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clique--the herd of pretenders to what they do not feel, and to do what is not natural to them, whether in high or low life. To belong to any class, to move in any rank or sphere of life, is not a very exclusive distinction or test of refinement. Refinement will in all classes be the exception, not the rule ; and the exception may occur in one class as well as another. A king is but a man with a hereditary title. A nobleman is only one of the House of Peers. To be a knight or alderman-above all, to desire being either, is confessedly a vulgar thing. The king made Walter Scott a baronet, but not all the power of the Three Estates could make another “ Author of Waverley.” Princes, heroes, are often commonplace people, and sometimes the reverse ; Hamlet was not a vulgar character, neither was Don Quixote. To be an author, to be a painter, one of the many, is nothing. It is a trick, it is a trade. Nay, to be a member of the Royal Academy, or a Fellow of the Royal Society, is but a vulgar distinction. But to be a Virgil, a Milton, a Raphael, a Claude, is what falls to the lot of humanity but once. I do not think these were valgar people, though, for any thing I know to the contrary, the First Lord of the Bedchamber may be a very vulgar

Such are pretty much my notions with regard to vulgarity.-Hazlitt's Table-Talk.

Rushing through the wooded glen,
Sweeping o'er the frightsome fen.
This is joy to hearts that know
Nothing of the drifting snow,
But beside the glowing hearth
Spend the hours in joy and mirth,
Laughing at the well-told tale,
While without the rising gale
Sweeps in furious mood along,
Heedless of their boisterous song.
Winter comes-and sorrow brings
On his dark foreboding wings,
To the poor lone helpless child
On whom fortune never smiled,
To the wretched cots and cells
Where want's abject sufferer dwells.
Round them he does cast his reins,
O'er them brings his woes and pains.
0! ye lordlings of the earth,
Freed from pinching want by birth,
Let your bosoms heave one sigh
For the poor whose piercing cry
Calls for sympathy from all,
Loud as human woes can call,
Plead with you on every mind
To be moved with mercy kind;
Supplicates for help to save
Suffering cquals from the grave.
Hear, o hear their melting cries
Rising upward to the skies ;
Ilear, and let the good which heaven
Kindly to your hands hath given,
Aid in promptly helping those
Steept in poverty and woes ;
Then when earthly days are fled,
And the joys (now dark and dead)
Cease for ever from your eyes,
May you live beyond the skies ;
May you hear your Saviour say,
Conne, my servants, come away ;
Enter in and seize your crown,
Be partakers of my throne ;
For on earth you loved your lord;
Hearken d to his every word-
Heard his suffering children cry,
Wired the tear-drops from their eye-
Inasmuch as thus your love,
Round their troubled souls did move,
So to me that love was given

Enter in with me to heaven.
Coleraine, December 1840.

S. A.




Winter comes with screech and wail,
Piercing blast and thundering gale ;
Far from frozen climes he brings
Sleet and snow, and blanching things.
He has trod the North Pole round,
Long in icy fetters bound;
Swept by Greenland's frigid shore,
Where the western billows roar-
Roamed o'er Lapland's ice-bound plains,
Where chaotic darkness reigns ;
Rested on that land of woe
Where the Russian captives go;
Land where men of royal race,
Exiled by some tyrant base,
Pined in suffering, died in grief,
No fond hand to bring relief-
No bright eyes to shed one tear
O'er their cold and lonely bier ;
Dying far from wife and child
In Siberia's stormy wild.
Winter comes—his footsteps tread
O'er the ocean's rugged bed ;
As a ruthless conqueror he
Sends his storms from sea to sea;
Pity ne'er bath seized his breast,
Sighs do ne'er disturb his rest-
Shrieks that boom along the wave,
And mark the seaman's wat 'ry grave,
Fail to touch his icy soul,
Fail to stop the billow's roll.
When enthroned as ocean's king,
Spirits of his triumphs sing,
Drinking to his sovereign power
In the fearful midnight hour,
From those remnants of the dead
That round ocean's depths are spread.
Winter comes, with giant stride
O'er the hills and forests wide ;
From his aged brow he sheds
Hoary locks around their heads-
Mantles in his polar garb
Tree and flower and tender herb.
Not a leaf appears to show
Where the summer cowslips grow ;
Not a bud or blossom fair
Scents with sweets the chilly air ;
Not a bluebell decks the heath,
All are hid beneath the wreath
Spread by his unfriendly hand
O'er the dark dismantled land.
Gardens once so bright and gay,
'Neath the summer's solar ray,
Once so rich in lovely gems,
Hanging on their pendent stems,
Seem as some lone desert wild
Where fair beauty never smiled-
Where the light of summer's sun
Never touched or lit upon;
Nature lies all lone and dead,
'Neath old Winter's frosty tread.
Winter comes, and some rejoice,
Glad to hear his sullen voice
Booming o'er the crested waves,
Sounding through old grots and caves-
Sighing 'mid the forest trees,
Not in songs of summer's breeze,
But like mournings for the dead,
That as fairy flowers have Aed ;
Mounting oʻer the mountain's brow,
Where the oak-tree & trembling bough,


“ When ghosts, as cottage maids believe,

Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt, from fire or fen,

Or mine or flood, the walks of men."- COLLINS. ONE evening last winter-a holiday evening too—when the western wind was sweeping on wild pinions from the grey hills of Tipperary, athwart the rich and level plains of the Queen's County, when the blast roared down in the chimney, and the huge rain-drops pattered saucily against the four tiny panes which constituted the little kitchen window, I was sitting in the cottage of a neighbouring peasant, amid a small but happy group of village rustics, and enjoying with them that enlivening mirth and sinless delight which I have never found any where but at the fireside of an Irish peasant. The earthen floor was well scrubbed over ; the "brullaws or furnithure" were arranged with more than usual tidiness, and even the crockery on the well-scoured dresser reflected the ruddy glare of the red fire with redoubled brilliancy, and glittered and glistened as merrily as if they felt conscious of the calm and tranquillity of that happy scene. And happy indeed was that scene, and happy was that time, and happier still the hearts of the laughing rustics by whom I was on that occasion surrounded, and amongst whom I have spent the lightest and happiest hours of my existence.

It was, as I said, a wild night, but even the violence of the weather abroad gave an additional relish to the enjoyments within. The blast whistled fiercely in the bawn and in the haggard, but the huge fire blazed brightly on the hearth-stone. The rain fell in torrents ; but, as one of the company chucklingly remarked, “ the wrong side ov the house was out," and I myself mentally exclaimed with Tam o' Shanter,

“ The storm without may roar and rustle,

We do not mind the storm a whustle." Whilst, to wind up the climax of our happiness, a gossoon

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who had been dispatched for a grey-beard full of“ the native," and scarlet livery, I could enlighten him more on the ancient now returned, and in a few minutes a huge jug of half and history and traditions of our country than all the boddaghs of half smoked on the table, and was circulated around the smil- squireens whom he visited on his tour through the Queen's ing and expectant ring, with an impetus of which the peasantry County.” of Ireland will in a short time, from certain existing causes, These assertions served only to increase the storm of ridihave not even the remotest idea.

cule which was gathering around the old man's head; and to Well! such an evening as we had, I shall never forget; it put a stop to any bad blood which the occasion might call would be vain to attempt a description. Those who have forth, I requested of him to tell us the tradition of “the witnessed similar scenes require none, and to those who have Boccough Ruadh.” not, any attempt at one would be useless. All therefore I

After some wheedling and flattery he complied, and told a shall say, is, that such a scene of fun and frolic and harmless curious story, of which the following is the substance. waggery could not be found any where outside that ring which The river Nore flows through a district of the Queen's encircles the Emerald Isle, and even within that bright zone, County celebrated for fertility and romantic beauty. From its nowhere but in the cabin of an Irish “scullogue.”

source amongst the blue hills of Slievebloom to its termination The songs of our sires, chanted with all that melancholy at New Ross, where its bright ripples commingle with the softness and pathetic sweetness for which the voices of our wild briny billows of the Irish sea, many excellent and even some Irish girls are remarkable, the wild legend recited with that beautiful bridges span its stream. Until the commencement rich brogue and waggish humour peculiar alone to the Irish of the last century, however, except in the vicinity of towns, peasant, and the romantic and absurd fairy tale, told with all there were but few permanent bridges across this river, and the reverential awe and caution which the solemnity of the in the country districts access was gained over it chiefly by subject required, long amused and excited the captivated means of causeways, or, as they are termed," foords,” conauditors ; but at length, more's the pity, the vocalist could structed of stones and huge blocks of timber fixed firmly in sing no more, having " a mighty great could intirely.” The the bed of the river, and extending in irregular succession story-teller was “as dry as a chip wid all he talked,” and from bank to bank. Over this pathway foot passengers even the sides of most of the company .“ war ready to split crossed easily enough, but cattle and wheeled carriages were wid the rale dint of laughin';" whilst, as if to afford us another obliged to struggle through the water as well as they could ; illustration of the truth of the old proverb, "one trouble never but in time of Hoods, and in the winter season when the comes alone,” even the old crone who had astonished us with waters were swollen, all communication was cut off except the richness and extent of her fairy lore, was also knocked up, to pedestrians alone. or rather knocked down, for the quantity of earthly spirits One of those “ foords,” in former times, crossed the Nore she had put in, entirely put out all memory of un-earthly at Shanahoe, a very pretty neighbourhood, about three miles spirits, and sent her disordered fancy, all confused as it was, northwards of the beautiful and rising town of Abbeyleix, in wool-gathering to the classic regions of Their-na-noge.* the Queen's County. The river here winds its course through

Well, what was to be done? It was still young in the night, a silent glen, and now several snug cottages and farm-houses and, better than that, a good "slug" still remained in the arise above its banks at either side. The country in this grey-beard, and as we all had contributed to procure the neighbourhood is remarkably beautiful. Several gentlemen's stock, so all declared that none should depart until the very beats are scattered along the banks of the river in this vicinity, last drop was drained. But how was the interval to be em- all elegant and of modern erection, whilst swelling hills, ployed? The singer was hushed, the story-teller was exhausted, sloping dales, gloomy groves, and ruins of church and tower and vollies of wit and waggery had exploded until every one and “castle groy," ornament and diversify the scene. was tired; yet to remain silent was considered by all as the On a gentle eminence on the eastern bank of the river, highest degree of discomfort. In this dilemma the man of the stood, about a hundred years ago, the cabin of a man named house scratched his pericranium, and, as acting by some sud- Neale O'Shea. At that period there was not another dwellden impulse, started up and handed me an old sooty book, ing within a long distance of the “foord,” and many a time "hoping that I would read a wollume for the edication of the was Neale summoned from his midnight repose to guide the company, until it would be time to retire."

traveller in his passage over the lonely and dangerous river I agreed without hesitation, and on opening the dusty and pathway. smoke-begrimed volume found that it was “ Sir Charles One wild stormy December night, when the huge limestone Coote's Statistical Survey of the Queen's County,” printed rocks that formed the stepping-stones of the ford were lashed in Dublin by Graisberry and Campbell, and published by and chafed by the angry foam of the agitated river, Neale direction of the Dublin Society in the year 1801. Although O'Shea's wife fancied she heard, amid the fitful pausings of well aware that the dry details of a work professedly and al- the wind, the cry of some mortal in distress. She immediately most exclusively statistical, were little calculated to amuse or aroused her husband, who was stretched asleep on a large interest such an audience, yet, as the library of an Irish oak stool in the chimney corner, and told him to look out. peasant is always unfortunately scanty, and in this instance, Neale, ever willing to relieve a fellow-creature, arose, and, with the exception of a few trifling works on religious sub- flinging his grey trusty" over his expansive shoulders, and jects, limited to the book in question, I determined to make seizing a long iron-shod pole or wattle, the constant companion the best I could of it, and for that purpose opened it at Sir of his nightly excursions, hastened down to the river's brink. Charles's description of the immediate district in which we He stood a moment at the verge of the ford, and tried to were situated, namely, the barony of Maryborough West, penetrate through the intense gloom, to see if he could disand town-land of Killeany. I read on thus :-“ On Sir Allen cover a human form, but he could see nothing. Johnson's estate stand the ruins of Killeany Castle; the “ Is there any one there?” he shouted in a stentorian voice, walls are injudiciously built of very bad stones, though which rose high above the whistling of the blast, and the excellent quarry is contiguous. Poor-man's Bridge brawling of the angry and swift-rushing river. over the Nore was lately widened, and is very safe, but I A voice sounded at the other extremity of the ford, and cannot learn the tradition why it was so called."

the stout-hearted peasant, with steady step, crossed over the “ Read that again, sir,” said a fine grey-headed, patriar- slippery stepping-stones. chal old man who was present; “read that again,” said he " Who the devil are you?" roughly exclaimed Neale to a emphatically. I did so.

man who lay extended on the brink of the river, convenient He cannot learn the tradition of Poor-man's Bridge, to the entrance of the ford. inagh!" said the old man with a sneer ; “faith, I believe not; “ Whoever I am,” faintly replied the stranger, “you are I'd take his word for more nor that. But had he come to me my good angel, and it was surely Providence who sent you when he was travelling the country making up his statisticks, this night to rescue me from a watery grave.” I could open his eyes on that subject, and many others too." “Whoever you are," again said Neale, come along with

Some of those present laughed outright at the old man's me, and Kathleen and the childre will make you welcome in gravity of manner as he made this confident boast.

my cabin until morning." So saying, he seized the bending “ You need not laugh-you may shut your potato-traps," form of the wayworn stranger, and flinging him on his back said the old man indignantly. “ Grand as he was, with his with herculean strength, trudged over the stepping-stones, gold and silver, his coach and horses, and servants with gold chuckling with delight, and gaily whistling as he went.

The dangerous pass was soon crossed, and arriving at the That imaginary region under ground, supposed by the peasantry to be door, Neale pushed it before him, and with a smile deposited the residence of spirits and fairies.

his trembling burthen on the warm hearth. A fine fire blazed

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merrily, and its flickering beams fell brightly on the face of spend two-and-sixpence in the year, and it was people's the stranger. He was a tall, portly figure, stooped as if from opinion that he was hoarding it up to give for the benefit of extreme suffering more than age, and had a wooden leg. his soul at his dying day. His features, which had evidently been handsome in his youth, Years rolled away, and Neale O'Shea having now waxed were worn, pale, and attenuated, and he might be about fifty old, died, and was gathered to his fathers in the adjacent years of age. His clothes were faded and ragged; he was green churchyard of Shannikill," on the banks of the winding entirely without shoes or stockings; and his head was covered Nore. The Boccough followed the remains of his kind beneby a broad-brimmed leathern hat, under which he wore an factor to his last earthly resting-place, and poured his sorenormous red nightcap of coarse woollen cloth.

rows over his grave in loud and long-continued lamentations. The good Kathleen now set about preparing supper, and But though Neale was gone, Kathleen remained, and she while thus employed, the stranger gave them a brief account promised that while she lived, neither son nor daughter should of his bygone life. He told them that he was a native of the ever turn out the Boccough Ruadh. north of Ireland, and that he had spent several years of his It was now forty years since the Boccough first crossed the youth at sea ; that being wounded in a fray with smugglers waters of the Nore, and still he was constantly to be found on the coast of France, and losing his leg, he was discharged from morning till night on his favourite stone at the river side. from his employment, and sent adrift on the world, without In the mean time, all O'Shea's children were married, and having one friend on earth, or a penny in his pocket. In this separated through various parts of the country, with the exexigence he had no alternative but to apply to the commisera- ception of Terry, the youngest, a fine stout fellow, now about tion of his fellow-creatures, and had thus for the last twenty thirty-five years of age, who still remained in a state of single years wandered up and down, entirely dependent on the blessedness, and said he would continue so, “ until he would bounty and charity of the public.

be after laying the last sod on his poor ould mother.” With Supper was now ready, and having partaken of a comfort- gigantic strength, he inherited all his father's kindness of able meal, the wanderer went to rest in a comfortable “ shake- heart and undaunted bravery, and he was particularly attendown,” which the good woman had prepared for him in the tive to the Boccough, whom he regarded with the same affecchimney corner. The storm died away during the night, and tion as a child would a parent. next morning the watery beams of the winter's sun shone One morning in summer, the Boccough was observed to faintly yet gaily on the smooth surface of the silvery Nore. remain in bed longer than was his custom, and thinking that

The stranger was up at sunrise, and was preparing to de- he might be unwell, Terry went to his bedside, and demanded part, but his kind host and bostess would not permit him to why he was not up as usual. go. They told him to stop a few days to rest himself, and in *Ah, Terry, alanna," said the old man sorrowfully, “ I will the interim, that he could not do better than take his stand at never get up again until I do upon the bearer.f My days are the ford, and ask alms of those who passed the way, as a great spent, and I know it, for there is something over me ihat I many frequented that pass; and as nothing was ever craved cannot describe, and I won't be alive in twenty-four hours;" from them there, they would cheerfully extend their charity and as he said these words, he heaved a deep groan, whilst to an object worthy of relief.

Terry, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. wept Acting on their suggestions, the old sailor was soon sitting bitterly. un a stone at the western extremity of the ford. With his “ Will I go for the priest ?" demanded Terry, sobbing as old caubeen in his hand, and his head enveloped in the gigantic if his heart would break. red nightcap, he craved alms, in the nanie of God and the “No,” replied the old man sorrowfully, “I do not want him. Virgin, from all who passed the way; and before the sickly It is long since I complied with my religious duties, and now beams of the December sun had sunk behind the conical | I feel it is useless." “ Gizebo,” he could show more money than ever he did before, There is mercy still,” replied Terry; "you know the since his limb was swept off by the shot of the smuggling ould sayin', Frenchman.

Mercy craved and mercy found

Between the saddle and the ground." The next morning, and every morning after, found the sailor at his post at the ford: he soon became well known to The old man replied not, but shook his head, indicating his all the villagers, and from the circumstance of his always determination to die without the consolations of religion, appearing with no other head-gear than the red nightcap, they whilst Terry trembled for his hopeless situation. nicknamed him the “ Boccough Ruadh,' a name by which he “ Well, since you won't have the priest, will you give me went ever after till his death,

some money till I bring you the doctor ?" said Terry. Time passed on as usual, and the one-legged sailor still

The old man's eyes literally flashed fire, his form heared plied his lucrative vocation at the river pass. Neale O'Shea's with rage, and his countenance displayed demoniac indig. cabin still continued to afford him shelter every night, and all nation. his days, from the crow of the cock to the vesper song of the “What's that you say ?” he demanded in a ferocious tone. wood-thrush, were passed at the ford, seated on that remark- Terry repeated the question. able block of limestone called to this day the “ Cleugh-na

“ Send for a doctor!-give you money!" echoed the old Boccough.”+ His hand was stretched to every stranger for

“ Where the devil would I get money to pay a doctor?" alms, “ for the good of their souls," and very few passed with

“ You have it, and ten times as much," said Terry, “and out giving more or less to the Boccough Ruadh. Thus he you cannot deny it.", acquired considerable sums of money, but constantly denied

“ If I have as much money as would buy me a coffin,” said having a “keenogue;" but when bantered by any of the the Boccough, may my soul never rest quiet in the grave." neighbouring urchins on the length of his purse, he would get

Terry crossed his brow with terror. He knew the unhappy into a great rage, and swear, by the cross of his crutch, that wretch was dying with a lie on his tongue, but he resolved between buying the shough of tobacco and paying for other not to press the matter further. things he wanted, he hadn't as much as would jingle on a “You are dying as fast as you can,” remarked Terry; tomb-stone, or what would buy a farthing candle to show have you any thing to say before you go?" light to his poor corpse at the last day His food was of the Nothing,” replied he faintly. “ But let me be buried very worst description, and unless supplied by the kind-hearted with my red nightcap on me.” Kathleen O'Shea, he would sooner go to bed supperless than

“Your wish must be granted," said Terry, and he went to lay out one penny to buy bread. He suffered his clothes to awake his old mother, who still lay asleep. When he returned, go to rags, unless when any person in the neighbourhood he found the old man breathing his last. He uttered a conwould give him old clothes for charity, and he would not


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groan, and expired. for soap to wash his shirt once in the twelvemonth. Yet He was washed and stretched, and waked, with all the no one could find out what he did with his money; he did not honours, rites, and ceremonies belonging to a genuine Irish The red beggarman.

. This is a very ancient churchyard, situated on a gentle eminence orer. † Anglice, the Stone of the Cripple, or the stone of the beggarman. hanging the western bank of the river Nore, and about half a mile from This stone lay for many years in the position it occupied in the days of the Poor-man's Bridge. The ruins of a church or monastic establishment still “ Boccough," but is now incorporated in the stonework of the parapet of reinain in the centre of the grave-yard. It is said to have been erected by the bridge. It was believed to be enchanted, and the peasantry of the St Comgall, from whom it took the name of Cell-Comgall, though now neighbourhood used to affirin that it descended to the river to drink, every

St Comgall was born in Ulster in 516, and night at the hour of twelve o'clock. This belief is now almost exploderi, was educated under St Fintan, in the monastery of Clonenagh, near Mountbut however it is allirined to be the identical stone on which the Boccough rath, in the Queen's County. He died on the ioth of May 601.

† The bier or hand-carriage on which the dead are borne to the grave.

called Shankill, or Shannakill,

collected his wealth.


wake; and on the third day following, being the Sabbath, he the bold-hearted Terry set forward all alone to the gravewas followed to the grave by crowds of the village peasantry, yard, shaping his course by the winding banks of the glassy who remained in the churchyard until they saw his remains river, and whistling as he went_not “for want of thought, deposited, as they thought for ever, in the rank soil of the however, for never was man's mind more busily occupied than “ City of the Dead.”

was Terry's, in predisposing of the money which he expected Many rumours were now current respecting the Boccough's to find in the Boccough Ruadh s nightcap. money. Every one but Terry believed that the “lob" fell After a short walk, Terry arrived at the precincts of the with Terry himself

. But Terry, who knew better, believed church-yard. It was a lovely summer's night, the full moon and affirmed that “what was got under the devil's belly, al- shining gloriously, and myriads of pretty stars blinking and ways goes over his back," and that the “old boy” had taken twinkling in the blue expanse, but all their native lustre was the spoil, and that it lay concealed in some crevice in the bank drowned in the borrowed splendour of the Queen of Heaven. of the river.

Terry stood a moment to reconnoitre, and, resting on his The night following the burial of the old sailor was passed spade, looked around with an anxious gaze. He could disin a very disturbed and agitated manner by Terry O'Shea : cover nothing; all was silent as the departed beneath his feet, he could not sleep a wink; and when he fell into a slumber, except the murmuring of the river's surges in the rear, or he started and moaned, and appeared frightened and an. the barking of some village cur-dog in the hazy distance. He noyed.

advanced to the grave of the Boccough, and in a few minutes “What ails you ?” affectionately demanded his old mother, the ghastly moonbeams shone full on the pale grim features who slept in the same room, and who was kept awake by her of the dead. He snatched the nightcap quickly from the bald son's restless and disturbed manner.

head of the corpse, put it in his pocket, and, notwithstanding “ I don't know, mother,” said Terry; "I am so frightened the awe and superhuman terror under which he laboured, he and tormented with dreaming of the Boccough Ruadh, that I chuckled with delight as he remarked the dead weight” of am almost out of my natural senses. Even at this moment I the Boccough's head-gear. He then closed the coffin, and as think I see him walking the room before me.”.

he proceeded to cover it, the clay and stones fell on it with an “ Holy Mary, protect us!" ejaculated the old woman. appalling and unearthly sound. The grave now covered up, "And it is no wonder that his misforthunate soul would be the intrepid fellow again shouldered his spade, and sought the star-gazing about—and to die without the priest, and a curse river's margin, and as he strode hurriedly along its banks in and a lie in his mouth!”

the direction of his home, the splash of the otter and the divTerry groaned agitatedly.

ing of the water-hen more than once broke the thread of his " And how does he appear in your dreams?" asked the old lonely musings. woman.

Terry was soon at his mother's side, who since his deparAs be always was,” replied Terry. “But I think I see ture had been on her knees, praying for his safe return. The him pointing to his red nightcap, and endeavouring to pull it nightcap was ripped up, and, 10! three hundred golden guioff with his old withered hand.”

were the reward of Terry's churchyard adventure! “Umph!" said the old woman, in a knowing tone. “Ha! Stitched carefully in every part of the huge nightcap, the ha! I have it now. Are you sure that the strings of his gold lay secure, so as not to attract the notice of any one, or nightcap were unloosed before he was nailed up in the coffin ?” cause the least suspicion of its proximity to the old man's ** I dont know," was the reply:

pericranium. “ I'll go bail they were'nt," said the old woman ; "and you Terry and his mother were in ecstacies. Farms were know, or at any rate you ought to know, that a corpse can already purchased in ideality, cattle bought, houses built, and never rest in the grave when there is a knot or a tie upon even Terry began in his mind to make preparations for his any thing belonging to its grave-dress."

wedding with Onny Kinshellagh, a rich farmer's daughter of Terry emitted another deep groan.

the neighbourhood, for whom he had breathed many a hope“Well, acushla,said the old mother, “ go to-morrow, and less sigh, and who, in addition to her beauty, was possessed of take a neighbour with you, and open the grave, and see if any fifty pounds in hard gold, a couple of good yearlings, and a thing be asthray. If you find the nightcap or any thing else feather-bed as broad as the “ nine acres.” not as it should be, set it to rights, and close the grave again The mother and son retired to bed, as happy as the certain decently, and he will trouble you no more.”

possession of wealth, and the almost as certain expectations “God send,” was Terry's brief but emphatic response.

of honour and distinction, could make them. After a long Early next morning Terry was at the Boccough’s grave, time spent in constructing and condemning schemes for the accompanied by a man of the neighbourhood. The coffin was future, Terry fell asleep. He had not slept long, however, opened, the corpse examined, and, according to the mother's when he started up with a loud scream, crying out, " the Bocprediction, the red nightcap was found knotted tightly under cough! the Boccough!” “Och, weary's on him for a Bocthe dead man's chin. Terry proceeded to unloosen it, and in cough!" exclaimed the mother ; " is he coming for the night. the act of doing so, a corner of the nightcap gave way, and cap and the goold?" out peeped a shining golden guinea.

* Oh, no," said Terry, calmly; " but I was again dreaming “Ah ha!” mentally exclaimed Terry, “that's no blind nut of him, and I was frightened.” any how; there's more where that was, but I had better keep “What did you dream to-night?" asked the old woman. a hard cheek!” So, without seeming to appear any way af- “ I was dreaming that I was going over the foord by moonfected, he opened the knot, closed the coffin, shut up the grave, light, and that I saw the Boccough walking on the water and departed homewards, without acquainting his comrade towards me; that he stopped at a certain big stone, and with what he had seen.

began to examine under with his hands; that I came up, and The moment Terry entered his own door, he told his mother asked him what he was searching for, when he looked up with about the guinea, and expressed his determination to go that a frightful phiz, and cried out in a horrible voice, “For my very night, and fetch the red nightcap home with him, “ body red nightcap!! and bones and all,” “ for,” added he, “that guinea has its “God Almighty never opened one door but he opened two," comrade ; and I'll hold you a halfpenny there's where the old exclaimed old Kathleen. “ Examine under that stone todog has the 'lob' concealed, and that's what made him order morrow, and by all the cottoners in Cork, you'll find another me to have the red cap buried with him.”

lob' of money in it.” Asthore machree," said the mother doubtingly, “won't you “Faix, maybe so," replied Terry; "it's no harm to say be afraid ?"

'Godsend,' and that God may make a thief of you before a Afraid !" echoed Terry, "devil a bit_afraid indeed! and fortune perhaps in the red nightcap.”

Amen, achiernah,replied Kathleen. "The mother consented, but enjoined him to tell nobody Next morning at daybreak, Terry got up, and proceeded about the matter for fear of disappointment. Terry vowed to the identical stone where he fancied that he had seen the implicit obedience, and retired to his usual avocations in the spirit of the Boccough. He examined it closely, and after a garden.

strict search, discovered in the sand beneath the rock a leath. Well, at last the night came, and Terry set about prepar- ern pouch full of money. He seized it joyfully, and on counting for his strange undertaking. All the arts and prayers ing its contents, found it amounted to upwards of a hundred and charms of old Kathleen were put in requisition to preserve pounds, all in silver and copper coins. him from danger ; and about the witching hour of twelve, “What a lucky born man you are, Terry O'Shea !" cried with his spade on his shoulder, and his dludeen in his mouth, I the overjoyed gold-finder, “and what a bright day it was for


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your family that the Boccough Ruadh crossed over the with the swiftness of a mountain deer over the common before waters of the Nore."

the priest's door. “Ay, go back, indeed ; catch ould birds " It was not a bright day at all, but a wild, gloomy, stormy with chaff. You have the money now, and you may make a night,” said the old woman, who, unperceived, had followed bog or a dog of it, whichever you plaise.” her son to watch the success of his expedition.

În an hour after, the priest's servant man was on the road “No matter for that,” said Terry; "there never was so to Maryborough, mounted on the priest's own black gelding, bright a day in your seven generations as that dark night; I with a sealed parcel containing the Boccough's money strapped am now the richest man of my name, and I would not, this in a portmanteau behind him, and a letter to the treasurer mortal minute, call Lord De Vesci


of the Queen's County grand jury, detailing the curious cirIt is easier for the reader to imagine than for the writer to cumstances by which it came into his possession, and recomdescribe the manner in which this joyful day was passed by mending him to convert it to whatever purpose the gentlemen the happy mother and son. Now counting and examining the of the county should deem most expedient. gold, and again proposing plans, and considering the best The summer assizes came on in a few days, and the matter purposes to which it could be applied, they passed the hours was brought before the grand jury, who agreed to expend until the summer sun had long sunk behind the crimson the money in constructing a stone bridge over the ford where west.

it was collected. Terry was again in bed, when he started with a wild shriek. Before that day twelvemonth, the ford had disappeared, “Mother of mercy!” he frantically vociferated, “here is the and a noble bridge of seven arches spanned the sparkling Boccough Ruadh; I hear the tramp of his wooden leg on the waters of the Nore, which is here pretty broad and of confloor."

siderable depth. From that day to this it is called the “ Poor“Lord save us!” said the old woman in a trembling voice, man's Bridge," and I never cross it without thinking of the “ what can ail him now? Maybe it's more money he has hid strange circumstances which led to its erection. somewhere else."

The spirit of the Boccough Ruadh never troubled Terry “Oh, do you hear how he rattles about! Devil a kippeen O'Shea alter, but often, as people say, amid the gloom of a in the cabin but he will destroy,” exclaimed poor Terry. winter's night, or the grey haze of a summer's evening, may " It's the black day to us that ever we seen himself or the figure of a wan and decrepid old man, with his head enhis dirty thrash of money; and if God saves me till morn- veloped in a red nightcap, be seen wandering about Pooring, I'll go back and lave every rap ov id where I got it." man's Bridge, or walking quite "natural" over the glassy

“ That would be a murdher to lave so much fine money waters of the transparent Nore. moulding in the clay, and so many in want of it; you shall do no such thing," said the mother. “ I don't care a straw for that,” said Terry. “I would

An Excuse.- Miravaux was one day accosted by a sturdy not have the ould sinner, God rest his sowl, stravagin' every beggar, who asked alms of him. “ How is this,” inquired other night about my honesų decent cabin for all the goola Miravaux, that a lusty fellow like you is unemployed ?" in the Queen's County.”

" Ah !" replied the beggar, looking very piteously at him, " if "Well

, then," says the old woman, " go to the priest in the you did but know how lazy I am!" The reply was so ludicrous morning, and leave him the money, and let him dispose of it and unexpected, that Miravaux gave the varlet a piece of as he likes for the good of the ould vagabond's misforthunate silver. soul."

An INCIDENT.-At the time Commodore Elliot commanded This plan was agreed to, and the conrersation dropt. The the navy at Norfolk (I think it was), happening to be conghost of the Boccough still rattled and clanked about the ducting a number of ladies and gentlemen who were visiting house. He never ceased stumping about, from the kitchen to the yard, he chanced to see a little boy who had a basket full the room, and from the room to the kitchen. Pots and pans, of chips, which he had gathered in the yard ; probably to plates and pitchers, were tossed here and there; the dog was show his importance he saluted him, and asked where he got kicked, the cat was mauled, and even the raked-up fire was

the chips.
In the yard,” replied the boy.

“ Then drop lashed out of the “ gree-sough.” In fact, Terry declared them,” said the brave man. The little boy dropped the chips that if the devil or Captain Rock was about the place, there as he was ordered, and after gaining a safe distance, turning could'nt be more noise than there was that night with the round with his thumb to his nose, said, “ That is the first Boccough's ghost, and this continued without intermission prize you ever took, any how!” until the bell of Abbeyleix castle clock was tolling the mid

Solon enacted, that children who did not maintain their night hour.

parents in old age, when in want, should be branded with inTerry was up next morning at sunrise, and having packed famy, and lose the privilege of citizens ; he, however, excepted up the money which was the cause of all his trouble in his from the rule those children whom their parents had taught mother's check apron, proceeded with a heavy heart to the residence of the priest, about two miles from the present lihood. It was a proverb of the Jews, that he who did not

no trade, nor provided with other means of procuring a livePoor-man's Bridge. The priest was not up when Terry ar, bring up his son to a trade, brought him up as a thief. rived, but being well known to the domestics, he was admitted to his bed-chamber.

If there be a lot on earth worthy of envy, it is that of a “You have started early,” said the priest;

“what troubles man, good and tender-liearted, who beholds his own creayou now, Terry?"

tion in the happiness of all those who surround him. Let Terry gave a full and true account of his troubles, and him who would be happy strive to encircle himself with concluded by telling him that he brought him the money to happy beings. Let the happiness of his family be the in. dispose of it as he thought best.

cessant object of his thoughts. Let him divine the sorrows "I won't have any thing to do with it,” said the Father. and anticipate the wishes of his friends. " It is not mine, so you may take it back again the same A CHEERFUL HEART paints the world as it finds it, like a road."

sunny landscape; the morbid mind depicts it like a sterile “ Not a rap of it will ever go my road again,” said Terry. wilderness, palled with thick vapours, and dark as "the “Can't you give it for his unfortunate ould sowl.”

shadow of death." It is the mirror, in short, on which it is “ I'll have no hand in it,” said the priest.

caught, which lends to the face of nature the aspect of its “ Nor I either," said Terry. “I would'nt have the ould | own turbulence or tranquillity. miser polthogueing about my quiet floor another night for the The lazy, the dissipated, and the fearful, should patiently king's ransom.

see the active and the bold pass by them in the course. They • Well, take it to your landlord; he is a magistrate, and must bring down their pretensions to the level of their talents. he will have it put to some public works connected with the Those who have not energy to work must learn to be humble. county," said the priest.

-Sharp's Essays. “ Bad luck to the lord or lady I'll ever take it to," said Terry, making a spring, and bounding down the stairs, leav

Printed and published every Saturday by Guns and CAMEROX, at the Office ing the money, apron and all, on the tioor at the priest's bed- of the General Advertiser, No. 6, Church Lane, College Green, Dublin.-side.

Agents :-R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley, Paternoster Row, London; “ Come back, come back!" shouted the Father in a towering

Siyas and DINHAM, Exchange Street, Manchester ; C. DAVIES, North passion.

Jol Street, Liverpool; J. DHAKE, Birmingham ; SLOCOMRE & SIMAS,

FRASER and! CRAWFORD, George Street, Edinburgh; and “Good morning to your ravirince," said Terry, as he flew DAVID ROBERTSOX, Trongate, Glasgow.


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