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NUMBER 1.

SATURDAY, JULY 4, 1840.

VOLUME I.

THE CASTLE OF AUGHNANURE.

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THE CASTLE OF AUGHNANURE,

COUNTY OF GALWAY.

Nor many years since there was an extensive district in the
west of Ireland, which, except to those inhabiting it, was a
sort of terra incognita, or unknown region, to the people of
the British isles. It had no carriage roads, no inns or hotels,
no towns; and the only notion popularly formed of it was
that of an inhospitable desert-the refugium of malefactors
and Irish savages, who set all law at defiance, and into which
it would be an act of madness for any civilized man to ven-
ture. This district was popularly called the Kingdom of
Connemara, a name applied to that great tract extending
from the town of Galway to the Killery harbour, bounded on
the east by the great lakes called Lough Corrib and Lough
Mask, and on the west by the Atlantic Ocean, and comprising
within it the baronies of Moycullen and Ballinahinch, and the
It
half barony of Ross. It is not an unknown region now.
has two prosperous towns and several villages, good roads, and
comfortable hotels. "The Queen's writ will run in it ;" and
the inhabitants are remarkable for their intelligence, quiet-
ness, honesty, hospitality, and many other good qualities; and
in the summer months it is the favourite resort of the artist,
antiquary, geologist, botanist, ornithologist, sportsman-in
short, of pleasure tourists of all descriptions, and from every
quarter of the British empire; for it is a district singularly
rich in its attractions to all those who look for health and
pleasure from a summer's ramble, combined with excitable
occupation. Of its picturesque beauties much has already

been written. They have been sketched by the practised
hand of Inglis, and by the more graphic pencil of Cæsar
Otway; but its history and more important antiquities have
been as yet but little noticed, and, consequently, generally
We propose to our-
passed by without attracting the attention or exciting any
interest in the mind of the traveller.
selves to supply this defect to some extent, and have conse-
quently chosen as the subject of our first illustration the an-
cient castle, of which we have presented our readers with a
view, and which is the most picturesque, and, indeed, important
remain of antiquity within the district which we have described.

Journeying along the great road from Galway to Oughterard,
attention of the traveller will most probably be attracted by a
and at the distance of about two miles from the latter, the
beautiful little river, over which, on a natural bridge of lime-
stone rock, the road passes; and looking to the right, towards
the wide expanse of the waters of Lough Corrib, he will perceive
the grey tower or keep of an extensive castle, once the chief
seat or fortress of the O'Flaherties, the hereditary lords of
West Connaught, or Connemara. This castle is called the
Castle of Aughnanure, or, properly, Achaidh-na-n-Jubhar,
Acha-na-n-ure, or the field of the yews-an appellation de-
rived from the number of ancient trees of that description
This vestige is, however, the most ancient and in-
which grew around it, but of which only a single tree now
survives.
teresting ruin of the locality. Its antiquity must be great in-
deed-more than a thousand years; and, growing as it does
out of a huge ledge of limestone rock, and throwing its wi-
thered and nearly leafless branches in fantastic forms across

the little river which divides it from the castle, the picturesqueness of its situation is such as the painter must look at with feelings of admiration and delight. It has also its historical legend to give it additional interest; and unfortunately this legend, though quite in harmony with the lone and melancholy features of the scene, is but too characteristic of the unhappy social and political state of Ireland at the period to which it relates the most unfortunate period, as it may be emphatically called, of Ireland's history-that of the civil wars in the middle of the seventeenth century. The principle, however, which we propose to ourselves in the conducting of our publication, will not permit us to give this legend a place in its pages; it may be learned on the spot; and we have only alluded to it here, in order to state that it is to the religious veneration kept alive by this tradition that the yew tree of Aughnanure owes its preservation from the fate which has overtaken all its original companions.

The Castle of Aughnanure, though greatly dilapidated by time, and probably still more so by the great hurricane of last year, is still in sufficient preservation to convey to those who may examine its ruins a vivid impression of the domestic habits and peculiar household economy of an old Irish chief of nearly the highest rank. His house, a strong and lofty tower, stands in an ample court-yard, surrounded by outworks perforated with shot-holes, and only accessible through its drawbridge gateway-tower. The river, which conveyed his boats to the adjacent lake, and supplied his table with the luxuries of trout and salmon, washes the rock on which its walls are raised, and forms a little harbour within them. Cellars, bake-houses, and houses for the accommodation of his numerous followers, are also to be seen; and an appendage not usually found in connection with such fortresses also appears, namely, a spacious banqueting-hall for the revels of peaceful times, the ample windows of which exhibit a style of architecture of no small elegance of design and execution.

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We shall probably in some early number of our Journal give a genealogical account of the noble family to whom this castle belonged; but in the mean time it may be satisfactory to the reader to give him an idea of the class of persons by whom the chief was attended, and who occasionally required accommodation in his mansion. They are thus enumerated in an ancient manuscript preserved in the College Library O'Canavan, his physician; Mac Gillegannan, chief of the horse; O'Colgan, his standard-bearer; Mac Kinnon and O'Mulavill, his brehons, or judges; the O'Duvans, his attendants on ordinary visitings; Mac Gille-Kelly, his ollave in genealogy and poetry; Mac Beolain, his keeper of the black bell of St Patrick; O'Donnell, his master of revels; O'Kicherain and O'Conlachtna, the keepers of his bees; O'Murgaile, his chief steward, or collector of his revenues.

The date of the erection of this castle is not exactly known, though it was originally inscribed on a stone over its entrance gateway, which existed in the last century. From the style of its architecture, however, it may be assigned with sufficient certainty to the middle of the sixteenth century, with the exception, perhaps, of the banqueting-hall, which appears to be of a somewhat later age.

While the town of Galway was besieged in 1651 by the parliamentary forces under the command of Sir Charles Coote, the Castle of Aughnanure afforded protection to the Lord Deputy the Marquess of Clanricarde, until the successes of his adversaries forced him and many other nobles to seek safety in the more distant wilds of Connemara. This event is thus stated by the learned Roderick O'Flaherty in 1683:

THE IRISH IN ENGLAND.

NO. I. THE WASHERWOMAN.
BY MRS S. C. HALL.

THE only regular washerwomen extant in England at this
present moment, are natives of the Emerald Isle.
We have I pray you observe the distinction, gentle rea-
der-laundresses in abundance. But washerwomen!—all the
washerwomen are Irish.

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The Irish Washerwoman promises to wash the muslin cur tains as white as a hound's tooth, and as sweet as "new mowr hay;" and she tells the truth. But when she promises to get them up" as clear as a kitten's eyes, she tells a story. In nine cases out of ten, the Irish Washerwoman mars her own admirable washing by a carelessness in the " getting up." She makes her starch in a hurry, though it requires the most patient blending, the most incessant stirring, the most constant boiling, and the cleanest of all skillits; and she will not understand the superiority of powder over stone blue, but snatches the blue-bag (originally compounded from the "heel" or "toe" of a stocking) out of the half-broken teacup, where it lay companioning a lump of yellow soap since last wash-squeezes it into the starch (which, perhaps, she has been heedless enough to stir with a dirty spoon), and then there is no possibility of clear curtains, clear point, clear any thing. Biddy, these curtains were as white as snow before you starched them."

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"Thrue for ye, ma'am dear."
"They are blue now, Biddy."
"Not all out."

"No, Biddy, not all over-only here and there."

"Ah, lave off, ma'am, honey, will ye ?-'tisn't that I mane; but there's a hole worked in the blue-rag, bad luck to it, and more blue nor is wanting gets out; and the weary's in the starch, it got lumpy."

"It could not have got lumpy' if it had been well blended."

"It was blended like butther; but I just left off stirring one minute to look at the soldiers."

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"Ah, Biddy, an English laundress would not run after the soldiers !'

Such an observation is sure to offend Biddy's propriety, and she goes off in a "huff," muttering that if they didn't go "look afther them, they'd skulk afther them; it's the London Blacks does the mischief, and the mistress ought to know that herself. English laundresses indeed! they haven't power in their elbow to wash white."

Biddy says all this, and more, for she is a stickler for the honour of her country, and wonders that I should prefer an thing English to every thing Irish. But the fact remains th

same.

The actual labour necessary at the wash-tub is far better performed by the Irish than the English; but the order, neatness, and exactness required in the getting up," is better accomplished by the English than the Irish. This is perfectly consistent with the national character of both countries.

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Biddy Mahony is without exception the most useful person I know, and she knows it also; and yet it never makes her presuming. It is not only as a washerwoman that her talent shines forth she gets through as much hard work as two women, though, as she says herself, "the mistress always finds fault with her finishing touches." There she stands, a "Anno 1651.-Among the many strange and rare vicis- fine-looking woman still, though not young; her large mouth situdes of our own present age, the Marquis of Clanricarde, ever ready with its smile; her features expressive of shrewd Lord Deputy of Ireland, the Earl of Castlehaven, and Earl good humour; and her keen grey eyes alive and about, not of Clancarty, driven out of the rest of Ireland, were enter-resting for a moment, and withal cunning, if not keen; the tained, as they landed on the west shore of this lake for a borders of her cap are twice as deep as they need be, and night's lodging, under the mean roof of Mortough Boy Bran- flap untidily about her face; she wears a coloured handker hagh, an honest farmer's house, the same year wherein the chief inside a dark blue spotted cotton gown, which wraps most potent monarch of Great Britain, our present sovereign, loosely in front, where it is confined by the string of her bowed his imperial triple crown under the boughs of an oak apron; her hands and wrists have a half-boiled appearance, tree, where his life depended on the shade of the tree leaves." which it is painful to look at—not that she uses as much soda There are several of the official letters of the Marquis pre- as an English laundress, but she does not spare her persona served in his Memoirs, dated from Aughnanure, and written exertions, and rubs most unmercifully. One bitter frosty during the stormy period of which we have made mention. day last winter, I saw Biddy standing near the laundry win dow, stitching away with great industry. "What are you doing, Biddy?" Oh, never heed me ma'am, honey.'

The Castle of Aughnanure has passed from the family to whom it originally belonged; but the representative and the chief of his name, Henry Parker O'Flaherty, Esq. of Lemonfield, a descendant in the female line from the celebrated Grania Waille, still possesses a good estate in its vicinity.

P.

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"Why, Biddy, what a state your left wrist is in!-it is posi tively bleeding; you have rubbed all the skin off." "And

ain't I going to put a skin on it?" she said, smiling through the tears which positive pain had drawn from her eyes, in spite of her efforts to conceal them, and showing me a double piece of wash leather which she was sewing together so as to cover the torn flesh. Now, was not that heroism? But Biddy is a heroine, without knowing it.

And in common with many others of her sex and country, her heroism is of that patient, self-denying character which "passeth show." She is uniformly patient-can bear an extraordinary quantity of abuse and unkindness, and knows quite well that to a certain degree she is in an enemy's country. Half the bad opinion of the "low Irish," as they are often insultingly termed, arises from old national prejudices; the other half is created by themselves, for many of them are provokingly uproarious, and altogether heedless of the manners and opinions of those among whom they live. This is not the case with Biddy; she has a great deal of what we are apt to call "cunning" in the poor, but which we genteelly denominate "tact" in the rich. While you imagine she is only pulling out the strings of her apron, she is all eye, ear, and understanding; she is watchful as a cat; and if she indulges in an aside jest, which sometimes never finds words, on the peculiarities of her employers, there is nothing very atrocious in the fact. Poor Biddy's betters do the same, and term it "badinage." It is not always that we judge the poor and rich by the same law.

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With young servants the Irish Washerwoman is always a favourite: she is cheerful, tosses a cup to read a fortune in perfection, and not unfrequently, I am sorry to say, has half of a dirty torn pack of cards in her pocket for the same purpose. She sings at her work, and through the wreath of curling steam that winds from the upraised skylight of the laundry, comes some old time-honoured melody, that in an instant brings the scenes and sounds of Ireland around us. She will rend our hearts with the "Cruskeen laun," or "Gramachree,,, Garryowen" or St Patrick's Day," with the ready transition of interest and feeling that belongs only to her country.

and then strike into "

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Old English servants regard the Irish Washerwoman with suspicion they think she does too much for the money, that she gives "Missus" a bad habit; and yet they are ready enough to put their own "clothes" into the month's wash, and expect Biddy to "pass them through the tub;" a favour she is too wise to refuse.

Happily for the menage of our English houses, the tempta tion to thievery which must exist where, as in Dublin, servants are allowed what is termed "breakfast money," which means that they are not to eat of their employers' bread, but "find themselves," and which restriction, all who understand human nature know is the greatest possible inducement to picking and stealing; happily, I say, English servants have no temptation to steal the necessaries of life; they are fed and treated as human beings; and consequently there is not a tithe of the extravagance, the waste, the pilfering, which is to be met with in Irish kitchens.

For all this I blame the system rather than the servant; and it is quite odd how Biddy accommodates herself to every modification of system in every house she goes to. The only thing she cannot bear is to hear her country abused; even a jest at its expense will send the blood mounting to her cheek; and some years ago (for Biddy and I are old acquaintances) I used to tease her most unmercifully on that head. There is nothing elevates the Irish peasant so highly in my esteem as his earnest love for his country when absent from it. Your well-bred Irishman, in nine cases out of ten, looks disconcerted when you allude to his country, and with either a brogue or a tone, an oily, easy, musical swing of the voice, which is never lost, begs to inquire "how you knew he was Irish?" and has sometimes the audacity to remark," that people cannot help their misfortunes.'

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But the peasant-born have none of this painful affectation. Hear Biddy when challenged as to her country: the questioner is a lady.

"Thrue for ye, madam, I am Irish, sure, and my people before me, God be praised for it! I'd be long sorry to disgrace my counthry, my lady. Fine men and women stays in it and comes out of it, the more's the pity-that last, I mane; it's well enough for the likes of me to lave it; I could do it no good. But, as to the gentry, the sod keeps them, and sure they might keep on the sod! Ye needn't be afraid of me, my lady; I scorn to disgrace my counthry; I'm not afraid of my

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character, or work—it's all I have to be proud of in the wide world."

How much more respect does this beget in every rightthinking mind, than the mean attempt to conceal a fact of which we all, as well as poor Biddy, have a right to be proud! The greatest hero in the world was unfortunate, but he was not less a hero; the most highly favoured country in the world has been in the same predicament, but it is not less a great country.

Biddy's reply, however, to any one in an inferior grade of society, is very different.

"Is it Irish? to be sure I am. Do ye think I'm going to deny my counthry, God bless it! Throth and it's myself that is, and proud of that same. Irish what else would I be, I wonder?"

Poor Biddy! her life has been one long-drawn scene of incessant, almost heart-rending labour. From the time she was eight years old, she earned her own bread; and any, ignorant of the wild spirit-springing outbursts of glee, that might almost be termed "the Irish epidemic," would wonder how it was that Biddy retained her habitual cheerfulness, to say nothing of the hearty laughter she indulges in of an evening, and the Irish jig she treats the servants to at the kitchen Christmas merry-making.

Last Christmas, indeed, Biddy was not so gay as usual. Our pretty housemaid had for two or three years made it a regular request that Biddy should put her own wedding ring had the luck to find it in her division. But so it was. in the kitchen pudding-I do not know why, for Jessie never A The cook puffed out with additional importance, weighing her merry night is Christmas eve in our cheerful English homesingredients according to rule, for a one-pound or twonouncing upon the relative merits of the sirloin which is to be pound pudding;" surveying her larded turkey, and profor the kitchen; although she has a great deal to do, like all "roast for the parlour," and "the ribs" that are destined is a great deal to eat ; and she exults over the " English cooks she is in a most sweet temper, because there dozens" of mince pies, the soup, the savoury fish, the huge bundles of celery, and the rotund barrel of oysters, in a manner that must be seen to be understood. The housemaid is eqall y busy in her department. The groom smuggles in the mistletoe, which the old butler slyly suspends from one of the bacon hooks in the ceiling, and then kisses the cook beneath. green-grocer's boy gets well rated for not bringing "red berries on all the holly.' The evening is wound up with potations, "pottle deep," of ale and hot elderberry wine, and a loud cheer echoes through the house when the clock strikes twelve. Poor must the family be, who have not a few pounds of meat, a few loaves of bread, and a few shillings, to distribute amongst some old pensioners on Christmas eve.

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In our small household, Biddy has been a positive necessary for many Christmas days, and as many Christmas eves. she was never told to come-it was an understood thing. Biddy rang the gate bell every twenty-fourth of December, at six o'clock, and even the English cook returned her national salutation of " God save all here," with cordiality.

Jessie, as I have said, is her great ally; I am sure she has found her at least a score of husbands, in the tea cups, in as many months.

The morning of last Christmas eve, however, Biddy came not. Six o'clock, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, and the maids were not up.

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"How did they know the hour?-Biddy never rang." The house was in a state of commotion. The cook declaring, bit by bit, "that she knew how it would hend!-it was halways the way with them Hirish. Oh, dirty, ungrateful!-very pretty! Who was to eat the copper, or boil the am, or see after the sallery, or butter the tins, or old the pudding cloth?"-while Jessie whimpered, or drop the ring in the kitchen pudding!" Instead of the clattering domestic bustle of old Christmas, every one looked sulky, and, as usual when a household is not astir in the early morning, every thing went wrong. I got out of temper myself, and, resolved if possible never to speak to a servant when angry, I put on my furs, and set forth to see what had become of my poor industrious country

woman.

She lived at the corner of Gore Lane!-the St Giles's of our

respectable parish of Kensington; and when I entered her little room which, by the way, though never orderly, was always clean-Biddy, who had been sitting over the embers

of the fire, instead of sending the beams of her countenance to greet me, turned away, and burst into tears.

This was unexpected, and the ire which had in some degree arisen at the disappointment that had disturbed the house, vanished altogether. I forgot to say that Biddy had been happily relieved from the blight of a drunken husband about six years ago, and laboured to support three little children without ever having entertained the remotest idea of sending them to the parish.

She had "her families," for whom she washed at their own houses, and at over hours "took in" work at her small cottage.

To assist in this, and also from motives of charity, she employed a young girl distinguished by the name of Louisa, whom she preserved from worse than death. This creature she found starving; and although she brought fever amongst her children, and her preserver lost much employment in consequence, Biddy "saw her through the sickness, and, by the goodness of Almighty God, would be nothing the worse or the poorer for having befriended a motherless child."

Those who bestow from the treasures of their abundance, deserve praise; but those who, like the poor Irish Washerwoman, bestow half of their daily bread, and suffer the needy to shelter beneath their roof, deserve blessings.

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The cause of Biddy's absence, and the cause of Biddy's tears, I will endeavour to repeat in her own words :

"I come home last night, as usual, more dead than alive, until I got sitting down with the childre; for, having put two or three potatoes, as usual, my lady, to heat, just on the bar, I thought, tired as I was, I'd iron out the few small things Loo' had put in blue, particularly a clane cap and handkercher, and the aprons for to-day, as yer honor likes to see me nice; and the boy got a prize at school; for, let me do as I would, I took care they should have the edication that makes the poor rich. Well, I noticed that Loo's hair was hanging in ringlets down her face, and I says to her, My honey,' says, 'if Annie was you, and she's my own, I'd make her put up her hair plain; the way her Majesty wears it is good enough, I should think, for such as you, Louisa;' and with that she says, 'It might do for Annie; but for her part, her mother was a tradeswoman.' Well, I bit my tongue to hinder myself from hurting her feelings by telling her what her mother was, for the blush of shame is the only one that misbecomes a woman's cheek.

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But I waited till our work was over, and, picking her out the two mealy potatoes, and sharing, as I always did, my half pint of beer with her, when I had it, I raisoned with her, as I often did before; and looking to where my three sleeping childre lay, little Jemmy's cheek blooming like a rose, on his prize book, which he took into bed with him, I called God to witness, that though nature, like, would draw my heart more to my own flesh and blood, yet I'd see to her as I would to them.

She made me no answer, but put the potatoes aside, and said, 'Mother, go to bed.'. I let her call me mother,' continued Biddy, 'it's such a sweet sound, and hinders one, when one has it to call, from feeling lonesome in the world; it's the shelter for many a breaking heart, and the home of many a wild one; ould as I am, I miss my mother still! Louisa,' I says, 'I've heard my own childre their prayers-kneel down, a'lanna, there, and get over them."

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My throat's so sore,' she says, 'I can't say 'em out. Don't ye see I could not eat the potatoes?' This was about half past twelve, and I had spoke to the po-lis to give me call at five. But when I woke, the grey of the morning was in the room with me; and knowing where I ought to have been, I hustled on my things, and hearing a po-lis below the window (we know them by the steady tramp they have, as if they'd rather go slow than fast), I says, 'If you plaise, what's the clock, and why didn't you call me?' It's half past seven,' he says; and sure the girl, when she went out at half past five, said you war up.'

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My God!-what girl?' I says, turning all over like a corpse; and then I missed my bonnet and shawl, and saw my box empty; she had even taken the book from under the child's cheek. But that wasn't all. I'd have forgiven her for the loss of the clothes, and the tears she forced from the eyes of my innocent child; I'd forgive her for making my heart grow oulder in half an hour, than it had grown in its whole life before; but my wedding ring, ma'am her head had often this shoulder for its pillow, and I'd throw this arm over her, so. Oh, ma'am darlint, could you believe it ?—she stole my

wedding ring aff my hand-the hand that had saved and slaved for her! The ring! oh, many's the tear I've shed on it; and many a time, when I've been next to starving, and it has glittered in my eyes, I've been tempted to part with it, but I couldn't. It had grown thin, like myself, with the hardship of the world; and yet when I'd look at it twisting on my poor wrinkled finger, I'd think of the times gone by, of him who had put it on, and would have kept his promise but for the temptation of drink, and what it lades to; and those times, when throuble would be crushing me into the earth, I'd think of what I heard onct-that a ring was a thing like etarnity, having no beginning nor end; and I'd turn it, and turn it, and turn it! and find comfort in believing that the little penance here was nothing in comparison to that without a beginning or an end that we war to go to hereafter-it might be in heaven, or it might (God save us !) be in the other place; and," said poor Biddy, "I drew a dale of consolation from that, and she knew it she, the sarpint, that I shared my children's food with-she knew it, and, while I slept the heavy sleep of hard labour, she had the heart to rob me !-to rob me of the only treasure (barring the childre) I had in the world! I'm a great sinner; I can't say, God forgive her; nor I can't work; and it's put me apast doing my duty; and Jessie, the craythur, laid ever so much store by it, on account of the little innocent charrums; and, altogether, it's the sorest Christmas day that ever came to me. Oh, sure, I wouldn't have that girl's heart in my breast for a goolden crown--the ingratitude of her bates the world!" It really was a case of the most hardened ingratitude I had ever known-the little wretch! to rob the only friend she ever had, while sleeping in the very bed where she had been tended, and tendered, and cared for, so unceasingly. "She might take all I had in the world, if she had only left me that," she repeated continually, while rocking herself backwards and forwards over the fire, after the fashion of her country; the thrifle of money, the rags, and the child's book-all-and I'd have had a clane breast. I could forgive her from my heart, but I can't forgive her for taking my ring-for taking my wedding ring"

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This was not all. The girl was traced and captured; and the same day Biddy was told she must go to Queen-square to identify the prisoner.

"Me," she exclaimed, "who never was in the place of the law before, what can I say but that she tuck it?"

An Irish cause always creates a sensation in a police-office. The magistrates smile at each other, the reporter cuts his pencil and arranges his note-book, and the clerk covers the lower part of his face with his hand, to conceal the expression that plays around his mouth.

Biddy's curtsey-a genuine Irish dip and her opening speech, which she commenced by wishing their honours a merry Christmas and plenty of them, and that they might have the power of doing good to the end of their days, and never meet with ingratitude for that same," was the only absurdity connected with her deposition.

When she saw the creature with whom her heart had dwelt so long, in the custody of the police, she was completely overcome, and intermingled her evidence with so many entreaties that mercy should be shown the hardened delinquent, that the magistrate was sensibly affected. Short as was the time that had elapsed between Louisa's elopement and discovery, she had spent the money and pawned the ring: and twenty hands at least were extended to the Irish Washerwoman with money to redeem the pledge.

Poor Biddy had never been so rich before in all her life; but that did not console her for the sentence passed upon her protegé, and it was a long time before she was restored to her usual spirits. She flagged and pined; and when the spring began to advance a little, and the sun to shine, her misery became quite troublesome, her continual wail being "for the poor sinful craythur who was shut up among stone walls, and would be sure to come out worse than she went in !”

The old cook lived to grow thoroughly ashamed of the reproaches she cast on Biddy, and Jessie shows her off on all occasions as a specimen of an Irish Washerwoman.

QUICK SENSES OF THE ARAB. Their eyesight is peculiarly sharp and keen. Almost before I could on the horizon discern more than a moving speck, my guides would detect a stranger, and distinguish upon a little nearer approach, by his garb and appearance, the tribe to which he belonged. Wellsted's City of the Caliphs.

ner.

THE IRISH IN 1644:

AS DESCRIBED BY A FRENCHMAN OF THAT PERIOD.

WE are indebted to our talented countryman, Crofton Croker, for the translation of the tour of a French traveller, M. de la Boullaye Le Gouz, in Ireland in 1644. Its author journeyed from Dublin to the principal cities and towns in Ireland, and sketches what he saw in a very amusing manThe value of the publication, however, is greatly enhanced by the interesting notes appended to it by Mr Croker and some of his friends; and as the work is less known in Ireland than it should be, we extract from it the Frenchman's sketch of the habits and customs of the Irish people as they prevailed two centuries back, in the belief that they will be acceptable to our readers.

"Ireland, or Hibernia, has always been called the Island of Saints, owing to the number of great men who have been born there. The natives are known to the English under the name of Iriche, to the French under that of Hibernois, which they take from the Latin, or of Irois, from the English, or Irlandois from the name of the island, because land signifies ground. They call themselves Ayrenake, in their own language, a tongue which you must learn by practice, because they do not write it; they learn Latin in English characters, with which characters they also write their own language; and so I have seen a monk write, but in such a way as no one but himself could read it.

Saint Patrick was the apostle of this island, who according to the natives blessed the land, and gave his malediction to all venomous things; and it cannot be denied that the earth and the timber of Ireland, being transported, will contain neither serpents, worms, spiders, nor rats, as one sees in the west of England and in Scotland, where all particular persons have their trunks and the boards of their floors of Irish

wood; and in all Ireland there is not to be found a serpent

or toad.

The Irish of the southern and eastern coasts follow the

customs of the English; those of the north, the Scotch. The others are not very polished, and are called by the English savages. The English colonists were of the English church, and the Scotch were Calvinists, but at present they are all Puritans. The native Irish are very good Catholics, though knowing little of their religion; those of the Hebrides and of the North acknowledge only Jesus and St Colombe [ Columkill], but their faith is great in the church of Rome. Before the English revolution, when an Irish gentleman died, his Britannic majesty became seised of the property and tutellage of the children of the deceased, whom they usually brought up in the English Protestant religion. Lord Insequin [Inchiquin] was educated in this manner, to whom the Irish have given the name of plague or pest of his country.

The Irish gentlemen eat a great deal of meat and butter, and but little bread. They drink milk, and beer, into which they put laurel leaves, and eat bread baked in the English manner. The poor grind barley and peas between two stones, and make it into bread, which they cook upon a small iron table heated on a tripod; they put into it some oats, and this bread, which in the form of cakes they call haraan, they eat with great draughts of buttermilk. Their beer is very good, and the eau de vie, which they call brandovin [brandy] The butter, the beef, and the mutton, are better than in England.

excellent.

The towns are built in the English fashion, but the houses in the country are in this manner :-Two stakes are fixed in the ground, across which is a transverse pole to support two rows of rafters on the two sides, which are covered with leaves and straw. The cabins are of another fashion. There are four walls the height of a man, supporting rafters over which they thatch with straw and leaves. They are without chimneys, and make the fire in the middle of the hut, which greatly incommodes those who are not fond of smoke. The castles or houses of the nobility consist of four walls extremely high, thatched with straw; but, to tell the truth, they are nothing but square towers without windows, or at least having such small apertures as to give no more light than there is in a prison. They have little furniture, and cover their rooms with rushes, of which they make their beds in summer, and of straw in winter. They put the rushes a foot

deep on their floors, and on their windows, and many of them ornament the ceilings with branches.

They are fond of the harp, on which nearly all play, as the English do on the fiddle, the French on the lute, the Italians on the guitar, the Spaniards on the castanets, the Scotch on the bagpipe, the Swiss on the fife, the Germans on the trumpet, the Dutch on the tambourine, and the Turks on the flageolet.

The Irish carry a sequine [skein] or Turkish dagger, which they dart very adroitly at fifteen paces distance; and have this advantage, that if they remain masters of the field of battle, there remains no enemy; and if they are routed, they fly in such a manner that it is impossible to catch them. I have seen an Irishman with ease accomplish twenty-five leagues a day. They march to battle with the bagpipes instead of fifes; but they have few drums, and they use the musket and cannon as we do. They are better soldiers abroad than at home.

The red-haired are considered the most handsome in Ire

land. The women have hanging breasts; and those who are freckled, like a trout, are esteemed the most beautiful. The trade of Ireland consists in salmon and herrings, which they take in great numbers. You have one hundred and twenty herrings for an English penny, equal to a carolus of France, in the fishing time. They import wine and salt from France, and sell there strong frize cloths at good prices. The Irish are fond of strangers, and it costs little to travel amongst them. When a traveller of good address enters their houses with assurance, he has but to draw a box of sinisine, or snuff, and offer it to them; then these people receive him with admiration, and give him the best they have to eat. They love the Spaniards as their brothers, the French as their friends, the Italians as their allies, the Germans as their relatives, the English and Scotch as their irreconcileable I was surrounded on my journey from Kilkinik Kilkenny] to Cachel [Cashel] by a detachment of twenty Irish soldiers; and when they learned I was a Frankard (it is thus they call us), they did not molest me in the least, but made me offers of service, seeing that I was neither Sazanach [Saxon] nor English.

enemies.

Their

The Irish, whom the English call savages, have for their head-dress a little blue bonnet, raised two fingers-breadth in doublet has a long body and four skirts; and their breeches front, and behind covering their head and ears. are a pantaloon of white frize, which they call trousers. Their shoes, which are pointed, they call brogues, with a single sole. They often told me of a proverb in English, Airische brogues for Englich dogues' [Irish brogues for English dogs] the shoes of Ireland for the dogs of England,' meaning that their shoes are worth more than the English.

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For cloaks they have five or six yards of frize drawn round this mantle, either in sleeping, working, or eating. The gethe neck, the body, and over the head, and they never quit nerality of them have no shirts, and about as many lice as hairs on their heads, which they kill before each other without any ceremony.

The northern Irish have for their only dress a breeches, and a covering for the back, without bonnets, shoes, or stockings. The women of the north have a double rug, girded round their middle and fastened to the throat. Those bordering on Scotland have not more clothing. The girls of Ireland, even those living in towns, have for their head-dress only a ribbon, and if married, they have a napkin on the head in the manner of the Egyptians. The body of their gowns comes only to their breasts, and when they are engaged in work, they gird their petticoat with their sash about the abdomen. They wear a hat and mantle very large, of a brown colour [couleur minime] of which the cape is of coarse woollen frize, in the fashion of the women of Lower Normandy."

BARBARITY OF THE LAW IN IRELAND A CENTURY AGO.

"LAST week, at the assizes of Kilkenny, a fellow who was to be tried for robbery, not pleading, a jury was appointed to try whether he was wilfully mute, or by the hands of God; and they giving a verdict that he was wilfully mute, he was condemned to be pressed to death. He accordingly suffered on Wednesday, pursuant to his sentence, which was as follows:-That the criminal shall be confined in some low dark room, where he shall be laid on his back, with no covering except round his loins, and shall have as much weight laid upon him as he can bear, and more; that he shall have no◄

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