Going, as much whiskey was drunk by all as could be paid for or carried, sometimes a little more. "But sure, wasn't it for the last time!" Returning, not a single drop. The steps of all were resolved, and their appearance, without exception, (and I have met thousands on the roads,) displayed the utmost pride and satisfaction; and, though they freely admitted what they had gone through in their last fond embraces of their "darlint dhrop ; " yet, assuming a more than solemn air, they would add, "Wor they ever so hearty, or maybe bhlind dhrunk itsilf, sure the bare sight of his rivirince brought 'em to rason, an' down they wint an ther two knees studdy an' illigant."

Considering, therefore, the fruitful inventions of my dear countrymen, and the number of marvellous tales carried home by these pilgrims, it is easy to imagine with what avidity a narrative of their adventures would be devoured, particularly when once more seated by their cabin fires at night, as "the neighbours, ould an' young, male an' famale, 'ud be comin' in, to hear all the great news, an' take a look at the caard an' medal."

And, as Paddy loves a wonder, and must have a wonder, and cannot live without a wonder,-no wonder that tales sufficiently wonderful should soon be flying about the country, particularly as the supply of the article is invariably equal to the demand, however great: another striking proof of the inexhaustible resources and fertility of Ireland, when aided by the inventive faculties of her sons. In short, even St. Patrick himself seemed to shake upon his pedestal, while, by sheer native talent, Father Mathew was invested with acquirements in fortune-telling, and even necromancy, which he himself is certainly the very last man in the world to acknowledge

or covet.

But how can Father Mathew help himself. Even the village poets caught the inspiration, and celebrated him in endless verses of endless metres, which the ballad-singers were neither slow to profit by or re-echo in nasal harmony.

I have at this moment several of these magnificent effusions, and have been thinking how I could best contrive to give my readers some idea of them. To transcribe them all would be impossible, for they would fill a number of the Miscellany. I will give, however, a few examples.

'By the Lord's command we'll join heart and hand,

Let envy and malice away from us flee;

We'll join holy timp'rance with Father Mathew,

And live in contintmint in ERIN MACHREE!"

Or, what if we should avail ourselves of the good old orthodox (how I love that word!) way, by which in those good old times (flown, alas! for ever,) a capital judgment might be concluded of a house by producing a few bricks taken promiscuously from its walls? I flatter myself this idea is a splendid one; so our readers may now be at ease, and from their own estimate of the value of my collection of temperance ballads (increasing, I am happy to say,) by the following specimens. Here (as one might call it, brick first,) is a piece of the sublime-a sort of poetical earthquake:

"God bless each member that wears a medal

I hope for ther souls' sake they'll not brake trust,

The general day whin St. Michael will sound the trumpet,
The rocks will SMASH, and the earth will BURst.”

The next to be produced is called "THE ROGUISH PUBLICAN.”

"Without a coat he'd make you go,
Without a breechès to put an;

His pint and glass will be your wo
If you don't shun the publican."

Then comes what people of good breeding and delicate feelings would call a wipe at the landlady. (Scene, Limerick.)

"One evening, when passing up the Irish town,
A publican's wife I heard grievin' alone,

In mournful accents crying'оCH HONE!"

I'm pining in anguish this fortnight.

Sure now for whiskey we're getting no call ;
There is no use in housekeeping at all;
For the world is wheeling like a ball!

My husband in fashion could dress like a squire,
With a watch in his fob, and his shins by the fire,
A pipe in his-gob, without pinshon or hire
IS SHUDE MAR A REE, MERU GA GRAUVER!
The time of the election 't was easy for me
To sit to a breakfast, bread, butter, and tea,
To eat a fresh egg with me cup on me knee,
Tinkling about on me saucer," &c.

I would transcribe the whole of this most beautiful ballad were it not so affecting, and rendered more pathetic, too, by its innocent simplicity; for she actually concludes thus,-as the poet avers; who had been evidently listening to her moans-musical and melancholy, no doubt, and tender as those of a dying swan :

"She swore a BIG OATH that she'd rather be dead,
Than eating the 'lumpers,' insted of good bread;
Her stomach is weak, and a pain in her head,-
For hungar is a killing disorder!"

We must next prepare for a burst of the tremendous in a ballad called the "Drunkard's Reformation."

"In hell the devil now does bark

At this holy priest, who dwells in Cork;

He would wound his soul wid his firy fork,
But he cannot hurt our CHAMPIAN!"

Here is another most sublime and ingenious ballad, the descriptions vivid, and sentiments tender,

"FAREWELL TO DRUNKNESS,"

-(reminding one also that it is time to bid farewell to one's extracts.)

"Farewell to my rags! for at one time my coat,
And wastecoat an' brichis no buttons had got;
I drest on a mornin' with needle an' thred,
And cut thim of with a scissors when ready for bed.
Farewell to you, whiskey, i bid you good-b'ye;
I'll continue to temp'rance till the day that i die!"

* Merry and social as a king.

But, no, no! impossible to leave out my charming friend, "PAT SOBER," the pride of the Limerick Press, and the glory of the Penny Temperance Magazine, No. 12. We must have a little bit of him, at least, if we cannot have him "holus bolus" (as they say). He is too choice a fellow to pass by.

"My name is PAT SOBER, a temperate man,
A great toper once, reform'd I am;

For the temperance cause I give in my note
That no ardent spirits should go down my throat.
Now a sweet cup of tea, and a good lunch of toast,
Is far better, I say, than this ugly grim ghost.
He's shockingly ghastly, and ugly to see;

Let's change him, my friends, for a bowl of coffee;
And, if in your stomach he's likely to kick,

Knock him down in the sconce with a quartern brick;
Should be not be kilt-so strong his old pate is,—

Why, hit him again with some pork and pitaties.

They may laugh if they please-OCH A GRA MACHREE STIG—
For we know who has got the fat side of a pig.

Let the drunkard come look at our beef in its teens,

And a nice pig's profile, garnished round with young greens;
Some apple pitaties arranged on a plate;

Two fat little chickens quite cosy and nate;

And at Christmas a goose, or a fat little duck,

While a temperate neighbour walks in for pot-luck.

We make fools of gooseberries, scalded by rule;

He that's scalded with whiskey is a great whiskey fool," &c.

Having been lately on a visit to my worthy and excellent old friend, Mr. Terence Coffy, I was much gratified to find his health greatly improved; for, though he has not become a "teetotaller," yet is he so deeply impressed with the importance of aiding the great change going on, that he has very properly resolved to allow no more whiskey-drinking in his house; and contents himself, like a sensible man as he is, with a few glasses of fine old Madeira; and the change, to say nothing of the selection, being very much in accordance with my own taste, we got on remarkably well together.

We had nearly arranged the entire affairs of the nation; given our hearty approval to the happy marriage of our beloved Queen ; decided that the Emperor of Russia was inclined to be troublesome; Mahomed Ali Pacha plucky and obstinate; Louis Philippe by no means the first man whose chambers did not exactly accommodate him as he wished; rejoiced over penny letters; puzzled ourselves with poor-laws and corporation acts, and nearly fell asleep over the opium question: when, suddenly, those well-remembered strains fell upon my ears, denoting, beyond all doubt, that my friend, Corney O'Hennessy (the glory of pipers) was not far off.

"Thank you, my friend," I said. "Good-b'ye to politics and opium now; for I suspect we have something better in hand."

"Indeed I hope so," replied Mr. Coffy;" and, to confess the truth, this was the signal arranged between myself and Corney. He and three or four more of your old country cronies have been dining in my kitchen, and now I know that everything is in readiness for us. The women have (as they call it) settled the kitchen; the hearth is swept; and we shall find a couple of old easy chairs, one at each side of the fire. We shall have some amusement, I

hope; but I warn you that if, according to your usual propensities, you are looking for stories, that you will be out in your calculation, as these people can talk of nothing now but Father Mathew!" "So much the better," I replied, and away we went.

We had not, in fact, very far to go; but it was worth a longer walk to look at such a kitchen as Mr. Coffy's; so clean, so well-arranged, and so amply garnished with hams, bacon, and bright pewter plates. The old servants, and young ones too, so respectable; the guests looking so happy, and all doting upon the dear old master (cats and dogs included)

Advanced as the afternoon was, we made our entrée to the tune of "Patrick's day in the morning," played in his best style by Corney, all standing to receive us, and then came so many greetings and bows! Ah! how much do those great folks lose who think the humble beneath their notice ! There is after all no difference in the conformation of the human heart; the same affections are common to all; and there often dwells a nobility beneath the frieze which might in vain be sought for under the most costly garments!

Corney was surpassing himself; but fair play is a jewel; he considerately stopped to let others indulge a little kindly display. Such as

"Your honour's kindly welcome."-"Ah, thin, we're glad to see your honor among us.' "Long life to your honor."-"Never seen yer honor look so fresh!" and so on. Greetings and inquiries innumerable. At length, however, preliminaries being adjusted to general satisfaction, and the fire and the easy chairs looking extremely inviting, we took our seats, desiring all the rest to do the

same.

"Well, Corney," I said, "now tell me how you are in earnest, my good fellow. How are the times with you? Mr. Coffy tells me you have been to Cork. I trust you have seen no cause to regret your pilgrimage."

"In troth, no, your honor, I never was better in my life, thank God! an' I would not give up my medal and card at this minute for a hundred pounds! To be sure, yer honor, the new 'thrade' may not be quite so lively to some people; but, what thin? Everything goes an more steady, as one may say. The good bread, an' the warm tay an' coffee, keeps all shnug an' comfortable; an' sure the bellow ses costs nothing now towards what they did, and they bursting under the elbow wid' the shpring of the whiskey!"

This was an exordium,-a preliminary flourish, during which I had been looking round, and was happy to perceive one of the benches had been coaxed a little nearer to the fire, and that it was occupied by five knowing fellows in their way,-Tom Donovan, the ploughman; Billy Hayes, the herdsman; Paddy Kennedy, and James Curtin, and his brother Michael, all neighbours, and teetotallers, my old friend showing a decided partiality to the disciples of Father Mathew, or, as his name is more generally pronounced by these people, MATCHEW. At this period, indeed, we might have been justly called "The Wide-awake Club," as all sat open-mouthed enjoying Corney's preparations to surprise me, who they well knew would not stick at trifles; and truly I began to think some of those collisions were not far distant, which like flint and steel, or the

contents of a more modern match-box, produce a flash of light from rough materials. And so, thought I to myself, this will do! No sooner had Corney O'Halloran ended these remarks than three was a general exclamation in favour of temperance. They were all more comfortable,—nothing could induce them to return to the whiskey, &c.

"Most delightful news, indeed!" I said. Pray, can any of you tell me what has become of that poor unfortunate wretch, Paddy Limekiln ?"

"Yes, indeed, yer honour, I believe I can," said Tom Donovan ; " for I know him very well these ten years, and the devil a bigger ruffian about the counthry, except p'rhaps Paddy the blackguard of Killaloe, an' he wint too, yer honour, but couldn't get through Limerick the first offer, and kem half way back, an' got a few more shillin's from a good gintleman, and then he made his road good to Cork, an' is a dacent boy now; an' before he wint, yer honour knows he'd knock any one down for a glass of whiskey, an' that he would. But by the same token, sure that other fellow's raal name was Paddy Magrath, an' he was called Limekil' always, because he was sleeping about the limekils for warmth, or may be up the enthries, or in the haggards, under ricks and haystacks, but never in a bed,-by rason whin he got a shillin' or two, he dhrank it all out at wanst, an' whin the time of night came an, never had a penny piece for the dhry lodgin'. Well, how in the wide world it was, meself does not know, but all on a suddint he wint aff, an' by one manes or other, an' nobody knows how, but great shtrugglin' it was, I'm sure, he got to Cork, an' tuk the plidge, an' was cured by Father Matchew, an' so towards home agen, quite a different soort of a man entirely. An' on his journey back he fell in wid a lady in a fine jaunting car, who seeing he was tired, an' bate up for the hunger, gave him a shillin' or two out iv' her pocket; an' the lady saw Paddy's medal, and siz she to Paddy, 'When you've thried the timprance a month or two,' siz she, I hope your nose will be more the colour of your medal,' siz she, nor that,' siz she, an' she pointing wid her finger to the comb of a cock on a hape of stones !-an' she laughing when she driv on; for in troth Paddy's nose was red enough. So by an' by Paddy comes to a shebeen house, kep by a jolly young widdy, an' marches into the kitchen wid a God save all here!' an' there stood the lan'lady, wid a cap an' fine ribbons on her, if you plase, an' full of her jokes; an' siz Paddy, siz he, May I thrubble you, ma'am, for a small loaf an' a pwint o' milk?' siz he; an' wid that he lays down a shillin', an' got his change. 'Ah, now, is it milk by itself for such a beautiful shnout as you carry on the middle of your face?' siz she. O then, good luck to you, an' let me put a naggin of the raal ould Dublin into it for the warmth,' siz she; 'for it's beginning to turn blue,' siz she, an' I'll not sharge for it even,' siz she.- No, 'deed, ma'am,' siz Paddy, 'I can't do that same,' siz he; for I've been wid Father Matchew,' siz he, an' be the same token, here's my medal,' siz he; but, as the day is getting cowld, if you 'll give it a little bit of a bile in the skillet there, I'll be for ever obleeg'd to ye, ma'am,' siz he. -'Av coorse, you shall have yer own way, an' welcome, my good man,' siz she; so sit down an' take an air of the fire, an' make yerself comfortable,' siz she. An' so you see, sir, wid that Paddy Limekil' sot himsilf down, an' out wid his short pipe, an'