tenants of this valuable class—
and think besides, in answer to a natural
objection, how this miserable system was created
for political ends, to multiply voters "to support
government." If the Palace and Winter
Garden were twice as long and twice as broad,
I should not have half time or space enough for
the speculations that come crowding on me with
reference to this perplexing country.

And having made these speculations, and
having gone quite round the garden, I begin
—in addition to my speculations—to make some
rather wild suppositions. As, suppose that,
for a mere experiment, there were a greater
spirit of charity of speech introduced into our
dealings with this country. Suppose that we
gave the people time and reasonable allowance—
looked on with encouragement where there was
any good attempt made, and with indulgence
where there was failure. Suppose that some of
our journals gave over writing "slashing"
articles, and some men desisted from speeches
and bitter epigrams on the "mere Irish," which,
being copied in every cheap print, and brought to
every cabin door, do incalculable mischief, fatally
widening the breach, and causing England and
Englishmen to be sometimes almost hated.
Suppose that there were some little restraint on the
traditional stock ridicule of Irish matters.
Suppose that the Englishmen who visit the country
carried themselves with a little less of William
the Conqueror and Strongbow air, and suppose
that——

But here are the umbrellas, and the sticks,
and the gate.

MINING FOR QUICKSILVER.

THE traveller in San Francisco, asking the
question Englishmen invariably ask, What's to
be seen? would be thus answered. The Big
Trees, Eusamity Valley, Napa, and the
Quicksilver Mines.

Having creditably done the three former lions,
nothing remained for me but to do the mine.

There are two routes to the New Almaden
Quicksilver Mines, one per stage the whole
distance, fifty-four miles, the other per steamer to
the head of the Bay of San Francisco, and
thence per stage to San José. Past experience
had taught me, whenever possible, scrupulously
to avoid stage travelling. Being tossed in a
blanket, or rolled down a steep hill headed into
a cask, produces much the same bruised and
general state of sprain and dislocation as a
day's ride in a stage. Choosing the steamer
lessened the chance of jolting by quite one half,
at the same time affording a good opportunity
of seeing the famed Bay of San Francisco.

On a summer morning in 'sixty-three I
embarked from the wooden pier—early as it was,
alive with the hum, buzz, and bustle of the
awakening city—and steamed away over the
unrippled waters of the bay. The temperature
was delicious; a few fleecy clouds were swept
rapidly over the clear blue sky by a light breeze
blowing softly from the land, laden with the
perfume of wild flowers and forest trees. A run
of a few hours brought us to the landing at the
head of the bay, where a stage soon bumped me