by the mind's eye, but now for the first time beheld in reality!

At length we were told that Holyhead was in sight; but it was too far off to be visible to unpractised eyes. In an hour or two after, however, I was summoned from the cabin, by the word that Holyhead was just before us, and that we could see "the houses and trees and potato blossoms." I hastened up, and there indeed it was,-a nôble headland, presenting its bold front to the sea. That is the way, said I to myself, that John Bull puts on a stout look to the world: but, as behind this rock there are soft rural scenes, so, under a rough exterior, he carries a kindly heart. It was indeed a most picturesque headland: nothing could be finer for a first view of the British coast :-a rocky promontory rising some 800 feet or more (as we estimated) from the sea, with a pretty white lighthouse, standing just on the edge of the rock, or rather, on a small island, detached from the main one, and connected with it by a little bridge. Then the zig-zag path up the hill-side, and the telegraph station at the top! altogether, it was exceedingly picturesque. How sweet it is to approach the land after a long voyage, those only know who have tasted the enjoyment!

Sweeping on, with a fair wind, about eight o'clock in the evening we took a pilot, who gave us the agreeable information, that if the present breeze held, we should reach Liverpool soon after midnight. Supposing, however, that in the night nothing of interest could be seen, I did not think it worth while to sit up. But on awaking about an hour after midnight, and looking out of my state-room, I

FIRST SIGHT OF THE BRITISH ISLES.

saw sitting by the cabin lamp my friend

5

an old traveller and an Englishman, who advised me to go on deck-that "Liverpool was in full sight, all lighted up." So up I hasted, and there, indeed, was a beautiful sight. We were just passing the crimson light that stands on the point of land at the mouth of the harbour; before us was the city, seemingly half-a-mile distant, and looking as if illuminated, such was the appearance of the rows of lamps along the streets. A striking object, in particular, was an illuminated clock on a church tower, which we were told was St. George's. The moon, too, was pouring her mellow light on the scene, and the waters of the Mersey were glancing in her beams.

I cannot describe my feelings when I reflected that that was really the English shore, old England, the land of our fathers about which I had read and dreamed from childhood. Long, long, I looked and meditated, my mind filled with a thousand sweet fancies and images,-till, between two and three o'clock, a red streak in the east, near the horizon, and then the gray light among the clouds above, told that dawn was breaking. This was another beautiful sight; I thought of Shakspeare's description in Romeo and Juliet:

"The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light."

and again:

66

Look, love, what envious streaks

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops."

The ship was now lying quietly at anchor; and breaking through my reverie, I went down to catch a few hours' sleep, to be fresh for the morrow.

PILGRIMAGE TO THE FORMER HOME

OF A POETESS.

Then to the measure of the light vouchsafed,
Shine, poet, in thy place, and be content.

WORDSWORTH.

THE evening after my arrival, as I was walking with a friend in the environs of Liverpool,-pausing on an eminence, he pointed over the hills, and exclaimed, "Over in that direction, somewhere, Mrs. Hemans formerly lived." My heart gave a bound at this: here was the first touch of English romance. "Mrs. Hemans!" I exclaimed; "then I must certainly make a pilgrimage to that shrine at once." My friend entered into my feelings, and readily promised his assistance in finding out the place. So, one fine morning, a day or two after, we set out, accompanied by one or two other friends.

The house was situated in or near Wavertree, a pleasant village a mile or two out of Liverpool: thus much my friend knew with certainty, and accordingly we proceeded in that direction. Our way was along a pleasant road, bounded by a low stone wall topped with hawthorn, on the other side of which was a row of stately elms, and, beyond this, smooth fresh-looking meadows, dotted with yellow butter

cups. This was the first view I had of English rural scenery; and, simple as it was, I enjoyed it.

Passing through the village of Wavertree, and turning to the left, we came to a pretty hawthorn hedge, through which I caught glimpses of a neat lawn, bordered by elms, at the upper end of which was a handsome stone house, with a semi-circular portico, and quite a bower of bright flowers on the steps. I wondered if that was the place: that would certainly be a fit residence for a poetess. The thought had hardly crossed my mind, when one of the party, who had undertaken to perform the office of guide, said very quietly, "That is the place; at least, I have been informed so." At these words, I uttered an exclamation of pleasure; I had hardly expected my hope to prove true; for poets, in truth, do not often dwell in poetical places.

Charmed with the information, I began to examine the place more attentively. Besides the lawn in front, there was another grass-plot immediately around the house, bordered in like manner with elms which cast a pleasant shade, and on the grass white kids were frisking. One end of the house was covered with ivy; at a short distance, on the left, was a small circular grove or clump of trees, a picturesque object; and between that and the road was a pond or little lake, looking cool and fresh, with a weeping willow bending over it. This is truly a romantic spot, thought I, and worthy of Mrs. Hemans; the scenery itself were sufficient to give inspiration.

As we went on towards the gate, my attention was caught by what appeared to be an old time