In About Nine Hours - We Were Promised By A Lying Advertisement It Should
Be Six - We Had Crossed The Channel,
Over smooth water, and were making our
way, between green shores almost without a tree, up the bay, at the
Bottom
of which stands, or rather lies, for its site is low, the town of Belfast.
We had yet enough of daylight left to explore a part at least of the city.
"It looks like Albany," said my companion, and really the place bears some
resemblance to the streets of Albany which are situated near the river,
nor is it without an appearance of commercial activity. The people of
Belfast, you know, are of Scotch origin, with some infusion of the
original race of Ireland. I heard English spoken with a Scotch accent, but
I was obliged to own that the severity of the Scottish physiognomy had
been softened by the migration and the mingling of breeds. I presented one
of my letters of introduction, and met with so cordial a reception, that I
could not but regret the necessity of leaving Belfast the next morning.
At an early hour the next day we were in our seats on the outside of the
mail-coach. We passed through a well-cultivated country, interspersed with
towns which had an appearance of activity and thrift. The dwellings of the
cottagers looked more comfortable than those of the same class in
Scotland, and we were struck with the good looks of the people, men and
women, whom we passed in great numbers going to their work.
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