All was quiet in the "Orchard" that morning, except that, here, a starved-looking woman, with a bit of old shawl tucked round her head, and a pitcher in her hand, and there, a bare-footed lass, carrying a tin can, hurried across the sunny space towards the soup kitchen.

We passed a new inn, called "The Port Admiral." On the top of the building there were three life-sized statues--Wellington and Nelson, with the Greek slave between them--a curious companionship.

These statues reminded me of a certain Englishman riding through Dublin, for the first time, upon an Irish car.

"What are the three figures yonder ?" said he to the car-boy, pointing to the top of some public building.
"Thim three is the twelve apostles, your honour," answered the driver.

"Nay, nay," said the traveller,"that'll not do.