an' foremost take this, in the name an' honour of God.'

"May the blessin' of the same Man rest upon yees!" replied Kathleen. This is a sorrowful thrial to us; for its our first day to be upon the world; an' this is the first help of the kind we ever axed for, or ever got; an' indeed now I find we haven't even a place to carry it in. I've no-b-b-cloth, or any thing to hould it.' "Your first, is it?' said the good woman. "Your first! May the marciful queen o' heaven look down upon yees, but it's a bitther day yees war driven out on! Sit down, there, you poor crathur. God pity you, I pray this day, for you have a heartbroken look! Sit down awhile, near the fire, you an' the childhre! Come over, darlins, an' warm yourselves! Och, oh! but it's the thousand pities to see sich fine childhre-handsome an' good lookin', even as they are, brought to this! Come over, good man; get near the fire, for you're wet an' could all of yees. Brian, ludher them two lazy thieves o' dogs out o' that. Eiree suas, a wadhee bradagh, agus go mah a shin!-be off wid yees, ye lazy divils, that's not worth you feedin.' Come over, honest man.'

"Owen an his family were placed near the fire; the poor man's heart was full, and he sighed heavily.

"May he that it plased to thry us,' he exclaimed, reward you for this! We are,' he continued, a poor an' a sufferin' family; but it's the will of God that we should be so, an' sure we can't complain widout committin' sin. All we ax now is, that it may be plasin' to him that brought us low, to enable us to bear up undher our thrials. We would take it to our choice to beg an' be honest, sooner nor to be wealthy an' wicked! We have our failins an' our sins, God help us; but still there's nothin' dark or heavy on our consciences. Glory be to the name o' God for it!'

"Throth, I believe you,' replied the farmer's wife; there's thruth an' honesty in your face; one may easily see the remains of dacency about yees all. Musha, throw your little things aside, an' stay where yees are to-day: you can't bring out the childhre undher the teem of rain an' sleet that's in it. Wurrah dheelish, but it's the bitther day all out! Faix, Paddy will get a dhrookin, so he will, at that weary fair wid the stirks, poor bouchal-a son of ours that's gone to Ballyboulteen to sell some cattle, an' he'll not be worth three hapuns afore he comes back.""

It would be a more pleasing task to follow the gradual rise of this poor family, and their subsequent happy restoration to Tubber Derg. But on that we cannot venture. Wildgoose Lodge is a tale of horror, not the less revolting that it is based in facts. It is not composed in the tender, easy, or humorous vein, in which this writer is generally so successful; and in the melo-dramatic scenes of the chapel, violates everything like probability. We notice the Poor Scholar, one of the longest and best of the stories, merely to introduce the following exquisite exemplification of Paddy's powers of blarneying and doing his betters. The Poor Scholar, far from home and friends, is, by the inhumanity of his pedagogue, turned out of doors, while suffering under typhus fever. He is found in a ditch by a few mowers, who usually made their dining parlour in the same convenient place. Their horror of fever, the dreadful scourge of the country, strong as it is, cannot overcome their compassion. The first impulse was to draw back, when the lad explained the nature of his illness; but then,

“Thundher an' turf, what's to be done?' exclaimed one of them, thrusting his spread fingers into his hair. "Is the poor boy to die widout help among Christyeens like uz?'

"But hasn't he the sickness ?' exclaimed another: an' in that case, Pether, what's to be done?'

"Why, you gommoch, isn't that what I'm wantin' to know? You wor ever an always a dam' ass, Paddy, except before you wor born, an' thin you wor like Major

God is sometimes thus termed in Ireland. By "Man" here is meant person or being. He is also called the "Man above;" although this must be intended for, and often is applied, to Christ only.

M'Curragh, worse nor nothin.' Why the sarra do you be spakin' about the sickness, the Lord protect us, whin you know I'm so timersome of it?'

"But considher,' said another, edging off from Jemmy, however, that he's a poor scholar, an' that there's a great blessin' to thim that assists the likes of him.' "Ay is there that, sure enough, Dan; but you see-blur-an-age, what's to be done? He can't die this a-way, wid nobody wid him but himself.""

"Irishmen, however, are not just that description of persons who can pursue their usual avocations, and see a fellow-creature die, without such attentions as they can afford him; not precisely so bad as that, gentle reader! Jemmy had not been two hours on his straw, when a second shed much larger than his own, was raised within a dozen yards of it. In this a fire was lit; a small pot was then procured, milk was sent in, and such other little comforts brought together, as they supposed necessary for the sick boy. Having accomplished these matters, a kind of guard was set to watch and nurse-tend him; a pitchfork was got, on the prongs of which they intended to reach him bread across the ditch; and a long-shafted shovel was borrowed, on which to furnish him drink with safety to themselves. That extinguishable vein of humour, which in Ireland mingles even with death and calamity, was also visible here. The ragged half-starved creatures laughed heartily at the oddity of their own inventions, and enjoyed the ingenuity with which they made shift to meet the exigencies of the occasion, without in the slightest degree having their sympathy and concern for the afflicted youth lessened.

"When their arrangements were completed, one of them (he of the scythe) made a little whey, which, in lieu of spoon, he stirred with the end of his tobacco knife; he then extended it across the ditch upon a shovel, after having put it in a tin porringer.

"Do you want a taste o' whay, avourneen?'

"Oh, I do,' replied Jemmy; give me a drink for God's sake.'

"There it is, a bouchal, on the shovel. Musha if myself rightly knows what side you're lyin' an, or I'd put it as near your lips as I could. Come, man, be stout, don't be cast down at all at all; sure, bud-an'-age, we're shovellin' the whay to you, any how.'

"I have it,' replied the boy- oh, I have it. May God never forget this to you whoever you are.

In this way the working hours are spent, and now comes the cream of the jest

"When the hour of closing the day's labour arrived, Major — came down to inspect the progress which his mowers had made, and the goodness of his crop upon his meadows. No sooner was he perceived at a distance, than the scythes were instantly resumed, and the mowers pursued their employment with an appearance of zeal and honesty that could not be suspected.

"On arriving at the meadows, however, he was evidently startled at the miserable day's work they had performed.

"Why, Connor,' said he, addressing the nurse-tender, how is this? I protest you have not performed half a day's labour! This is miserable and shameful.'

"Bedad, Major, it's thrue for your honour, sure enough. It's a poor day's work, the never a doubt of it. But be all the books that never was opened or shut, busier men nor we wor since mornin' couldn't be had for love or money. You see, Major, these meadows-bad luck to them!-God pardon me for cursin' the harmless crathurs, for sure 'tisn't their fau't. Sir; but you see, Major, I'll insinse you into it. Now look here, your honour. Did you ever see deeper meadow, nor that same, since you war foal-hem-since you war born, your honour? Maybe, your honour Major, 'ud just take the scythe an' sthrive to cut a swaythe ?'

"Nonsense, Connor; don't you know I cannot.'

"Thin, be Gorra, Sir, I wisht you could thry it. I'd kiss the book, we did more labour, an' worked harder this day, nor any day for the last fortnight. If it was light grass, Sir-see here, Major, here's a light bit-now, look at how the scythe runs through it! Thin look at here agin-jist observe this, Major-why murdher alive, don't you see how slow she goes through that where the grass is heavy! Bedad, Major, you'll be made up this sason wid your hay, any how. Divil carry the finer meadow ever I put scythe in nor the same meadow, God bless it!'

"Yes, I see it, Connor. I agree with you as to its goodness. But the reason of that is, Connor, that I always direct my steward myself in laying it down for grass. Yes, you're right, Connor; if the meadow were light, you could certainly mow comparatively a greater space in a day.'

"Be the livin' farmer, God pardon me for swearin', it's a pleasure to have dalins wid a gentleman like you, that knows things as cute as if you war a mower yourself, your honour. Bedad, I'll go bail, Sir, it wouldn't be hard to tache you that same.'

"Why, to tell you the truth, Connor, you have hit me off pretty well. I'm beginning to get a taste for agriculture.'

"But,' said Connor, scratching his head, won't your honour allow us the price of a glass, or a pint o' porther, for our hard day's work. Bad cess to me, Sir, but this meadow, 'ill play the puck wid us afore we get it finished. Atween ourselves, Sir-if it would'nt be takin' freedoms-if you'd look to your own farmin' yourself. The steward, Sir, is a dacent kind of a man, but, sowl, he couldn't hould a candle to your honour in seein' to the best way of doing a thing, Sir. Won't you allow us glasses a-piece, your honour? Faix, we're kilt entirely, so we are." "Here is half-a-crown among you, Connor; but don't get drunk. "Dhrunk! Musha, long may you reign, Sir! Be the scythe in my hand, I'd rather-och, faix you're one o' the ould sort, Sir-the raal Irish gintleman, your honour. An' sure you're name's far an' near for that, any how.'

"Connor's face would have done the heart of Brooke or Cruickshank good, had either of them seen it charged with humour so rich as that which beamed from it, when the Major left them to enjoy their own comments upon what had happened. "Oh, be the livin' farmer,' said Connor, are we alive at all afther doin' the Major! Oh, thin, the curse o' the crows upon you, Major darlin' but you are a Manus! The damn' rip o' the world, that wouldn't give the breath he breathes to the poor for God's sake, an' he'll threwn a man half-a-crown that'll blarney him for farmin', an' him doesn't know the differ atween a Cork red an' a Yallow leg!" "Faith he's the boy that knows how to make a Judy of himself, any way, Pether,' exclaimed another. The devil a hapurth asier nor to give these Quality the bag to hould, so there isn't-an' they think themselves so cute, too!'

666 Augh!' said a third, 'couldn't a man find the soft side o' them, as asy as make out the way to his own nose widout bein' led to it. Devil a sin it is to do them any way. Sure he thinks we wor tooth an' nail at the meadow all day; an' me thought I'd never recover it, to see Pether here--the rise he tuck out of him! Ha, ha, ha-och, och--murdher, oh ?' "Faith,' exclaimed Connor, 'twas good, you see, to help the poor scholar; only for it we could'nt get shkamin' the half crown out of him. I think we ought to give the crathur half of it, an' him so sick-he will be wantin' it worse nor ourelves.'

"Oh, be Gorra, he's fairly entitled to that. I vote him fifteen pince.'

"Surely they exclaimed unanimously—' tundher-an'-turf, wasn't he the manes of gettin' it for us?'

"Jemmy, a bouchal,' said Connor, across the ditch to M'Evoy, are you sleepin'?' "Sleepin'! Oh, no,' replied Jemmy, I'd give the wide world for one wink of asy sleep.'

"Well, aroon, here's fifteen pince for you, that we shkam-will I tell him how we got it?'

"No don't,' replied his neighbours, the boy's given to devotion, an', maybe, might scruple to take it.'

"Here's fifteen pince, avourneen, on the shovel, that were givin' you for God's sake. If you over this, won't you offer up a prayer for us? Won't you, avick ?' "I can never forget your kindness,' replied Jemmy; I will always pray for you, an' may God for ever bless you an' yours.'

"Poor crathur! May the heavens above have posthration on him. Upon my sowl, it's good to have his blessin' an' his prayer. Now don't fret, Jemmy; we're lavin' you wid a lot o' neighbours here. They'll watch you time about, so that whin you want any thing, call, avourneen, an' there'll still be some one here to answer. God bless you, an' restore you, till we come wid the milk we'll stale for you, wid the help o' God. Bad cess to me, but it 'ud be a mortual sin, so it would, to let the poor boy die widout help. For, as the Catechiz says, There is but one Faith, one Church, and one Baptism!' Well, the readin' that's in that Catechiz is mighty improvin', glory be to God!'"

With this nursing, the Poor Scholar recovers; but, in the meanwhile, his nurse-tenders undergo a cross examination, out of which they extri

That is, to get over, to survive.

cate themselves handsomely. Two gentlemen in black are riding past the hospital ditch, who thus interrogate Connor:

"How did you provide him with drink at such a distance from any human habitation?'

"Throth, hard enough we found it, Sir, to do that same; but sure, whether or not my Lord, we couldn't be such nagers as to let him die all out, for wint o' somethin' to moisten his throath wid.'

"I hope,' inquired the other, you had nothing to do in the milk-stealing which has produced such an outcry in this immediate neighbourhood?'

"Milk-stalin'! Oh, bedad, Sir, there never was the likes known afore in the counthry. The Lord forgive them that did it! Be Gorra, Sir, the wickedness o' the people's mighty improvin', if one 'ud take warnin' by it, glory be to God!'

Many of the farmer's cows have been milked at night, Connor,―perfectly drained even my own cows have not escaped; and we who have suffered are certainly determined, if possible, to ascertain those who have committed the theft. I, for my part, have gone even beyond my ability in relieving the wants of the poor, during this period of sickness and famine; I therefore deserved this the less."

"By the powdhers, your honour, if any gintleman desarved to have his cows unmilked, it's yourself. But, as I said this minute, there's no end to the wickedness o' the people, so there's not, although the Catechiz is against them-for, says it, there is but one Faith, one Church, an' one Baptism.' Now, Sir, isn't it quare that people, wid such words in the book afore them, won't be guided by it? I suppose they thought it only a white sin, Sir, to take the milk, the thieves o' the world.'

"Maybe, your honour,' said another, that it was only to keep the life in some poor sick crathur that wanted it more nor you or the farmers, that they did it. There's some o' the same farmers desarve worse, for they're keepin' up the prices o' their male an' praties upon the poor, an' did so all along, that they might make money by our outher distitution.' Does any

"That is no justification for theft,' observed the graver of the two.

one among you suspect those who committed it in this instance? If you do, I command you, as your Bishop, to mention them.'

"How, for instance,' added the other, were you able to supply this sick boy with whey during his illness?'

"Oh thin, gintlemen,' replied Connor, 'bit it's a mighty improvin' thing to see our own Bishop,-God spare his Lordship to us!-an' the Protestant minister o' the parish joinin' together to relieve an' give good advice to the poor! Bedad, it's settin' a fine example, so it is, to the Quality, if they'd take patthern by it.'"

The length of our account of this collection of national tales, manifests the esteem in which we hold their general purpose, and our admiration of the talent and happy humour in which that excellent object is accomplished. In no portraiture of Irish character and manners have we met greater fidelity, or more trustworthy resemblance. Nor is this their highest merit. While laying bare before us the hearts and lives of our fellow-subjects, the writer indirectly, but powerfully, teaches us self-distrust; with indulgence for the errors, and esteem and affection for the many amiable and ill-appreciated qualities of a people more sinned against than sinning. In the beginning of the century it was thought a good stroke of policy for the different countries to exchange their militia. This was to soften national antipathies, remove prejudices, and amalgamate Irish, English, and Scots, into one true brotherhood. Next to this, or it may be before it, is the exchange of truthful fictions, faithfully embodying national character and condition. We have sent the Irish our Scotch novels, and thank them sincerely for their national tales, among which the Traits and Stories, though last, are assuredly not least in our good love.

IT was in the first dumb hour that creeps
From midnight towards the dawn,
When closest o'er the eye that sleeps,

The dream-embroidered veil is drawn ;
I slumbered, with the choral swell
Of distant carols in my ear,
While, pealing slow, the minster-bell
Awoke a new-born year.

And visions seized my winged sense,
Even at the porch of sleep,

Like mighty winds, and bore me thence
Away-away-with breathless sweep!
Earth's voice was lost amidst the whirl
Of stars that gleamed athwart the blue;
And comets, from their trains of pearl,
Shook meteors as we flew.

The spheres were pass'd, and Space grew bare,
Starless, and vague, and pale;—

Dark columns, through the desert air,
Like billows in an Arctic gale,
Wavered, and blent their meeting shade
In circling piles of vaulted gloom,
Girding the dun expanse, and made
A dim, stupendous dome.

Around its sweep, in upward rings,
Each in his place of state,

A sea of shades, like phantom-kings,

In myriads, grey and moveless, sate :Some frowning stern,-with radiance starred

The robes of others gleamed of some

:

The brows were darkened, writhen, or scarred:
Some veil'd, and all were dumb.

Below, in ranges infinite

Unpeopled circles roll'd,

Descending from the dubious light

To depths of nether gloom untold.

High in the midst, sublime, alone,

A broad-winged shadow, hoary-browed,

Looked coldly from his giant throne
Down on the silent crowd.

Anon, with wide wings darkening air,
I saw the phantom rise;

The mute assemblage gathered there
Unclosed their dull, reluctant eyes.
Then, shrilling like a clarion-blast,
Was heard a voice,-" Departed Year,

Come to thy brethren of the Past;
Thy task is done-Appear!"

And from the soundless gloom beneath
Uprose a shrouded form,

Like one whose lips but lately Death

Hath kissed, and still the blood is warm: Before the throne it stayed: "To Time," The ruler spake-" dead Year, declare Thine earthly works of good or crime,Then join the voiceless there!"