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neighbourhood. In his seventeenth year he went to various scenes which passed before him in his native assist a distant relative, a priest, who had opened a district and during his subsequent rambles. In exaclassical school near Glasslough, county of Monaghan, mjping into the causes which have operated in where he remained two years. A pilgrimage to the forming the character of the peasantry, Mr Carleton far-famed Lough-derg, or St Patrick's Purgatory, alludes to the long want of any fixed system of excited his imagination, and the description of that wholesome education. The clergy, until lately, took performance, some years afterwards, not only,' he no interest in the matter, and the instruction of the says, “constituted my debut in literature, but was children (where any instruction was obtained) was also the means of preventing me from being a plea- left altogether to hedge schoolmasters, a class of sant strong-bodied parish priest at this day; indeed men who, with few exceptions, bestowed such an it was the cause of changing the whole destiny of my education upon the people as is sufficient almost, in subsequent life.' About this time chance threw a the absence of all other causes, to account for much copy of Gil Blas in his way, and his love of adven- of the agrarian violence and erroneous principles ture was so stimulated by its perusal, that he left which regulate their movements and feelings on that his native place, and set off on a visit to a Catholic and similar subjects. The lower Irish, too, he justly clergyman in the county of Louth. He stopped remarks, were, until a comparatively recent period, with him a fortnight, and succeeded in procuring a treated with apathy and gross neglect by the only tuition in the house of a farmer near Corcreagh. class to whom they could or ought to look up for This, however, was a tame life and a hard one, and sympathy or protection. Hence those deep-rooted he resolved on precipitating himself on the Irish me prejudices and fearful crimes which stain the history tropolis, with no other guide than a certain strong of a people remarkable for their social and domestic feeling of vague and shapeless ambition. Ile entered virtues. "In domestic life,' says Mr Carletos, there Dublin with only 2s. 9d. in his pocket. From this is no man so exquisitely affectionate and humanised period we suppose we must date the commencement as the Irishman. The national imagination is active, of Mr Carleton's literary career, In 1830'appeared and the national heart warm, and it follows very nahis · Traits and Stories,' two volumes, published in turally that he should be, and is, tender and strong Dublin, but without the author's name. Mr Carleton, in all his domestic relations. Unlike the people of in his preface, assures the public, that what he offers other nations, his grief is loud, but lasting; vehement, is, both in manufacture and material, genuine Irish; but deep; and whilst its shadow has been chequered yes, genuine Irish as to character, drawn by one born by the laughter and mirth of a cheerfal disposition, amidst the scenes he describes--reared as one of the still, in the moments of seclusion, at his bed-side people whose characters and situations he sketches prayer, or over the grave of those he loved, it will ---and who can cut and dress a shillaly as well as put itself forth, after half a life, with a vivid power any man in his majesty's dominions ; ay, and use it of recollection which is sometimes almost beyond too; so let the critics take care of themselves.' | belief.' A people thus cast in extremes—melancholy The critics were unanimous in favour of the Irish and humorous-passionate in affection and in hatred sketcher. His account of the northern Irish-the-cherishing the old language, traditions, and recolUlster creachts—was new to the reading public, and lections of their country—their wild music, poetry, the dark mountains and green vales' of his native and customs--ready either for good or for evil---such Tyrone, of Donegal, and Derry, had been left un- a people certainly affords the novelist abundant matetouched by the previous writers on Ireland. A rials for his fictions. The field is ample, and it has second series of these tales was published by Mr been richly cultivated. Carleton in 1832, and was equally well received. In 1839 he sent forth a powerful Irish story, Furdorougha the Miser, or the Convicts of Lisnamona, in which the
[Picture of an Irish Village and School-house.) passion of avarice is strikingly depicted, without its victim being wholly dead to natural tenderness of a long green hill, the outline of which formed a
The village of Findramore was situated at the foot and affection. Scenes of broad humour and comic low arch, as it rose to the eye against the horizon. extravagance are interspersed throughout the work. This hill was studded with clumps of beeches, and Two years afterwards (1841) appeared The Fawn of sometimes enclosed as a meadow. In the month of Spring Vale, The Clarionet, and other Tales, three July, when the grass on it was long, many an hour volumes. There is more of pathetic composition in have I spent in solitary enjoyment, watching the this collection than in the former; butone genial light- wavy motion produced upon its pliant surface by the hearted humorous story, · The Misfortunes of Barney sunny winds, or the flight of the cloud shadows, like Branagan,' was a prodigious favourite. The collection gigantic phantoms, as they swept rapidly over it, was pronounced by a judicious critic to be calculated whilst the murmur of the rocking trees, and the ‘for those quiet country haunts where the deep and glancing of their bright leaves in the sun, produced a natural pathos of the lives of the poor may be best heartfelt pleasure, the very memory of which rises in read and taken to heart. Hence Mr Carleton ap- my imagination like some fading recollection of a propriately dedicates his pages to Wordsworth. But brighter world. they have the fault common to other modern Irish At the foot of this hill ran a clear deep-banked novels, of an exaggerated display of the darker vicis- river, bounded on one side by a slip of rich level situdes of life: none better than the Rydal philo-meadow, and on the other by a kind of common for sopher could teach the tale-writer that the effect of the village geese, whose white feathers during the mists, and rains, and shadows, is lost without sun
summer season lay scattered over its green surface. breaks to relieve the gloom.' The gfeat merit, how- It was also the play-ground for the boys of the village ever, of Mir Carleton, is the truth of his delineations school; for there ran that part of the river which, and the apparent artlessness of his stories. If he with very correct judgment, the urchins bad selected has not the passionate energy–or, as he himself has as their bathing-place. A little slope or wateringtermed it, the melancholy but indignant reclama- ground in the bank brought them to the edge of the tions' of John Banim, he has not his party prejudices stream, where the bottom fell away into the fearful or bitterness. He seems to have formed a fair and depths of the whirlpool under the hanging oak on just estimate of the character of his countrymen, the other bank. Well do I remember the first time and to have drawn it as it actually appeared to him I ventured to swim across it, and even yet do I see in at home and abroad—in feud and in festival-in the imagination the two bunches of water flagons on
which the inexperienced swimmers trusted themselves footless stockings, or martyeens, to his coat, as a subin the water.
stitute for sleeves. About two hundred yards above this, the borcen* In the gardens, which are usually fringed with which led from the village to the main road crossed nettles, you will see a solitary labourer, working with the river by one of those old narrow bridges whose that carelessness and apathy that characterise an arches rise like round ditches across the road-an Irishman when he labours for himself, leaning upon almost impassable barrier to horse and car. On his spade to look after you, and glad of any excuse to passing the bridge in a northern direction, you found be idle. a range of low thatched houses on each side of the The houses, however, are not all such as I have deroad; and if one o'clock, the hour of dinner, drew scribed— far from it. You see here and there, between near, you might observe columns of blue smoke the more humble cabins, a stout comfortable-looking curling up from a row of chimneys, some made of farm-house with omamental thatching and wellwicker creels plastered over with a rich coat of mud, glazed windows; adjoining to which is a hay-yard some of old narrow bottomless tubs, and others, with with five or six large stacks of corn, well-triinmed and a greater appearance of taste, ornamented with thick roped, and a fine yellow weather-beaten old haycircular ropes of straw sewed together like bees' skeps rick, half-cut-not taking into account twelve or with the peel of a brier; and many having nothing thirteen circular strata of stones that mark out the but the open vent above. But the sinoke by no means foundations on which others had been raised. Neither escaped by its legitimate aperture, for you might is the rich smell of oaten or wheaten bread, which the observe little clouds of it bursting out of the doors good-wife is baking on the griddle, unpleasant to your and windows; the panes of the latter being mostly nostrils; nor would the bubbling of a large pot, in stopped at other times with old hats and rags, were which you might see, should you chance to enter, a now left entirely open for the purpose of giving it a prodigious square of fat, yellow, and almost transparent
bacon tumbling about, to be an unpleasant object ; Before the doors, on right and left, was a series of truly, as it hangg over a large fire, with well-swept dunghills, each with its concomitant sink of green hearthstone, it is in good keeping with the white settle rotten water; and if it happened that a stout-looking and chairs, and the dresser with noggins, wooden woman with watery eyes, and a yellow cap hung trenchers, and pewter dishes, perfectly clean, and as loosely upon her matted locks, came, with a chubby well polished as a French courtier. urchin on one arm and a pot of dirty water in her As you leave the village, you have, to the left, a hand, its unceremonious ejection in the aforesaid sink view of the hill which I have already described, and would be apt to send you up the village with your to the right a level expanse of fertile country, bounded finger and thumb (for what purpose you would your-by a good view of respectable mountains peering deself perfectly understand) closely, but not knowingly, cently into the sky; and in a line that forms an acute applied to your nostrils. But, independently of this, angle from the point of the road where you ride, is a you would be apt to have other reasons for giving delightful valley, in the bottom of which shines a your horse, whose heels are by this time surrounded pretty lake; and a little beyond, on the slope of a by a dozen of barking curs, and the same number of green hill, rises a splendid house, surrounded by a shouting urchins, a pretty sharp touch of the spurs, park well-wooded and stocked with deer. You have as well as for complaining bitterly of the odour of the now topped the little hill above the village, and a atmosphere. It is no landscape without figures ; and straight line of level road, a mile long, goes forward you might notice—if you are, as I suppose you to be, to a country town which lies immediately behind a man of observation-in every sink as you pass along that white church with its spire cutting into the sky a‘slip of a pig' stretched in the middle of the mud, before you. You descend on the other side, and the very beau ideal of luxury, giving occasionally a baving advanced a few perches, look to the left, long luxuriant grunt, highly expressive of his enjoy- where you see a long thatched chapel, only distinment; or perhaps an old farrower, lying in indolent guished from a dwelling-house by its want of chimrepose, with half a dozen young ones jostling each neys, and a small stone cross that stands on the top other for their draught, and punching her belly with of the eastern gable ; behind it is a grave-yard, and their little snouts, reckless of the fumes they are beside it a snug public-house, well white-washed; creating ; whilst the loud crow of the cock, as he con- then, to the right, you observe a door apparently in fidently flaps his wings on his own dunghill, gives the the side of a clay bank, which rises considerably warning note for the hour of dinner.
above the pavement of the road. Wbat! you ask As you advance, you will also perceive several faces yourself, can this be a human habitation? But ere thrust out of the doors, and rather than miss a sight you have time to answer the question, a confused of you, a grotesque visage peeping by a short cut buzz of voices from within reaches your ear, and the through the paneless windows, or a tattered female appearance of a little gorsoon with a red closeflying to snatch up her urchin that has been tumbling cropped head and Milesian face, having in his hand itself heels up in the dust of the road, lest 'the gintle- a short white stick, or the thigh-bone of a horse, man's horse might ride over it;' and if you happen to which you at once recognise as “the pass' of a village look behind, you may observe a shaggy-headed youth school, gives you the full information. He has an in tattered frize, with one hand thrust indolently in ink-horn, covered with leather, dangling at the buttonhis breast, standing at the door in conversation with hole (for he has long since played away the buttons) the inmates, a broad grin of sarcastic ridicule on his of his frize jacket-his mouth is circumscribed with a face, in the act of breaking a joke or two upon your streak of ink-his pen is stuck knowingly behind his self or your horse ; or perhaps your jaw may be saluted ear-his shins are dotted over with fire-blisters, black, with a lump of clay, just hard enough not to fall red, and blue-on each heel a kibe-his leather asunder as it flies, cast by some ragged gornoon from crackers’-vidclicet, breeches-shrunk up upon him, behind a hedge, who squats himself in a ridge of corn and only reaching as far down as the caps of his to avoid detection.
knees. Having spied you, he places his hand over his Seated upon a hob at the door you may observe a brows, to throw back the dazzling light of the sun, toil-worn man without coat or waistcoat, his red and peers at you from under it, till he breaks out muscular sunburnt shoulder peering through the into a laugh, exclaiming, half to himself, half to remnant of a shirt, mending his shoes with a piece of you-twisted flax, called a lingel, or perhaps sewing two •You a gintleman!- no, nor one of your breed * A little road. never was, you procthorin' thief you !'
MISS MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.
You are now immediately opposite the door of the loftier order proceeding from the same pen; that seminary, when half a dozen of those seated next it young writers, English and American, began to notice you.
imitate so artless and charming a manner of narraOh, sir, here's a gintleman on a horse !-masther, tion; and that an obscure Berkshire hamlet, by the sir, here's a gintleman on a horse, wid boots and spurs magic of talent and kindly feeling, was converted on him, that's looking in at us.'
into a place of resort and interest for not a few of ‘Silence !' exclaims the master; back from the the finest spirits of the age.' Extending her obdoor-boys rehearse_every one of you rehearse, I servation from the country village to the marketsay, you Bæntians, till the gintleman goes past !! town, Miss Mitford published another interesting I want to go out, if you plase, sir.'
volume of descriptions, entitled Belford Regis. Slie * No, you don't, Phelim.'
also gleaned from the new world three volumes of I do, indeed, sir.'
Slories of American Life, by American Writers, of "What! is it afther conthradictin' me you'd be? which she remarks— T'he scenes described and the Don't you see the “porter's” out, and you can't go.' personages introduced are as various as the authors,
• Well, 'tis Mat Meehan has it, sir ; and he's out extending in geographical space from Canada to this half-hour, sir; I can't stay in, sir !' “You want to be idling your time looking at the sation, from the wild Indian and the almost equally
Mexico, and including almost every degree of civiligintleman, Phelim.'
wild hunter of the forest and prairies, to the cultiNo, indeed, sir.'
vated inhabitant of the city and plain.' Besides her Phelim, I know you of ould-go to your sate. I tragedies (which are little inferior to those of Miss tell you, Phelim, you were born for the encourage- Baillie as intellectual productions, while one of them, ment of the hemp manufacture, and you'll die pro- Rienzi, has been highly successful on the stage), moting it.' In the meantime the master puts his head out of annuals and magazines, showing that her industry
Miss Mitford has written numerous tales for the the door, his body stooped to a “half-bend'-a phrase, is equal to her talents. It is to her English tales, and the exact curve which it forms, I leave for the however, that she must chiefly trust her fame with present to your own sagacity-and surveys you until you pass. That is an Irish hedge-school, and the posterity; and there is so much unaffected grace, personage who follows you with his eye a hedge that we cannot conceive their ever being considered
tenderness, and beauty in these rural delineations, schoolmaster.
obsolete or uninteresting. In them she has treasured not only the results of long and familiar observation, but the feelings and conceptions of a truly
poetical mind. She is a prose Cowper, without his Miss Mary RUSSELL Mitford, the painter of gloom or bitterness. In 1838 Miss Mitford's name English rural life in its happiest and most genial was added to the pension list—a well-earned tribute | aspects, was born in 1789 at Alresford, in Hamp- to one whose genius has been devoted to the honour
shire. Reminiscences of her early boarding-school and embellishment of her country.
days are scattered through her works, and she 1 appears to have been always an enthusiastic reader. When very young, she published a volume of mis
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. cellaneous poems, and a metrical tale in the style of Scott, entitled Christine, the Maid of the South Seas,
This lady, well known in the world of fashion and founded on the discovery of the mutineers of the literature, is a native of Ireland, daughter of Edward Bounty. In 1823 was produced her effective and Power, Esq., late of Curagheen, county Waterford. striking tragedy of Julian, dedicated to Mr Mac- At the age of fifteen she became the wife of Captain ready the actor, ‘for the zeal with which he be- Farmer of the 47th regiment, after whose death, in friended the production of a stranger, for the judi- 1817, she was united to Charles John Gardiner, cious alterations which he suggested, and for the Earl of Blessington. In 1829 she was again lett a energy, the pathos, and the skill with which he more widow. Lady Blessington now fixed her residence than embodied its principal character.' Next year in London, and, by her rank and personal tastes, Miss Mitford published the first volume of Our Vil succeeded in rendering herself a centre of literary lage, Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery, to which society. Her first publication was a volume of four other volumes were subsequently added, the Travelling Sketches in Belgium, very meagre and illfifth and last in 1832. •Every one,' says a lively written. The next work commanded more attenwriter,* ‘now knows Our Village, and every one tion : it was her Conversations with Lord Byron, whom knows that the nooks and corners, the haunts and she had met daily for some time at Genoa. In 1833 the copses so delightfully described in its pages, will appeared The Repealers, a novel in three volumes, but be found in the immediate neighbourhood of Read- containing scarcely any plot, and few delincations of ing, and more especially around Three-Mile Cross, character, the greater part being filled with dialogues, a cluster of cottages on the Basingstoke road, in one criticism, and reflections. Her ladyship is sometimes of which our authoress has now resided for many sarcastic, sometimes moral, and more frequently peryears. But so little were the peculiar and original sonal. One female sketch, that of Grace Cassidy, excellence of her descriptions understood, in the first a young Irish wife, is the only one of the characters instance, that, after having gone the round of rejec- we can remember, and it shows that her ladyship tion through the more important periodicals, they is most at home among the scenes of her early days. at last saw the light in no worthier publication To The Repealers' succeeded The Two Friends, The than the Lady's Magazine. But the series of rural Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman, The Confessions pictures grew, and the venture of collecting them of an Elderly Lady, Desultory Thoughts, The Belle of into a separate volume was tried. The public began a Season, The Governess, The Idler in Italy (three to relish the style so fresh, yet so finished, to volumes, 1839-40), The Idler in France (two volumes, enjoy the delicate humour and the simple pathos of 1841), The Victims of Society, and Meredith. Her the tales; and the result was, that the popularity recollections of Italy and France are perhaps the of these sketches outgrew that of the works of best of her works, for in these her love of anecdote,
epigram, and sentiment, has full scope, without any * Mr Chorley—The Authors of England. of the impediments raised by a story.
MRS S. C. HALL.
England, and it was some time before she revisited
her native country ; but the scenes which were famiMRS S. C. Hall, authoress of Lights and Shadows liar to her as a child have made such a vivid and of Irish Life, and various other works, is a native of lasting impression on her mind, and all her sketches Wexford, though by her mother's side she is of Swiss evince so much freshness and vigour, that her read
ers might easily imagine she had spent her life among the scenes she describes. To her early absence from her native country is probably to be traced one strong characteristic of all her writings the total absence of party feeling on subjects connected with politics or religion.'* Mrs Hall's first work appeared in 1829, and was entitled Sketches of Irish Character. These bear a closer resemblance to the tales of Miss 'Mitford than to the Irish stories of Banim or Griffin, though the latter may have tended to direct Mrs Hall to the peculiarities of Irish character. They contain some fine rural description, and are animated by a healthy tone of moral feeling and a vein of delicate humour. The coquetry of her Irish girls (very different from that in high life) is admirably depicted. Next year Mrs Hall issued a little volume for children, Chronicles of a SchoolRoom, consisting also of a series of tales, simple, natural, and touching. The home-truths and moral observations conveyed in these narratives reflect great credit on the heart and the judgment of the writer. Indeed good taste and good feeling may be said to preside over all the works of our authoress. In 1831 she issued a second series of 'Sketches of Irish Character, fully equal to the first, and was well received. The Rapparee is an excellent story, and some of the satirical delineations are hit off with great truth and liveliness. In 1832 she ventured on a larger and more difficult work-a historical romance in three volumes, entitled The Buccaneer. The scene of this tale is laid in England at the time of the Protectorate, and Oliver himself is among the
characters. The plot of “The Buccaneer' is well descent. Her maiden name was Fielding, by which, managed, and some of the characters (as that of however, she was unknown in the literary world, as Barbara Iverk, the Puritan) are skilfully delineated; her first work was not published till after her mar- but the work is too feminine, and has too little of riage. She belongs to an old and excellent family energetic passion for the stormy times in which it is in her native county. She first quitted Ireland at cast. In 1834 Mrs Hall published Tales of Woman's the early age of fifteen, to reside with her mother in Trials, short stories of decidedly moral tendency,
Mrs Hall's residence, Brompton. written in the happiest style of the authoress. In larity. The principal tale in the collection, The 1835 appeared Uncle Horace, a novel, and in 1838 Groves of Blarney, was dramatised at one of the "Lights and Shadows of Irish Life,' three volumes. theatres with distinguished success. In 1840 Mrs The latter had been previously published in the New Monthly Magazine, and enjoyed great popu
* Dublin University Magazine for 1840.
Hall issued what has been styled the best of her she would not forget it, becase the boy's her bachelor; novels, Marian ; or a Young Maid's Fortunes, in but out o' sight out o' mind-the nerer a word she which her knowledge of Irish character is aguin dis- tould him about it, and the babby has got it nataral, played. Katey Macane, an Irish cook, who adopts and the woman's in heart trouble (to say nothing o' jarian, a foundling, and watches over her with un- myself); and it the first, and all.' 'I am very sorry, tiring affection, is equal to any of the Irish por. indeed, for you have got a much better wife than most traitures since those of Miss Edgeworth. The next men. That's a true word, my lady, only she's
4 work of our authoress was a series of Stories of the fidgetty like sometimes, and says I don't hit the nail Irish Peasantry, contributed to Chambers's Edin- on the head quick enough; and she takes a dale' burgh Journal, and afterwards published in a col- more trouble than she necu about many a thing.' 'I lected form. In 1840, Mrs Hall aided her husband do not think I ever saw Ellen's wheel without flas in a work chiefly composed by him, and which re- before, Shane?. Bad cess to the wheel !-- I got it flects credit upon his talents and industry, Ireland, this morning about that too. I depinded on John its Scenery, Character, &c. Topographical and sta- Williams to bring the flax from O'Flaharty's this day tistical information is here blended with the poetical week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have and romantic features of the country--the legends brought it myself, and I close to the spot. But where's of the peasantry-scenes and characters of humour the good ? says I ; sure he'll bring it next time.' 'I or pathos--and all that could be gathered in five suppose, Shane, you will soon move into the new cotseparate tours through Ireland, added to early ac- tage at Clurn Hill? I passed it to-day, and it looked quaintance and recollection of the country. The so cheerful; and when you get there you must take work was highly embellished by British artists, and Ellen's advice, and depend solely on yourself.' Och, extended to three large volumes. In tasteful de- ma’am dear, don't mintion it; sure it's that makes scription of natural objects, and pictures of every
me so down in the mouth this very minit. Sure 1 day life, Mrs Hall has few superiors. Her humour in here quite innocent like -“Shane, you're an eye
saw that born blackguard Jack Waddy, and he comes is not so broad or racy as that of Lady Morgan, nor her observation so pointed and select as Miss Edge 1. I am yer man," says he
. “How so?" says 1,
to squire's new lodge,” says he. “Maybe I hare," says worth's: her writings are also unequal, but in gene, Sure Pm as good as married to my lady's maid,” said ral they constitute easy delightful reading, and possess a simple truth and purity of sentiment that “ T'he blessing be about you,” says I, quite grateful
he;" and I'll spake to the squire for you my own seli.” is ultimately more fascinating than the darker and we took a strong cup on the strength of it-and, shades and colourings of imaginative composition.
depinding on him, I thought all safe ; and what d'ye
think, my lady? Why, himself stalks into the place [Depending Upon Others.]
--talked the squire over, to be sure-and withcut so
much as by yer lave, sates himself and his new wife [From ‘Sketches of Irish Character.']
on the laase in the house; and I may go whistle.' . It 'Independence !'-it is the word, of all others, that was a great pity, Shane, that you didn't go yourself Irish--men, women, and children-least understand; to Mr Clurn.' * That's a true word for ye, jua'am and the calmness, or rather indifference, with which dear; but it's hard if a poor man can't have a frind they submit to dependence, bitter and iniserable as it to depind on.' is, must be a source of deep regret to all who love the land,' or who feel anxious to uphold the dignity
SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, of human kind. Let us select a few cases from our Irish village, such as are abundant in every neigh, son of the late General Bulwer of Haydon Hall
SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER is the youngest bourhood. Shane Thurlough, 'as dacent a boy,' and Shane’s wife, as "clane-skinned a girl,' as any in the county of Norfolk. He is said to have written world. There is Shane, an active handsome-looking
verses when only five or six years old, but he has ! fellow, leaning orer the half-door of his cottage, kick- certainly never attained to the higher honours of ing a hole in the wall with his brogue, and picking up At Cambridge, Mr Bulwer (his baronetey was con
the lyre. His poetry is in general stiti' and artificial all the large gravel within his reach to pelt the ducks ferred upon him by the Whig government, whose with-those useful Irish scavengers. Let us speak to him. Good-morrow, Shane ! Och! the bright "policy he supported as member of the House of bames of heaven on ye every day! and kindly wel. Commons) was the successful competitor for the come, my lady; and wont ye step in and rest-it's prize poem, and his first appearance as an author powerful hot, and a beautiful summer, sure--the
was made in 1826, when he published a volume of Lord be praised! • Thank you, Shane.' I thought miscellaneous poenis bearing the juvenile title of you were going to cut the hay-field to-day; if a heavy Weeds and Wild Flowers. In the following year be shower comes, it will be spoiled; it has been fit for issued a poetical tale, O'Neill, or the Rebel, somethe scythe these two days.'• Sure it's all owing to that thing of the style of Byron's Corsair, and echoing thief of the world Tom Parrel, my lady. Didn't be the tone of feeling and sentiment most characteristic ; promise me the loan of his scythe; and, by the same of the noble poet. The following lines will illustrate token, I was to pay him for it; and depinding on that, our remark:I didn't buy one, which I have been threatening to do Eternal air--and thou, my mother earth, for the last two years. But why don't you go to Hallowed by shade and silence--and the birth Carrick and purchase one? To Carrick! Och, 'tis Of the young moon (now watching o'er the sleep a good step to Carrick, and my toes are on the ground of the dim mountains and the dreaming deep); (saving your presence), for I depinded on Tim Jarvis And by you star, heaven's eldest born--whose light to tell Audy Cappler, the brogue-maker, to do my Calls the first smile upon the cheek of Night; shoes; and, bad luck to him, the spalpeen ! he forgot And beams and bodes, like faith beyond the tomb, it.' 'Where's your pretty wife, Shane?' 'She's in Life through the calm, and glory through the gloom; all the wo o' the world, ma'am dear. And she puts My mother earth-and ye her loftier race, the blame of it on me, though I'm not in the faut Midst whom my soul bath held its dwelling-place; this time, anyhow. The child's taken the small-pox, Rivers, and rocks, and valleys, and ye shades, and she depinded on me to tell the doctor to cut it for which sleep at noonday o'er the haunted glades the cow-pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the Made musical by waters and the breeze, limmer, to tell the doctor's own man, and thought | All idly dallying with the glowing trees;