CAROLINE CHESEBRO’.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE IRISH CAPITAL.

The metropolis of Ireland about the middle of the last century was the fourth in Europe in point of size.  Since then it has made little progress in comparison with many others.  Yet it is a large place, covering a great area, and holding a population which numbers some three hundred thousand souls.

It may further be said that notwithstanding the withdrawal, consequent on the Union, of the aristocratic classes from Dublin, the city has improved more in the last fifty years than at any previous period.  Dublin, at the Union, and for some time after, was a very dirty place indeed.  To-day, although, from that antipathy to paint common to the whole Irish nation—­which can apparently never realize the Dutch proverb, that “paint costs nothing,” or the English one, that “a stitch in time saves nine”—­much of the town looks dingy, it is, as a whole, cleaner than almost any capital in Europe, so far as drainage and the sanitary state of the dwellings are concerned.  And here we speak from experience, having last year, in company with detective officers, visited all its lowest and poorest haunts.

The cause of this sanitary excellence is that matters of this kind are placed entirely in the hands of the police, who rigorously carry out the orders given to them on such points.  It is devoutly to be hoped that a similar system will ere long be in vogue in the towns of our own country.

The noblesse have now quite deserted the Irish capital.  Besides the lord-chancellor, there is probably not a single peer occupying a house there to-day.  Houses are excellent and very cheap.  An immense mansion in the best situation can be had for a thousand dollars a year.  The markets are capitally supplied, and the prices are generally about one-third of those of New York.  Not a single item of living is dear.  But, notwithstanding these and many other advantages, the place has lost popularity, has a “deadly-lively” air about it, and, it must be admitted, is in many respects wondrously dull, especially to those who have been used to the brisk life of a great commercial or pleasure-loving capital.

“Cornelius O’Dowd” paid a visit to Dublin in 1871 after a long absence, and said some very pretty things about it.  Never was the company or claret better.  Well, the fact was, that while the great and lamented Cornelius was there he was feted and made much of.  Lord Spencer gave him a dinner, so did other magnates, and his sejour was one prolonged feasting; but nevertheless the every-day life of the Irish capital is awfully and wonderfully dull, as those who know it best, and have the cream of such society as it offers, would in strict confidence admit.  From January to May there is an attempt at a “season,” during the earlier part of which the viceroy gives a great many entertainments.  These are remarkably well done, and the smaller parties