ticular words, or the use of certain idiomatic expressions, and they suppose, that this may be easily marked by the mode of spelling or transforming the English language the Scotch or Welshman is thought to be sufficiently distinguished, the former, if his conversation be embellished with "hout awa mon," "deil tak me," or "dinna fash your thumb ;" and the latter, if he make such a transposition of letters as shall cause his language to appear ridiculous, and enrich his conversation by quotations from his geneological tree, tracing his pedigree through the Ap-Jones or Ap-Shenkins, to some period before the deluge; but such are not adequate marks of the varieties of our countrymen, nor are provincial barbarisms the only modes of designating the differences between one province and another; there are characteristics which are no less marked, and far more conclusive; it is the moulding of the thoughts, the spirit, not the letter of the conversation, which distinguishes districts, and marks the peculiarities of different clans. Yet though this be true, how seldom has it been observed in the attempts to delineate Irish character, in which the difference is more strikingly marked, and the outline more distinctly traced, than in any other race of people. The generality of writers suppose that an Irishman is adequately represented, if he be named Pat, if his conversation be overloaded with those figures of speech commonly called Irish Bulls, and enriched by the Doric embellishments, "arrah my jewel, by my shoul and St. Patrick, or by the holy poker."" Such is the Irishman, as represented by English writers; and we do really aver, that it would be as true to nature, if Paddy was figured with a long tail and pair of wings.

We grant that an Englishman may suppose such to be an Irishman, and we consequently doubt not that Colman's stupid jokes are highly esteemed in England, when he has, gipsey-like, disguised them with a "purpureus pannus," from Paddy's coat of many colours: his Irish bulls are merely the blunders of stupidity, unlike that of the young student who, when asked of his progress, said, "I shall soon be qualified to practice as a physician, for I can already

cure a child;" they contain no point, no humour, and are mere common-place blunders. When he has attempted to be witty, in his Irish characters, without the assistance of English blunders, he has completely failed, and yet his success has not been the less in England; for Englishmen cannot appreciate, in consequence of not understanding, true Irish humour, which depends more on the drollery of a turn in the expression, the readiness of the repartee, or the mistake as much designed as accidental, which constitutes the peculiar excellence of the wit of our countrymen. Yet we forgive him, for if not witty himself, he has been the cause of wit in others, and the parody in the "Rejected Addresses" has almost for this reason made us excuse the dullness of its archetype.* And yet the Irish bull is not a "beast" of peculiarly Irish origin, as Miss Edgeworth has shown in her admirable essay; nor are our countrymen to be distinguished by its exclusive use. John Bull has had himself a numerous progeny, but, like the elder branches of most families, they are pardoned, while their Irish cousins are obliged to be the scape-goats (or rather calves), and bear the sins and consequent flagellation, of their more fortunate relatives. What we have said above of the "Pic Nic Poet" applies equally to all his countrymen, from the causes we have stated, and we do assert, that no English writer has pourtrayed, or can pourtray Irish character; they have tried it frequently, and their repeated failures should have been a sufficient warning to them to abstain from the trial: it is to a fellow countrywoman we owe the first truly Irish sketches-to the pen of Miss Edgeworth may be attributed the first successful pourtraiture of our nation's peculiarities; but it is only its harmless wit or amiable foibles she has attempted to represent; she describes her countrymen as seen only under circumstances calculated to develope the good points in their characters; and though the outlines of the picture are most true to nature, yet by omitting the dark shading, she has left it imperfect, and resigned to others the task of putting in the gloomy back ground, which though sombre in itself, yet serves to throw

out the brighter tints in the picture, and make it more faithful and correct. In the same way the author of Hyacinth O'Gara and Honor Delany, has most correctly represented the manners of our countrymen; the former of these is in its way perfect; without any of the broad and extravagant humour generally considered essential to the perfection of an Irish sketch, he has by delicate strokes of wit, by allusions to particular habits, only to be recognised by one intimate with his private life, succeeded in placing before the mind's eye the humble Irish Cottager telling his simple story, like," Thady in Castle Rackrent out of face," without having recourse to the usual straining at vulgar wit, but with the true inbred humour which so strikingly characterizes the lower orders of Ireland.

The style of each of these writers is altogether different from that of Mr. Lover, to whose sketches we give the greatest praise, as he has succeeded in the more hacknied and consequently the more difficult task of sketching the broad intelligible humour of our country, and succeeded, without having recourse to coarse vulgarity or worn-out provincialisms,which constitute the only title of the generality of Irish sketches -his object has been to draw caricatures, and though in his sketch the features be more prominent, or the outline more strongly marked, yet he has succeeded in preserving enough of the likeness to enable us at once to identify the original.

We must pass over many other successful writers on this subject, and proceed to a consideration of the book which forms the subject of this article, and to the author of which we would wish to introduce our readers, if they have not the pleasure of being previously acquainted with him, through the medium of the first series of Traits and Stories.

Mr. Carleton combines in himself all the requisites for this species of writing, he has lived in the country, the manners of whose people he undertakes to describe, until he has completely identified himself with their feelings and language; a close observer, of keen and discriminating judgment, he has most happily seized on the peculiarities, and given personality to the genius of the people he describes, his stories are intensely Irish, and combine all the exVol. I.

cellencies of the best writers on Irish character-he has not sought to give a general sketch of a whole nation, but has pourtrayed the characters of a particular province. His opportunities have been peculiarly favourable, and afforded him facilities for observing the various features of character in the most truly Irish portion of the country, and he has been successful in representing his fellow-countrymen in all the circumstances best adapted for developing their peculiarities either as the unwary dupes of a powerful superstition, or the thoughtless associates of the midnight lawgiver; in this he has effected what Miss Edgeworth omitted, her object was, without perverting truth, to put forward all the amiable and excellent points in the Irish character, but Mr. Carleton has not only faithfully represented them under the most favourable aspects, but also shewn to us what they have become from oppression, from habits of insubordination, unchecked, if not encouraged, and from their being so often obliged to become the submissive engines of deep-laid conspiracy. In representing them under the last of these characters, he has been most successful, he seems to have felt with them, and for them; and to have entered as fully into their feelings, as it was possible a mere spectator could do. Yet in this portion of his task he has still shewn himself zealous for his country's honor, and without compromising truth, extenuated their crimes, by shewing that they are the results of feelings wrought to the perpetration of crime by the priest or demagogue, or of ignorance worked on by the undue influence of both, to seek for vengeance on those whom they suppose to be their enemies, or the opponents of their own legislation. In fact, no one can read his books without being satisfied that the great want in Ireland is education, and so much proselytism as will render its people more independent of superstition and political prejudice, to which all their errors may ultimately be traced.

The first story in this series may seem partly to contradict what is here laid down, respecting the primary causes of the misdemeanors of the misguided peasantry, but it must be recollected that of the two principal actors, although they are not both under similar influence, yet the one is the passive instrument of his religious ad

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visers, and the other has been in the first instance the dupe of a whiteboy party, of whose proceedings the priest is cognizant. We would gladly give an analysis of this story, but we prefer referring our readers to the book itself, rather than mar their pleasure by an unsatisfactory abstract. We will, however, make one quotation, from the similarity between it and the scene in the "Fair Maid of Perth," where a supposed murderer is obliged to undergo the ordeal of touching the body of his suspected victim; and we do this, not for the purpose of invidious comparison, but to shew the power of our author, even when matched against the Coryphæus of romantic fiction; no accusation of plagiarism can be brought against Mr. Carleton, as we know of cases in Ireland, where an appeal to this ordeal has been had recourse to. We will preface our quotation by merely observing that Frank M'Kenna is the individual suspected of having murdered Reillaghan.

"Now, neighbours," said Darby, "hould your tongues, 'till I ask Frank M'Kenna a question or two. Frank McKenna, as you hope to meet God at judgment, did you take his life that's lying a corpse before us ?”

'I

"I did not," replied M'Kenna; could clear myself on all the books in Europe, that he met his death as I tould yees; an' more than that," he added, dropping upon his knees, and uncovering his head, "may I die widout priest or prayer-widout help, hope, or happi

ness, UPON THE SPOT WHERE HE'S NOW STRETCHED, if I murdered or shot him."

"I say amin to that," replied Darby, "oris doxis glorioxis!-so far that's right, if the blood of him's not on you. But there's one thing more to be done will you walk over undher the eye of God, AN' TOUCH THE CORPse. Hould back neighbours, and let him come over

:

alone I an' Owen Reillaghan will stand here wid the lights to see if the corpse bleeds."

"Give me a light," said M'Kenna's father, "my son must get fair play, any way I must be a witness myself to it, an' will too."

"It's but rasonable," said Owen Reillaghan; "come over beside Darby and myself: I'm willin' that your son should stand or fall by what will happen.”

Frank's father, with a taper in his hand, immediately went, with a pale face and trembling steps, to the place appointed for him beside the corpse, where he took his stand.

When young M'Kenna heard Darby's last question, he seemed as if seized by an inward spasm: the start which he gave, and his gaspings for breath were visible to all present. Had he seen the spirit of the murdered man before him, his horror could not have been greater; for this ceremony had been considered a most decided test in cases of suspicion of murder-an ordeal, indeed, to which few murderers wished to submit themselves. In addition to this we may observe, that Darby's knowledge of the young man's character was correct with all his crimes he was weak-minded and superstitious. He stood silent for some time after the ordeal had been proposed to him; his hair became literally erect with the dread of this formidable scrutiny; his cheeks turned white, and the cold perspiration flowed from him in large drops. All his strength appeared to have departed from him; he stood as if hesitating, and even the energy necessary to stand, seemed to be the result of an effort.

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Remember," said Darby, pulling out the large crucifix which was attached to his beads, "that the eye of God is upon you. If you've committed the murder, thrimble; if not, Frank,

you've little to fear in touching the corpse."

Frank had not yet uttered a word; but leaning on the gun, he looked wildly round him, cast his eyes up to the stormy sky, then turned them with a dead glare upon the cross and the crucifix.

"Do you confess the murdher ?" said Darby.

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Murdher!" rejoined Frank. "No; I confess no murder. You villain, do you want to make me guilty ?—do you want to make me guilty, you deep villain ?"

It seemed as if the current of his thoughts and feelings had taken a new direction, though it is probable that the excitement, which appeared to be rising within him, was only the courage of fear.

"You all wish to find me guilty," he added; "but I'll show yees that I'm not guilty."

He immediately walked towards the corpse, and stooping down, touched the body with one hand, holding the gun in the other. The interest of the moment was intense, and all eyes were strained towards the spot. Behind the corpse, at each shoulder-for the body lay against a small snow-wreath in a recumbent posture-stood the father of the deceased, and the father of the accused, each wound by feelings of a directly opposite character, to a pitch of dreadful excitement. Over them, in his fantastic dress and white beard, stood the tall mendicant, who held up his crucifix to Frank, with an awful menace upon his strongly-marked countenance. At a little distance to the left of the body, stood the other men who were assembled, having their torches held aloft in their hands, and their forms bent towards the corpse, their faces indicating expectation, dread and horror. The female relatives of the deceased stood nearest his remains, their torches extended in the same direction, their visages exhibiting the passions of despair and grief in their wildest characters, but as if arrested by some supernatural object immediately before their eyes, that produced a new and more awful feeling than grief.When the body was touched, Frank stood as if himself bound by a spell to the spot. At length he turned his eyes to the mendicant, who stood silent and motionless, with the crucifix extended

in his hand. "Are you satisfied now ?” said he.

That's wanst," said the pilgrim ; "you're to touch it three times."

Frank hesitated a moment, but immediately stooped again, and touched it twice in succession; but it remained still unchanged as before. His father broke the silence by a fervent ejaculation of thanksgiving to God, for the vindication of his son's character which he had just witnessed.

"Now!" exclaimed M'Kenna, in a loud exulting tone, "you all see that I did not murdher him!"

"YOU DID," said a voice, which was immediately recognized as the voice of the deceased.

We wish we were able to extract the description of a snow-storm in the mountains from this story, which for accuracy of conception and vigor of description is unequalled by any thing we recollect to have read; but we must hasten on, and passing over the "Donagh" and "Pig Driver," proceed to the two concluding sketches in this volume, which are so connected together, that the "Geography of an Irish Oath” may be considered merely as an illustration of the preceding "Essay on Swearing," in which is given a complete expose of the talent of an Irishman for oathtaking especially the department in which he is unrivalled and unapproachable, namely, in swearing an alibi. Our author, in this essay, contrasts the English, Scotch, and Irish systems of swearing, and, of course, establishes a triumphant case for Paddy, proving his superiority in that polite accomplishment; "in fact, he is an improvisatore in oath-taking, with this difference, that his extempore oaths possess all the ease and correctness of labor and design." We regret that our limits prevent our giving the whole of the

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Geography of an Irish Oath," which may be considered as a supplement to the "Essay." We shall lay before the reader that portion which gives the name to the sketch, and an outline of so much as is required to make our extract intelligible.

"Peter Connell first began the world as the keeper of a sheebeen house, about four miles from the town of Ballyporeen; by active exertion he gradually advances in the world, and at last arrives at the dignity of a squireen, at