In midst of th' house a mighty fire
Of black dry'd earth and swinging blocks
Was made enough to roast an ox,
From whence arose such clouds of smoke
As either you or me would choke.
But Gillo and his train, inured

To smoke, the same with ease endured:
For sitting low on rushes spread,
The smoke still hovered overhead,
And did more good than real harm
Because it kept the long house warm,
And never made their heads to ache;
Therefore no chimney he would make ;
And thus for smoke, although 'twas dear,
He paid four shillings every year."

Whether this merely alludes to the hearth-money, or to a direct penalty on the absence of a chimney, it is hard to say. Such, however, was the house,

and such the host. The entertainment, if rough, was at least abundant. Goat's flesh, foal's flesh, three singed sheep, four swine, beef ad libitum, and smoke-dried veal were the principal

dishes.

"Besides all this, vast bundles came Of sorrel more than I can name, And many a sheaf I hear there was Of shamrock and of water grass, Which there for curious sallads pass." Which, with "islands of curds" afloat in oceans "of hot and sweet cerulean whey, great heaps of three-cornered bannocks, a barrel of beer and good store of aqua vitæ completed the materials of the dinner. Neither napkin nor tablecloth is required where tables

"In his house were none that day Save those (chess boards namely) at which the gamesters play."

But in their stead

"Of rushes there were benches made,
On which the meat was partly laid;
But all the mutton that was singed
Was laid on doors that were unhinged,
So that we all may truly say
Gillo kept open house that day :
The rest were placed in stately sort
On planks which firkins did support."

Dinner being laid, seats have now to be provided:

"As for the guests, when grace was said,
And all in Latin tongue had pray'd,
Some ran to this, some ran to that,
And what they catched they thereon sat.

*

The brisk young sparks, with their kind wenches

Did place themselves on rushy benches:
The rabble and the brawny kerns
Well pleased sat down on heaps of
ferns, &c."

These passages, although evidently dictated by a hostile spirit, and exhibiting perhaps a much ruder picture than the original warranted, are nevertheless valuable as records of something which cannot be very unlike the mode of living of the mere Irish when at their worst. The scene would be sufficiently picturesque on canvass. The feasters in front; in the middle distance the fire; and seen through its hazy light, the cattle in the back-ground, with glimpses of characteristic scenery The pipers and harpers might have through the open door and windows. conspicuous places near the hearth; the founder of the feast himself, with his black beard and fur collar, would appear to advantage rising in the centre would require to take some lessons to propose "the King." The artist from an Irish antiquary, to represent the various sorts of horns and meathers which he would have to show rising simultaneously to ecstatic countenances, as the magical sounds echoed down the apartment. After the King, and the Prince of Wales, the other toasts proposed from the chair, were (we are informed by W. M.) the Duke of Ber. wick, Louis the Fourteenth, and the Pope; after which, the host and hostess being drunk with all the honours, and Gillo being incapable of returning thanks from the desponding state into

which he had fallen on the mention of his exiled monarch,

They strike up all their harps and trumps, To drive away his doleful dumps; And after some music and dancing, fall to blows according to the approved programme of such a composition, and the piece terminates More Thracum.

We have now descended, step by step, with a sinking people, till we have sounded the lowest depth of national abasement. From this point, a more pleasing progress is before us, and we propose to accompany our countrymen in their ascent from that oblivious pool to where they now stand half-way up the steep

Where Fame's bright temple proudly shines afar

to know that other nations have been made the butts of equal obloquy, without impediment to their future reputa. tion, will alleviate the pain that we cannot but feel in contemplating our own past condition, we can gratify that amiable weakness by the example of a neighbouring people, justly famous for all that makes a nation what we most desire to be. The perusal of " A Modern Account of Scotland," written in the year 1670, and printed in the 6th volume of the Harleian Miscellany, p. 135-142, ought to console the sorest. We mean the Scotch no offence; we admire and respect them; but we cannot resist making a few quotations, that sensitive minds among us may not feel companionless in contempt. They used to say that Ireland was so called from being the "land of Ire," and so the sneered at our quarrelsome tempers; author of the account of Scotland, derives the name of that country, with our Keatings and O'Flahertys from Scota, the daughter of Pharaoh, the king of Egypt.

"For," says he, "that the plagues of Egypt were entailed upon them, that of- - (which is a judgment unrepeated) is an ample testimony; these loving animals accompanying them from Egypt, and remaining with them to this daythe plague of boils and blains is hereditary on them-the judgment of hail and snow is naturalized and made free deni

zen there—and the plague of darkness is applicable to their gross and blockish understandings."

He gives them credit for a pure air, but then, says he

If it was not pure and well-refined by its agitation, it would be so infected with the stink of their towns, and the steams of the nasty inhabitants, that it would be pestilential and destructive; indeed, it is too thin for their gross senses, that must be fed with suitable viands; their meat not affecting their distempered palates without having a damnable hogoe; nor music their ears without loud and harsh

discord."

See how open our modes of feeding He thus descants are to ridicule ! on the Scotch tables :

aro

quisite artists, and is dished up in a sea of sweet Scotch butter, and so sent hot up to the table. To put one's head into their kitchen doors is little less than destruction."

As for the people themselves, the men "Are proud, arrogant, vain-glorious boasters; bloody, barbarous, and inhuman butchers. Cozenage and theft are in perfection among them, and they are perfect English-haters."

Their women he reproaches as unchaste. He ridicules their turf cabins, and straw seats; their rude horse furniture, "bridles, saddles, girth, stirrups, and crupper, all wood;” their barbarous music; their bare unfenced commons; their affectation of Latin; and, finally, their puritanical demeanour.

“If you crack a nut, there is a grace for that; drink a dish of coffee, ale, or wine, or what else, he presently furnishes you with a grace for the nonce; so, if. you pair your nails, or any other action of like importance, he can as easily suit you with a prayer as draw on a glove; and the wonder of all this is, that the prayer shall be so admirably framed, that it may indifferently quadrate with any occasion," &c. &c.

The English themselves have not escaped the sneers of their more refined neighbours of the continent, and he who will take the trouble to read the works of Erasmus, if he should still think himself exposed too solitarily to the obloquy of so many scolding authors, will find material for retorting pretty effectually, and perhaps of carrying the war into the very houses and tables of the scorners.

THERE was a time when I would as soon have turned play-actor, or any other out-of-the-way thing, as have myself put into a book; for, it wasn't counted credible in my young days for prudent people-women, above all to be hawked about the world, and their names made common at every market-cross. But times are altered now. Nobody is ashamed of any thing, if they can only tell a story; and I was told, no later nor last Wednesday was eight-days, by one who knows what he says, that the grandest ladies and gentlemen, let alone them of a lower station, will print all about themselves and their friends, without the smallest concealment, and tell plenty, bad and good, as it comes into their heads, just to make divarsion for the world. Now, as to the doings of them above me, I can only give it upon hearsay, but it has come under my own knowledge, how near friends of my own, by the father's side, not counting neighbours neither kith nor kin to me, an't one bit daunted to expose themselves in very tolerable sized books, twice as grand as the primers formerly, and run off their tongues the most unsignified discourse, that one could hear every evening in the winter, from any old woman that called in to take an air of the fire. Some would try and persuade me that they make money by romancing in that way, but I never gave in to it, though I listen to them. I am too old, and made too much of my opportunities to give credit to every foolish story of that sort. Sure, my own sense tells me, if a book costs only a shilling, after it is made up by a printer, how could he ever afford to give the half of the money for nothing but the bare words? Besides, it stands to reason, that the trade, from first to last, has small profits; for I'm sure a poorer set don't walk the road nor ballad-singers; and I leave it to any man to judge, if they give value paper, reading, and all—for the halfpenny they ask. No. It is something besides money that makes all sorts so fond of printing themselves now-a-days. If the truth was known, I believe the spinning and weaving has a hand in it, for that industry is all

gone to nothing. A woman of good substance won't accomplish more nor what would keep one wheel going for the use of the house; and the poorer sort, that, when the world was what it was, made a little penny by their hanks every market-day, may just as well sit with their hands before them; for, after slaving their lives out, they won't be able to earn a pair of shoes in the half year. And now, isn't it quite plain, that when the hands has no loud employment to drown thinking, the thoughts will be flocking in thick, and the tongue will gallop right a-head, without looking before it. Take my word for it, that's the reason why mischief is so common among the poor, these idle times. They have nothing to do but plot, and scheme, and tell lies, and invent vulgar norations.

As for ladies and gentlemen, I don't know what to say in their excuse, seeing they never were given to much labour. One gentlewoman in a hundred never spun a strick of flax, worth the throw of a shuttle; and a gentleman's legs under a loom was a show that older eyes nor mine couldn't remember to hear tell of. The failing of trade, then, won't account for them scandalizing themselves and their forefathers, as I am credibly informed they do. What do you say to the life and adventures of people that nothing could be told of, being made public by their own near friends and blood relations? Wouldn't it surprise. any dasent-reared body to hear that the dead can't be let rest in their graves, without them that comes after them, with friendship on their tongues, ripping up every bad story about them, and darkening their memory while the world lasts ?-giving us to understand how one well-spoken man lived by tricking, and cheating, and joking—a poor story to be the inheritance of his children, if they wanted to make an honest character for themselves ;-how another, with a title before his name, was ungrateful to the mother that bore him, and uncivil to the woman that joined hands with him at the altar, and unnatural to the child that expected to be reared upon his knee; and how another, born grand, that the world might be let to pity, if his memory

a

was spared, was little better nor harum-scarum kind of self-willed poor creature, always getting into mischief, because only he hadn't sense to see the differ, so that the best that could happen to him was to die as soon as he could? All I say after that is, that if any of the neighbours want to shew their good-will to me after I am gone, they will make no freedom with my name, but just let the grass grow over me in peace, and leave the finding out of my sins to the One that can pardon them, and hide them out of sight for

ever.

I often think, though, maybe, I'm wrong, that the reason why the people great and small, follows tattling and backbiting is, that the world has got more sense nor it knows what to do with, and so runs away with itself in that uncommon manner. Why, a child of ten years old has, at this present, more knowledge and understanding nor his grandfather, and won't put up with the treatment that satisfied them in former times. Mannerliness that, no doubt, was a pretty thing in its day, is only taught to dogs and wild beasts that get their bread by dancing. Kitchen maids won't be content without sleeves down to their wrists; footmen call themselves butlers, even with the livery lace round their collars; priests set up for gentlemen in their full shoot of black; grown up girls wear men's trowsers; lumps of boys dress with women's stays; Protestants are cried down, and the other sort complimented. Policemen are ordered to be civil to the outdacious, and laws made to starve any of the ministers that hasn't the luck to be shot. Linen, and silk, and cloth, is made out of cotton; and rale young ladies learn to square their fists, so that they can box like troopers, if ever a fair match comes in their way. But I am forgetting myself, and my own story, that isn't a bit worth hearing or telling, only a gentleman took a fancy to hear me talk of old times, and repeat stories of the doings in his grandfather's house, where I spent many a happy year, while I served them, that it would be hard to find the like in this unfortunate hour of the day. So it's just to oblige him that I make an old fool of myself this way, and he deserves more nor that from me.

I suppose I wasn't passing eighteen when I came to this country. It was an old promise that I was to go home with Miss Fanny, when she took up house-keeping, and, though I won't

I

say I wasn't sorry, and more besides me, for that matter, that she couldn't abide Sir Cadwallader Cruikshank, who had a house you could be lost in, but would join herself with Mr. Hasselton, who was a second son, with no family place, barring the glebe-house of Curraghbeg, yet I never once drew back, nor faulted the match, but went home with her just as cheerful as if I was follying her next sister, Miss Jane, who every body knows married the Earl of Rathmines. My station in the family was head housemaid — often having a girl under me, when they didn't know what to do with a poor orphant but to take her into the house, and try and make a servant of her. might have rose higher, if I had a wish, but I never liked change, or wanted to be called "Miss," like some upsetters that I could name, since pillareens came in fashion, and pockets went out. Besides, I had as much respect paid me as the best of them-always dining in the hall, and my place waiting for me every Sunday on the jaunting car to go to church, only when Lady Řathmines's gentlewoman was there, she and my aunt being a horse-load by themselves. Them Sundays I walked to church, with many other genteel people who were active on their limbs. And, sure enough, too much flesh, though a comely thing, is a great hindrance to the breath. I never coveted it, and was always remarkable for a slim carriage, so that people used to say I took after my aunt in nothing, only her little shoes.

She was the housekeeper; that is, she carried four big bunches of keys always in her pocket, when she didn't forget to leave them in every corner, and gave directions about making broth for the poor. But, to tell no lies, she did little besides; the rale business fell on Mrs. Rook, the lady's maid, who contrived to do all, and leave the credit to my aunt, seeing she liked it. To my mind, neither the master nor the mistress ever expected much from her, or judged her fit to be the head of the family; they only didn't like her to feel dependent, so they gave her a charge without much trouble. Before her misfortunes she was well known to the family, and well thought of, being come of people that were no miscredit to the estate, where they lived longer nor the memory of man could go. Her father left his two daughters, herself and my mother, very good expectations at his death; but, I don't know

how it was, it didn't thrive with them after they got a settlement of their own. My mother, by all accounts, was an asy-going woman, who was content if she had what answered from one day to another, without troubling herself about care-keeping, or laying by; and my father had as genteel a sperrit, so, one way or other, all the substance they died possessed of wouldn't pay a quarter's lodging for the three children they left after them. was a pity that the world went so contrary with them, for they were, one and other, of an ancient family, and spent their substance, as long as it lasted, with great credit.

It

My aunt was better off; she had no child to provide for, and old Archy M'Master, her husband, was a gathering man. He was not her equal by many degrees, for his father was from Scotland, but he gave her the best of good living, and left her a well stocked farm, and hundreds to boot, in bank. All went to the bad with her, in no time after his death. Cattle died; the house couldn't be kep in repair; her boy robbed her, and run off to America; and she lost three half years' rent out of her pocket, the very last gale she went to pay the agent. At last she was destroyed out and out, poor woman! without having a hand in it herself. The farm was thrown up to the landlord, racked and out of heart; but as he got a rise on it from the four and sixpence an acre, that she paid, to the five and twenty shillings that he got for it from the next tenant, he considered her case, and settled fifteen pounds a-year on her for her life. Many women could have lived like a queen on that handsome provision; but she never could make the two ends meet, or any thing near it. One half of the year she would have to stop from church, for want of shoes, and when she compassed them, it is likely she would have to keep the house as long again, with the tattering of her bonnet by the puppy dog. The family, besides providing her with fresh meat nearly every week, often fitted her out from head to foot, bran new from the shop; but there was some witchcraft over her, that wasted, and wore out, and soiled, and lost, and smashed, faster nor they could buy. After a time, they found out that there was no use in trying to make her comfortable, while she lived on her own means; so, before they were married, Mr. Hassleton and Miss

Fanny agreed together to take her home to themselves for the remainder of her life-for though she had little wit for this world, they knew she feared God, and would not tolerate sin in the house, or out of the house, among the servants.

There she lived, like the first gentlewoman in the land, only her money still galloped away, without any body knowing how or where it went. Snuff was the only thing, in the way of provision, that she had to buy, yet, the never a penny could she shew to the fore, and if the mistress and the young ladies, after they were born, hadn't often made her a handsome compliment, Peggy Anderson, the kitchenmaid, could have outdressed her any day.

She never lost the friendship of her benefactors, but none of the family below stairs would have broke their hearts to see her flit any day. I, that was her own sister's daughter, came in for my share of her temper, as well as another, when there was nobody else to fix blame on; and, being young and foolish, I didn't make allowances as I ought, but would sulk, and hold my own, bytimes. Yet, after all, I will say that for myself, that I was as fond of her as any body' could be of an aunt, with her oddities and ways. Once she took a thing in her head the powers of man wouldn't beat it out, and she was seldom at a loss to exercise her fancy. Meeting, as she did, with plenty of roguery, in her life-time, she could hardly be persuaded that truth or honesty was to be found any where, and would suspect her own shadow, if it looked at the key of the store-room. The most responsible couldn't escape her surmises. Even Mrs. Rook and Mr. Machonchy, the butler, not naming the rest, had often a reflection shaken upon them with her head. However, they winked at it, as they knew she couldn't help it, and that the master and mistress never gave heed to nothing that wasn't fair and open.

Being always a well-inclined woman, she laid it down for a rule in her own mind, that she never could do wrong, and she kep up to that; for, if any thing went astray that never was from under her own care, and that nobody else could ever have a hand in, she would put away the blame from herself entirely, and fix it on another, not meaning all the time to tell one word of lie, but only to come to the bottom of it. The way she did, was to sit