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the junior and unthinking branches of the family, they would continue absorbed in geological researches, until roused, like the brutes in St. Patrick's time to a "sense of their situation," by finding one, if not two, human beings astride on their backs or the parts adjoining, the appropriate stimulus to motion being supplied at the same instant in the shape of kicks and blows, and "hoc genus omne." Then-shade of Mazeppa! Spirit of John Gilpin thou, that stretched out in agonized flight, didst sweep on the "desartborn" with the fury of the thunderghost, through flood, forest, and field; and thou, the glory to this day of all Cockneydom, that on thy friend Tom Callander's barb "stooping down, for who could sit upright," didst bump, bump away, a thousand bumps to a minute, along paved street and wideopened turnpike; ye, as ye sat, your earthly pilgrimage being past, reposing on the cool, fleecy, and most welcome softness of your clouds, how must your generous hearts have dilated, your sympathising eyes brightened up at that moment, as, bending over the cloudedge, you beheld miles beneath you, the magnificent piece of pigmanship exhibited on such a day on the meetinghouse green of Clonsill! "Make way there-keep clear"-" Robinson don't hit in the eye"-Who's that pulling at the tail?" What a host of emotions? What a combination of variouslytinted feelings? What a congeries of sensations, were the lot of the lucky being who enacted the Automedon of the hour? The physical delight at tending the rapidity of the progression, varying in its direction and character every instant-the proud and heartexpanding thought that you were at that moment furnishing, in your own person, a decided example of animal strength applied to human locomotion, in a manner rarely calculated on before, with the glorious vista to be thereby opened up in the Arts and Sciences gleaming by fits upon you, (pig-back not allowing concatenated processes of reasoning)-the ennobling conviction of well established power, in spite of the noisy remonstrances poured incessantly forth by the subject of its exertion against such a display-this, and far more than this, it was, that concentrated in that exquisite hour, in one individual consciousness, the very quin

tescence of all human existence !"Life," said the great English Lexicographer, as in a light-springed calash he rolled over the shaven surface of Hyde-Park, "life, amid its minor enjoyments, has few equal to this." As contrasted with the sources of pleasure to which I have referred, this dogma may at once be put down to a limited experience, and proverbially a slave to prejudice as he was, I admire his character too sincerely to doubt of his candid retraction of the sentiment, he has left behind him, if it could be ascertained; but Boswell is absolutely silent on the point, whether, up to the latest period of his life, DR. JOHNSON

EVER RODE A PIG.

It is not to be supposed, however, that this triumph was allowed to hold its course without any opposition; on the contrary, the owner of the pig, generally a female, would, on missing the animal from its house, as she stole in a quiet pilgrimage of affection after "her wandering love to bring it back,” meet our procession just as it wheeled round the portals in full swing-the insult thus offered to herself in this abuse of her property, awoke, as was to be expected, all her natural sensibilities, which we may suppose were of full power, as well at the same time as her tongue, which was generally as potent in its kind, as the emotions of her bosom. Ye ill-faured loon-on the puir beast's very back-by my sang, deil hae me if I dinna brain you wi' a stane. Get aff the pig, I say-oh! feth my man, jeest wait till I catch you. Is that a' the use of your schuling to mak you ride, you hellicat ne'er-doweel, on a puir body's bit pig up and down, as if it were for a' the wurl a cadger's powney. But I'll be aff to your maister, my bonny man, and see if he disna lay the tawse het and hard

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that will he." With these words, she would break through the encircling band of matrons of the village, who had collected to "speer about a' this stir and clanjaumfrey;" while the object of her reproaches and threats, as well as of her distressed love, was far away, in full career towards the pigsty. What her success was with Mr. P., who was enjoying an unwonted tranquillity in the school-room, patiently waiting our return, I need not detail, but permit the curtain of history to close over the scene.

I will not have room to refer at present to any more of the incidents which served to diversify, for they could not animate the day; and therefore must defer, until another opportunity, should circumstances permit, a whole, true, and particular account of Nell Maclean's marriage with Billy Jamfray; she being a widow of dashing fifty-six, with a fortune of eight hundred guineas vested in a noggin-such was the village tradition from time immemorial—and which noggin was curiously concealed under one of the bedposts. The groom was a young genius of about twenty, and whose character for temperance among his acquaintances, had a decided reference to the physical impossibility of committing the opposite vice, resembling therein that of the laird of Balmawhapples, who was "unco sober aneuch, always provided you kept brandy frae him, and him frae brandy ;"-and how, when the marriage feast was in celebration, the bridegroom's own hay stack before the door, expressed its share in the general congratulation, by bursting into a blaze of its own accord, as Jamie Muckleworth, who is now in Botany Bay, is ready to assure the sceptical reader, should either his own or his country's convenience bring such in personal contact with this Clonsill hero. On the occasion itself, Jamie, who was found there along with some of his respectable compeers, when the astonished company rushed out, failed not to protest that "he and twa three others were jeest couping owre a sma' dribble o' drink, in Nansie Duffans, when seeing the bleeze, he daundered up ae minute afore Mrs. Jamfrey, (and sweetly at that hour on her young ear fell the sound,) fair fa' her sonsie face, ha ha ha!-had hersel com oot wi' a' her bonny top knots"-and how none enjoyed the bonfire more heartily than the bridegroom himself, undisturbed by any selfish ideas of property, which, to be sure, were rather new to him; and how, in his fits of inspiration-"the madness of the bowl" he used to eject her "oot o' hoose and ha', most unceremoniously, by the shoulders, which was a signal for a holiday to ourselves-although I never could discover how this understanding arose as to the circumstance of Nell Jamfrey being out, as was the phrase, having a connection with our relaxations from study, unless, indeed, it was intended

to improve our rhetoric by studying it at the fountain head of nature; for be it understood that Nell allowed not a secret sorrow to prey upon her cheek, but, on the contrary, poured it forth in one continued volley of reproaches and scoldings, herself pacing backwards and forwards before the house, reserving, however, her most energetic fire until she came opposite the window, wherein her very unconcerned husband was dozing, continually giving, as I observed, a salute as she passed. In all these oscillations she was accompanied to and fro by our whole troop, applauding to the echo every fresh burst of eloquence.

Even supposing that I were not coming to a close, I am not sure that it would be appropriate in a paper devoted to mere literary recollections, should I bring forward on the tapis the character of the greatest among the village great men, of which Clonsill had its full share, who, on being appointed to the office of weigh-masterhe having previously presided over a huxtery-indicated first a sense of his own elevation, by intimating his command and expectation that hi daughters should not drink tea with any of lower grade than the master of the Lancasterian poor-school, and with which he Misses Weighmaster very properly complied. Were I to enter into detail, I would be obliged, as an impartial historian, to recount some rather unpleasant circumstances, the fact being that this becoming attachment to his order on the part of this new public functionary was not at all relished or understood by his former associates. "The bit buddy" (this was an allusion to his height, which was not that of Goliah) "wi' his twa' legs like twa' water stoups turned upside-down," (and which by-the-bye was a satirical illustration of a curious fact in the weighmaster's developement.) Hech, sirs! but we are gran' noo, wi' our bit measures and scales! Gude preserve us! what a lang tail our cat has got!" These and other expressions of a like nature, indicating the existence of very unworthy feeling in my own native Clonsill, will often, I foresee, should I resume the pen, force from me a wish that I too, like the Recording Angel, could drop a tear upon the words, and blot them out for ever! Ever yours, College, 12th Dec. 1832.

L. S.

PERILS OF THE IRISH POOR.

"Here," said my reverend guide, "you have before you a memorial of the calamities which followed in the train of that glorious agitation, to which you hastily attribute good. Strangers to this unhappy land can seldom judge what evil, moral and physical, has been brought amongst us by practices, in which the excitement of the times did not permit even the agents, or the victims, to discern the enormity of the offences in which they were engaged. Here, indeed, the spirit of evil could triumph. Never, in humble life, very rarely in exalted, have I known a group of equal interest or a home of more felicity, than this desolate place and those broken and roofless walls bring to my remembrance. You shall hear their sorrowful story."

We seated ourselves on a rising ground, immediately above what had once been evidently a larger and more commodious dwelling than the farming classes in Ireland usually enjoy, and my friend proceeded. "One might have thought that the widow Cormac and her family were chosen to furnish an example of the felicity which may be enjoyed by the humble, and of the extreme misery to which they may be reduced. Calamity is visited, in some instances, on whole families, under circumstances calculated to excite our especial wonder. Causes seemingly disproportioned to the effects which ensued on them; events which appeared wholly unconnected with each other, follow in rapid succession or occur in casual concert, and all individuals in a family shall become each so occupied by a separate and peculiar sorrow or embarrassment, as to have no power of succouring the beloved friends who are in the same moment smitten down. In ordinary cases, merciful power interferes to arrest the progress of calamity, so as that griefs too numerous do not crush the heart; but, sometimes, in His inscrutable wisdom and benevolence, God dries up and withers all comforts here, and constrains the miserable to feel that they are in a desert and to look upwards for consolation. VOL. I.

It may be also observed, that in many instances, it is upon those whose habits and dispositions are more than commonly amiable, the chastening hand is most heavily laid. The world loves its own, and will not surely molest them, while those who are desirous of something better than the world, are often brought, through tears and painful trials, to a thorough understanding of things not earthly; and to a wisdom from above, pure and peaceful, and which recompenses for all the afflictions through which its precious lessons were communicated.

The Widow Cormac had passed her early years in the patient endurance of much hardship and affliction. Educated in decent, though very frugal habits, and familiar with upright and honorable sentiments, when, in her sixteenth year, she became the wife of a rude and riotous mate, she was ill prepared for the scenes of discomfort and excess which she was condemned to witness, almost daily. The alternations of want in very squalid forms, and riot with its most brutal accompaniments, would in time have brought down her fragile frame to the grave-but, youth is strong, and she had scarcely attained her twentysecond year, when the consequences of his intemperance became visible in her husband's declining health, and after some months of painful and unremitting attention at his sick bed, she was left, with the burden of three infant children, a daughter and two sons, a poor, and it was thought, a helpless widow.

There are powers within us, of which we are never conscious, until some emergency requiring their activity, discovers their presence. So it was in the case of the poor Widow Cormac. While stunned and beaten down by the boisterous and uncongenial temper of her husband, and the distresses to which his misconduct reduced her, she had appeared destitute of spirit and understanding, unable to guide herself aright through any perplexing circumstances, and quite incapable of sustaining the inclemencies to which she might

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now become exposed. But, as she said, in a proverb of less beauty than that spoken by Maria, but not of less propriety or force, "God fits the back to the burden." It was soon seen that in her the proverb was realized. So much activity did she display in reducing to order the very deranged affairs, to the management of which she was called so much wisdom in directing, and promptness in deciding, that the farm, which, it was thought, would have speedily past out of her husband's hands, became profitable in her's. An indulgent landlord was one of the blessings for which she had reason to be grateful, and with his favour and her own care and exertions, she felt prosperity visiting her, and was able to entertain good hopes for her children.

As these objects of her anxiety and tenderness grew up towards maturity, they became conspicuous among their young companions for high and graceful qualities. Denis, the eldest youth, while in field sports and exercises he was without a rival, had never caused his mother a pang by crime or disobedience. Industrious, kind-hearted, and of a high and gentle spirit, he made home cheerful, and, under his careful tillage, the fields returned abundant harvests. His sister Mary, when she had arrived at womanhood, was a pattern of discretion in the admonitions of the old, while the young were all her admirers. The second son, Michael, early appeared to have dedicated himself to the priesthood, and by his retiring habits and grave manners, and his singular beauty, had acquired to himself almost the reverence of a saint. There was something in him, it was said, not like other men. He was as a bright particular star," and the village maidens, while they agreed that "there was not the like of Michael Cormac in the whole country round," felt, although they did not use precisely such expressions, that his beauty was of too high and holy a character to be devoted to any affection, but that to which he had already given himself up. Such was the family of the Widow Cormac, prosperous, and as man would say, adorning prosperity, basking in the love and respect of their acquaintances, and living in the enjoyment of blessings which are, naturally, the most to be coveted, the power of relieving the wants of the distressed,

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and winning the affection of all within their sphere who deserved to be valued. "What wonder is it," she would sometimes say, as with swelling heart and eyes she gazed on her beautiful offspring-" What wonder is it, that they look like the gentle of the land, and that they have the spirit of the gentle. Many a prayer was offered for them when they were young, that they should never do any thing mean or shameful, and they never told me a lie, nor hid any thing from me, since they were able to know right from wrong." And sometimes an old female follower of the family would add, not without some feeling of indignation, "Gentles of the land, indeed! I wonder who has a better right to look gentle and high? I wonder what gentles of the land have such blood in their veins, as your own three children. 'Tis the spirit of princes that ought to be in them, and so it is: God's blessing be about them, and shield them from all harm."

It was a happiness which this poor widow afterwards, when sorrow had come, remembered like a heavenly dream, to see her children collected, when the night closed in, around their cheerful hearth-Denis, questioning all who could answer on the subject of Ireland's ancient glory-Mary, her day's toil over-her household cares dispatched, breaking in with prohibited, but quickly forgiven mirth, on these high topics, and Michael, when he, for a moment, laid aside his book to utter some pious thought, received with the reverence yielded to one who was already disengaged from this world's vanities, and who had the power to diffuse solemnity over even his sister's light-heartedness, and to take from the recollections of Ireland's glory, every thing but the edifying assurance of her ancient religious distinction. But, the remembrance of these dream-like evenings, was too frequently accompanied by a memory which made it painfully oppressive.There came with it the face and form of one, who, she was firmly persuaded, had destroyed all her comfort. Still, tho' she strove to recal happier times,

however distant from the fatal evening, was that upon which the poor woman would fix her thoughts, the measured step in the path which led to her cottage, would still seem to chill her

the solemn, thrice-repeated knock at

the door-the entrance of the austere figure-a maniac in habiliments, and with a look wiser almost than of man -the deep-toned benediction, which was, she thought, toll'd out more as though a death-bell sounded, than as if a human voice had spoken-all this came freshly and fearfully before her, and warned her against soliciting her dreams of happiness to return.

It was a calm night, at the close of Autumn, and all members of the widow Cormac's family were assembled around a blazing fire-the servants and their superiors forming one company, and contributing, according to their place and abilities, to the general entertainment; when the mistress of the house, whose attention was, perhaps, more quickly excited, was alarmed by the sound of approaching footsteps. The disturbances, by which afterwards the country became so afflicted, had not, at this time, convulsed her tranquil neighbourhood, but strangers rarely visited her abode after night had fallen, and she felt some little anxiety as she thought who this new comer could be. Presently, three distinct, slowly-repeated knocks were struck upon the door, and, for a moment, silence and something of alarm seemed to have affected the group within. Denis, however, almost instantly started up, and was proceeding to the door. "Ask who is there, Denis, my dear," said his mother. She had not raised her naturally low voice above the ordinary pitch, but she was heard outside the house.

"A poor pilgrim," was answered, in tones of great depth and solemnity, "begging a meal's meat for God's sake and St. Francis."

A figure entered, not such as was calculated to disappoint the expectations which the voice had excited. It was of a man yet in the vigor of life, although far advanced in middle agehis head and feet bare-a long staff in his hand, and a scanty bundle of straw suspended obliquely at his back. His long thick hair was but slightly grizzled, and a full black beard descended to his breast. Fantastic as the "properties" of his "character" must be confessed to be, they did not counteract the impression which the pilgrim's respect and bearing were calculated to produce. There was in his countenance, no apparent consciousness that

he appeared in strange attire. Had he made his entrance in the least pretending and least extravagant form, he could not have displayed less anxiety about effect, or greater self-possession.

While he partook sparingly of the plentiful repast set before him, the family group, as unwilling to embarrass him by their notice, resumed the conversation which his coming had interrupted. They spoke in whispers, but were not unheard. Mary, with a half sidelong look towards their guest, had, for some time, divided her attention between him and the group of which she was an ornament, when-her interest increasing as she more frequently regarded him-she said, in the most cautious whisper, "The holy man could tell us much. Michael, do speak to him." If Michael had resolved to obey, he was anticipated. I am not holy," said the pilgrim; "many a sorrowful penance have I yet to bear, before suffering has made satisfaction for my sins, but I can tell much to ears that love such stories as I have been hearing."

"Then for the honour of God," cried out the anxious mother, "speak to these young creatures, and tell them that they ought not to be so fond of thinking and discoursing of such things: they don't know the folly of it, nor the consequence." She had, of late, witnessed a fire, in the manner of her elder son, when speaking or hearing of Ireland in the old time, and an excitement on such subjects frequently manifesting itself, which caused her some alarm. "Tell them," continued she, "and what you speak they will respect, and keep your saying-that there is no good now in thinking of the gone times, but that much trouble and sore hearts may come of it."

"I will tell them," said the pilgrim, "to think, when they speak of the ancient glories of their country, that it was when sin came they were quenched, and that they never will give light again, until the land is holy. I will tell them, when they speak of the pride and honour of Ireland in her happy days, that she has now no pride or honour except in her real children, and that, if they be faithful and virtuous, she needs no brighter glory than they can win for her. I will tell them to be wise and wary; but I never will tell a Cormac that the stories of the Island

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