surface of the water, surrounds and adorns it. The extent of this cave has never been ascertained, as boats are prevented from penetrating to its extremity by the contraction of its sides into a very narrow compass or cleft, through which the waves are heard rolling to a considerable distance.

Of the Whyn dykes that abound almost every where on the coast, a fine specimen may be seen at the head of the grand Causeway, and another at the Sea Gull Isle. These dykes are walls of whin stone, trap, or prismatic basalt, varying from a few inches to forty or fifty feet in breadth. That at the grand Causeway is fifteen or sixteen feet wide, and composed of horizontal prisms.

As to the Giant's Causeway itself, the first feelings of some on behold. ing it are those of disappointment, arising, probably, from their having formed extravagant ideas of its magnitude. Those who have been accustomed to rocky and mountainous scenery, will behold such scenes as the county of Antrim affords under very different impressions from those who are familiar only with pasture grounds and gardens. Its character is to be developed not by a rapid glance, but attentive examination.

The Giant's Causeway consists of three moles, composed of basaltic columns, projecting into the sea from the middle of the semicircular bay of Port Noffer. The largest of these moles, known by the name of the Grand Causeway, extends in a sloping direction from the base of the cliff, about three hundred feet, when it emerges into the ocean. Supposing it once to have had a horizontal position, it has received a slight twist, by which the pillars where it dips into the sea have an inclination to the cast, while those at the commencement have a small inclination to the west. On the east side stands the Giant's Loom, a colonnade about thirty-six feet high; and in the opposite cliff may be seen a group of columns, known by the name of the Organ, to the pipes of which instrument it has a striking resemblance.

Each of the moles, beheld at a short distance, presents the appearance of a most regular pavement; nor is the admiration excited by this regularity diminished on a closer inspection. It is now seen, that it is not a superficial covering of Mosaic pavement, but a solid structure of pillars united to pil

lars close as the cells of an honeycomb, The pillars are formed of a remarkably fine grained compact basalt, and are separable into distinct joints or arti culations, which may vary in length from six to twelve inches, and in breadth from twelve to twenty. The upper and lower extremity of each joint is concave or convex. The concave is indented with a groove near the circumference, and is furnished with a projection from one of its sides, or angles, by which it is locked so closely to the ball of its respective joint, that a separation is not often effected without a fracture of that projection. The prevailing forms are pentagonal, hexagonal, and heptagonal. Some of them, on first inspection, might be mistaken for squares, by reason of the shortness of one or two of their sides. Between each of the causeways are large rounded masses of irregularly prismatic basalt. To the westward of Port Coon, the rock is composed of distinct globular concretions. These concretions may be about a foot in diameter, though often not more than two or three inches, formed of concentric pellicles like an onion, and dotted with crystals of cubical iron pyrites.

Besides the Giant's loom, may be seen the Giant's well, chair, and theatre —The King and Parliament too, in full divan.

The savage grandeur of Fairhead, or of Port na Spania, so called from the wreck of one of the celebrated Spanish armada, which was here dashed to pieces. It is entirely surrounded by a monstrous precipice, between three and four hundred feet high, and is accessible only by one narrow approach, which is far the most frightful of all the hazardous paths on this whole coast. These, with Pleaskin and Bengore, contemplated from the water, might probably strike some with more wonder and surprise than the view by land. The Giant's Causeway itself is comparatively small, and may seem insignificant to some, compared to these headlands. It derives its chief inportance from the surrounding scenery, and from the association of its creative cause. But even the scenery of Port Noffer, especially if it is beheld on a serene day, though not of that imposing kind which immediately overwhelms the senses with astonishment, yet it is sedate and majestic, not ostentatious or obtrusive. It must not be judged of

as he pleases. I remember one of the most celebrated papers in the Spectator records a journey in a stage-coach, from the seat of Sir Roger de Coverley to town; and may probably have furnished the ground-work of the many pleasant compositions with which we have been since amused. It is true, we must now and then meet with untoward circumstances in this style of travelling; as the being disappointed of places; or thrust in amongst unaccommodating companions; or, when stopping on the road, being summoned back again to the coach before the agreeable process of refection is completed not to mention the pleasant casualties of being overturned, or run away with; from which, by the bye, the best whips and the best horses are not always insured. But as I consider myself somewhat of a philosopher, I willingly encounter all these inconveniences for the sake of enjoying a scene which presents fairly to view the surface of society, and not unfrequently abounds with information, amusement, and adventure. At present, I shall confine myself to a single character this mode of travelling has furnished; of which, should it appear a rara avis in terris, I can only observe, that it is taken from the life, and that my effort has only been to soften, and diminish the peculiarities of the original.

Some time ago, I had occasion to visit London from no very remote part of the country, and seated myself as usual in the stage. My only companions at first were an old Clergyman and an Officer in the Navy: however, we soon received an accession of a Lady and Gentleman on their return to town. The morning was fine, the roads excellent, and our progress very agreeable. After discussing the usual topics of wind, weather, and provisions, I had just engaged the Clergyman in a conversation respect ing the present state of English literature; when, on approaching a small house at a short distance from the road, we were startled by a Stentorian command to stop. Having never before, in the course of my travels, heard such an outcry, I began to apprehend some imminent danger, and instantly looked out to ascertain the cause, when the first thing that attracted notice was a lady in all the pride of silks and feathers holding a caged songster in

each hand. Her appearance was at once bold and commanding; and had she held the spear and shield of Minerva, would have wanted nothing in ap pearance to personate that goddess in her most terrible form. A long time was occupied in the disposal of her luggage, in the course of which she frequently found occasion to express her dissatisfaction and impatience. She at length, however, proceeded to enter the coach; when, after complaining of its being full, she insisted upon inside accommodation for her feathered companions. This, however, we strenuously opposed; and finding that object unattainable, she left them at length unprotected upon the roof. No sooner were we again in motion, than she be gan to complain of confinement; and removing her glove, to display a profusion of emeralds and brilliants, declared she was never used to travel in so mean a style, and that nothing but the most urgent necessity could have compelled her to such a means ness. The Clergyman observed: "Madam, in order to accomplish a desirable purpose, we must sometimes submit to trifling inconveniences; though I hope the company will render your journey less unpleasant than you seem to anticipate."-" As to that," replied the Lady, who for the future I shall term Bouncilla, “I am a real independent lady, and have never allowed myself to be in the way of ill-conveniences before. In short, Sir, being a lady of fortune, I have spent my time in making myself comfortable, and benefitting my inferiors; and was I worth twenty thousand a year, I should be liable to do a great deal of good with it."-" Madam," said our Naval Companion, "I wish your example was followed by those of our great people, who possess extensive means."-" As to them," said Bouncilla, "I consider them no better than beggars, for they live upon the nation, and are not independent. In short, I look upon myself as much above them, being of independent for tune."-The other lady, who, it seemed, had watched an opportunity to say something satirical, observed, "She thought it a great pity that people of independent fortunes should not receive an education equal to their circumstances."

་་

Bouncilla immediately exclaimed, "As to that, I don't admire your moderu education. Young ladies whose parents can hardly afford it, go to

boarding-schools, and learn to draw, and dance, and play music; and when they come home, they know nothing in a domestical way. I would have young ladies learn nothing but plain reading, writing, and spelling; and then come home to learn the domesticals, which would make them useful in society."

When this phenomenon first entered, from the imposing singularity of her appearance, she attracted universal notice; but when we had been favoured with these specimens of her manners and acquirements, and had been nearly stunned by the loudness of her tones, a general attempt was made to dismiss her to her merited insignificance. The Clergyman pulled out a Polybius, and appeared absorbed in study; the Gentleman began to converse in a low tone with his chara sposa; and I talked politics with the sailor. But all this was ineffectual to restrain the incessant garrulity of Bouncilla, who, on hearing the name of Buonaparte, cried out, As to him, I regard him as an infamous carralter, and was he to come here, and I had a pistol, there should not be wanting somebody to shoot him."-In this way we proceeded the remaining part of the journey, and to my great satisfaction found ourselves at length ou the pavement of London. On arriving at the inn, Bouncilla desired a coach should be instantly obtained; and having seen her impedimenta stowed into it, she drove off. I do not in general take much pains to ascertain who my companions are on occasions like this, unless they discover some very odd and uncommon peculiarities. But the overweening self-complacency of this heroine was so distinguished, and the coarseness of her manners formed such a contrast with the splendor of her appearance, that I could not resist an impulse to follow the vehicle for the sake of farther discoveries. As the vehicle drove slowly, there was no difficulty in keeping the same pace, and I bad the satisfaction of seeing her landed at a shop in a principal street at the west end of the town. It appeared, from inquiry, that this bouncing, domestical, independent virago, formerly practised as a female barrister; that is, she once figured in a conspicuous station at the bar of a public-house, where her astounding elocution was advantageously displayed. By the death of a Europ. Mag. Vol. LXXII. Sept. 1817.

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distant relative, she was unexpectedly put in possession of a considerable property, which attracted the affections of a worthy tradesman, whose wife she shortly became. Elevated to a sphere far above her education and habits, and conscious of the superiority which money bestows, she conceived, that to assume and profess grandeur was, in fact, the only way to possess it, and, like the artist who wrote under his production, "This is a Lion," invariably thought it necessary to inform strangers of her being "a real independent lady." To maintain this character, she relies principally upon exterior embellishments, boasts that she is surpassed in personal splendor by no lady in London, and frequently spends whole days, decked in all the colours of the rainbow, admiring her adorned form at mirrors,

-" in which he of Gath,

Goliath, might have seen his ample stature Whole, without stooping, giant crest and all."

She has, however, found, that grandeur of appearance will not always command respect;-that without the advantages of mental culture she must remain insulated in whatever company she enters, and want something to make her agreeable in society, for which neither her, professions of independence, nor the attractions of lace, feathers, and camelhair shawls, can compensate. These circumstances have rendered her averse to the circle in which she was obliged to move; she has, therefore, compelled her good man to give up business; and though she once boasted her English independence, and dislike of every thing exotic, has lately departed with him for the continent, to obtain by her appearance that respect amongst foreigners, from which her overbearing vulgarity has justly precluded her at home.

FRAGMENTA,

BEING THOUGHTS, OBSERVATIONS, REFLECTIONS, AND CRITICISMS, WITH ANECDOTES AND CHARACTERS ANCIENT

AND MODERN.

No. XXI.

SUSPICION.

HE Cardinal de Richelieu was prone Tto Carpicion. Every night he nare rowly searched each corner of his room. It chanced, one evening, that Desnoyere, his valet, who slept in his master's chamber, had deposited two bottles of wine

under his bed for his own use. These the active jealousy of the minister discovered; nor could he be convinced that the contents were not poisonous, and intended for his destruction, until he saw them both drank off by the suspected domestic.

Cardinal de Perron professes himself suspicious, lest the Arians, in the nor thern part of Europe, should, one time or other, embrace the principles of Mahometanism, to which he thinks, by their attachment to the idea of divine unity, they cannot be totally averse.

A whimsical adventure which happened to an intimate friend may not appear unworthy of a place under the head of Suspicion. It chanced, several years ago, at a time when every corner of every street abounded with cautions against ring and money droppers, that, on a sultry day, he had occasion to go as far as Ratcliffe-highway, no inconsiderable distance from the western extremity of the town. He had reached the top of Holborn-hill, and began to wish himself at the end of his journey, when his attention was caught by a jolly stout figure walking down the hill just before him, whose ruddy complexion, jockey whip, and dirty boots, proclaimed him an original country squire, come to town on business, and probably pacing towards the Bank for a dividend. He had not long contemplated the rusticity of this figure, before he observed him, on jerking out his pocket-handkerchief, to scatter six or seven shillings out of his pocket. Some of these melodiously trilled on their edges down the pavement, some were stopped by posts and steppingstones, while others took the contrary, and expatiated towards the kennel, which in these days occupied the middle of the street. My friend, whose

agility was superior to every thing but his benevolence, pursued each fugi tive shilling one by one, recovered them all (a work of no small labour and of some duration), and ran down the hill after their owner, who had by this time gained, what the seamen term, a great offing. Out of breath, and perspiring at offering the shillings, began to tell his every pare, he stopped the Squire, and, tale; but was unexpectedly interrupted by the person whom he addressed, who, freeing himself from his benefactor's grasp, exclaimed, with a menacing tone and gesture, "What, Sir! you think you have got a prize in me, Sir! because you see me just out of the country but, Sir! I know the tricks of London, Sir! and if you don't take your shillings and yourself away, Sir! very speedily, I shall call a constable, and raise the mob upon you, Sir !"

By no means in the world, Sir," replied my friend; "and rather than drive you to such extremities, your shillings shall be employed in easing my legs."-After this explanation, he called a coach, and with the fruits of the stranger's absurd over caution, spared himself a tiresome and sultry walk.

TALES.

Much has been written to explain and to teach the art of story-telling; but no science is more difficult to attain, nor can it be taught by any settled rules. If the teller can but contrive to keep the attention of his audience awake to the end of his tale, he has certainly gained a great point, let the method he has taken be what it will; and if he can add to their attention some emotions of pleasure, or of surprise, he may justly be deemed a good story-teller. Seneca, who certainly may be cited as eminent in this art, will afford a beautiful example of this species of triumph over the expectations of his hearers. He tells us of the son of an eminent and opulent Roman knight, to whom the wretched Emperor Caligula took such an aversion, merely from envy to the superior graces of his person and dress, that he ordered him to be led to execution. Not contented with this, he had the wanton cruelty to insist on the father's presence at an entertainment while he knew his son was suffering death. He did more; he drank to him in full bowls, having first placed a spy, who might watch and report