"No, no," cried Bob, "do you forget that we must drink out of the bottles? Do you want the ladies to cut their pretty lips with the broken glass, you Mohawk! Though, faith," said he, in an under-tone, to his fair companion, “I could almost wish such an accident to happen to some one that I know, that I might have an opportunity of exhibiting my courageous devotion, by sucking the wound."

66

33

"A prize! a prize!" cried he, jumping up and running a little distance. He returned with five or six large Malahide oyster shells, that had been bleaching on the cliff, where they had been thrown by some former party. Two of them were top shells. Here," said he, throwing one to Sweeny, "is a carver for that ham; make haste and put an edge on it, on the rock. Ladies, here are primitive drinking goblets for you. Miss O'Brien, the pleasure of a shell of wine with you." "I have put a very good edge on the shell," said Sweeny, "but I can't cut the ham with it, it slides about so." "Psha! take a grip of it by the shank, can't you? What are you afraid of, you omedhaun? Hold it fast, and don't let it slide. Costello, break up that loaf and send it round. Mr O'Donnell, will you have the goodness to hold one of these ribs for me. Oh, faith, finger and thumb work won't do; you must take it in your fist, and hold it tight; now pull bravo! Beau Brummell would be just in his element here. Be my sowl, as Paddy Murphy says, I think if he saw us, he'd jump into that element there to get away."

Mr Sharpe was now in his glory; he had, with Mr Harvey's assistance, torn up the turkey; and seeing that Bob had decidedly the worst job at the table, he asked him for beef. Mr Harvey joined in the joke, and put in also; but their man was too able for them.

66

"As you are in partnership in the turkey business, in which you have been so successful," said he, you had better continue so, in the general provision line," handing them a piece sufficient to satisfy two, and prevent them from calling again. "Bill" (to one of the college men), "here's a shell for you to cut the crust of that pie, and help it. Jem" (to another), Miss Kate O'Brien wishes for some of that chicken that you are trying to dislocate, as gently as if you were afraid of hurting it, or greasing your fingers.' "What part?" said Jem. "A little of the soul, if you please," said Kate, with a maliciously demure face.

"Here it is for you, Miss Kate, soul and body;" and he handed it to her.

"The mirth and fun (now) grew fast and furious." No water fit for drinking could be procured, and the consequence was, that the ale, porter, and wine, were swallowed too abundantly by the gentlemen. Songs were called for, and O'Gorman was in the midst of the "Groves of Blarney," when Costello shouted out, "A porpoise! a porpoise!"

Up jumped the whole party, and up also jumped the tablecloth, which Mr O'Donnell and Mr Sharpe had fastened to their coats or waistcoats.

oh what a clamour!

They sat directly facing the opening to the water, with Mrs Harvey between them; so that when, by their sudden start up, they raised the cloth, it formed an inclined plane, down which dishes, plates, bottles, pies, bread, and meat, glided, not majestically, but too rapidly, into the sea. Then, Above the jingling of broken bottles and plates, the crash of dishes, and the exclamations of the gentlemen, arose the never-failing shriek of the ladies. And then came a pause, whilst they silently watched the last dish as it gracefully receded from their view.

"Oh! faith," said Mrs Harvey (surprised by her emotion into using a gentle oath), "I think it is time to go home now.' "Faith," said O'Gorman, it is time to leave the dinnertable at all events, since the things have been removed; but as to going home, we have so little to carry, or look after, besides ourselves and hic-the ladies, that I think, with all respect to Mrs Harvey, we may-hic-take it easy. I wish I could get a drink of water to cure this hic-hiccough; for I am certain, Miss O'Brien, I need not assure you indeed I can appeal to you to bear witness hic that it was the want, not the quantity of liquid, that has brought it on."

66

The "want," however, had made Bob's eyes particularly and unusually luminous; nor did Kate take his proposition "to launch all the hampers and baskets, after their recent contents, into the sea," to be any additional proof of his selfpossession; and when, with a caper and whoop, he sent Mulholland's basket to the fishes, her suspicions that he was slightly elevated became considerably strengthened. "Mrs Harvey," said Mr Sharpe, you think your party unfortunate. I have been upon a great many parties of this kind, and I assure you I have seen far more unpleasant affairs (Gentlemen, here are a few bottles of wine that have escaped the watery fate of their unhappy companions). Now, the very last party that I was on last season, three or four of the gentlemen quarrelled (pass the wine if you please), and one of them, in the scrimmage, was knocked over the rocks into the sea.'

Mercy on us, Mr Sharpe! was he drowned ?"

'Why, no, but his collar-bone was broken, and his shoulder dislocated. But a worse accident happened in coming home." "What was it?"

'Poor Singleton had come, with his wife and two nieces, in a job carriage; the driver got drunk, and overturned the whole concern, just where the road branches off down to the strand; they rolled over the cliff, and fell about twenty feet; the horses were both killed, and the whole party dreadfully injured, barely escaping with life. Then, the quarrel after dinner (by which Jones got his collar-bone broken) led to a duel on the following morning, in which one of the parties, Edwards, fell; and his antagonist, young O'Neill, got a bullet in his knee, which has lamed and disfigured him for life. Pass the wine, gentlemen."

"No! no! no!" screamed Mrs Harvey, on whom the above delectable recital had had the desired effect, and who was worked into a desperate state of terror, "no more wine, gentlemen, if you please. Come, ladies, we must return at once, before evening closes in."

Each lady being perfectly satisfied that the gentleman who had fallen to her lot would keep sober, whatever others might do, demurred to the early retreat; but Mrs Harvey was too much frightened at the prospect of returning with gentlemen and drivers drunk, not to be determined; and, accordingly, with much growling, and the most general dissatisfaction, the party broke up.

There

"I am done with pic-nics-I'll never have any thing to say to one again," said the disappointed directress. never was any affair more perfectly arranged, never was so much care taken to have things regular. I never proposed to myself such enjoyment as I expected this day."

"My dear Mrs Harvey," said O'Gorman, to whose countenance the last four or five shells of wine had imparted an air of the most profound wisdom, "my dear Mrs Harvey, the whole art of happiness is contentment.' This is the great secret of enjoyment in this life-this is the talisman that clothes poverty in imperial robes, and imparts to the hovel a grandeur unknown to the halls of princes-this is the true philosopher's stone, for which alchymists so long have sought in vain, that converts all it touches into gold-this is the cosmetic that beautifies the ill-favoured wife, and the magic wand that bestows upon the frugal board the appearance of surpassing plenty-this is the shield of adamantine proof, on which disappointment vainly showers its keenest darts-this is the impregnable fortress, ensconced in which, we may boldly bid defiance to the combined forces of sublunary illsand whether it be announced from the pulpit or the cliff, by the dignified divine or the college scamp; be it soothingly whispered in the ear of the deposed and exiled monarch, or tendered as comfort to the discomfited authoress of a pic-nic, it still retains, in undiminished force, its universality of application"

over

Here Mr Sweeny facetiously gave him a slap on the crown of the hat, which drove it down, and stuck it gracefully his eye, thereby breaking the thread of his discourse. He then addressed the fair Catherine; but all his eloquence and profundity were unavailing to induce her to return with him in the gig. She would listen to nothing but the carriage, and as room could not be made for him inside, he mounted the box, leaving the gig to any one that pleased to have it. Nor was it long untenanted. Frank Costello and Bill Nowlan mounted together, and were found in it next morning fast asleep, in the stable-lane behind Mr Sharpe's house, the horse having found his way home when left to his own guidance.

Street tactics, let us define the term, is the art or science of avoiding all persons on the streets, and all places in the streets-shops, for instance-whom and which, for particular reasons of your own, you are desirous of eschewing.

The art is thus one of deep concernment to the whole of that numerous and respectable body known by the generic name of "gentlemen in difficulties." This term, however, is one of very extensive signification, and includes various descriptions of gentlemen as well as difficulties; but on the present occasion we mean to confine ourselves to one particular class the gentlemen whose difficulties arise from their having more creditors than crowns-the gentlemen who have contrived to surround themselves with a large constituency of the former, and who cannot by any means contrive to get hold of an adequate supply of the latter the gentlemen who are sufficiently respectable to get into debt, but not sufficiently wealthy to get out of it.

The reader can have no idea how difficult a matter it is for a gentleman of this description to work his way through the streets, so as to avoid all unpleasant encounters; how serious a matter it is for him to move from one point of the city to another. To him the streets are, in fact, as difficult and dangerous to traverse as if they were strewed with heated ploughshares, or lined with concealed pitfalls. He cannot move a hundred yards, unless he moves warily, without encountering somebody to whom he owes something, or passing some shop where his name is not in the most savoury odour.

It is, then, the manœuvring necessary to avoid these disagreeables that constitutes street tactics, and confers on the gentleman who practises them the character of what we would call a street tactician.

This person, as already hinted, when he moves at all, must move cautiously, and must consider well, before he starts, which is his safest course; which the course in which he is least likely to encounter an enemy in the shape of a creditor, and which will subject him to running the gauntlet of the fewest number of obnoxious shops. The amount of manoeuvring required to accomplish this is amazing, and the ingenuity exhibited in it frequently very remarkable.

When on the move, the street tactician is obliged to be constantly on the alert, to have all his eyes about him, lest an enemy should come upon him unawares. This incessant vigilance keeps him always wide awake, always on the look-out, and makes him as sharp as a needle. Even while speaking to you, his keen and restless eye is roving up and down the street to see that no danger is approaching.

Like the training of the Indian, this incessant vigilance improves his physical faculties wonderfully, especially his vision, which it renders singularly acute. He can detect a creditor at a distance at which the nearest friend, the most intimate acquaintance of that person, could not recognise him: he can see him approaching in a crowded street, where no other eye but his own could possibly single him out.

Gifted with this remarkable power of vision, it is rare that the street tactician is taken by surprise, as it affords him time to plan and effect his escape, at both of which he is amazingly prompt and dexterous.

As the great object with the street tactician in moving from one point of the city to another is not the shortest but the safest course, he is necessarily subjected to a vast deal of traverse sailing, and thereby to enormous increases of distance, being frequently obliged to make the circuit of half the town to get at the next street. His way is thus most particularly devious, and to one who should watch his motions without knowing the principles on which he moves, would ap

pear altogether incomprehensible. Here he crosses a street with a sudden dart, there he turns a corner with a slow and stealthy step; now he walks deliberately, now as if it were for a wager. Again he walks slowly; then comes a sudden brush: it is to clear some dangerous spot in which an enemy is lurking in ambuscade-the shop door of a creditor. Now he cuts down an alley; now hesitates before he emerges at the opposite end; now darts out of it as if he had been fired from it, like a shell from a mortar. And thus, and thus, and thus he finally completes his circuitous and perilous journey. It is fatiguing and laborious work, but it must be done if he would avoid being worried to death.

Besides that ever watchfulness, that sleepless vigilance that distinguishes the street tactician, there is about him a degree of presence of mind not less worthy of special notice. It is by this ready fortitude and coolness of temper that he is enabled, even when in what may be called the immediate presence of an enemy, to devise and execute with promptness and decision the most ingenious expedients for avoiding personal contact that enables him, when within twenty yards of the foe (when so near that a less experienced hand, one of less steady nerve, would inevitably fall into the clutches of his dun, and who would at once be given up for lost by any on-looker) to effect a retreat, and thus avoid the crave personal-in so cool and masterly a way, that the enemy himself shall not know that he has been shirked, but shall be deceived into a belief that he has not been seen, and that the pretext, or pretexts, under cover of which the street tactician has evaded him, has or have been true and natural. This is a difficult point to manage; but old hands can do it admirably, and, when well done, is a very beautiful manoeuvre.

The skilful street tactician never exhibits any flurry or agitation, however imminent his danger may be: it is only greenhorns that do this. Neither does he hurry or run away from an enemy when he sees him. This would at once betray malice prepense, and excite the utmost wrath of the latter, who, the moment he got home, would put his claim into the hands of his lawyer; a proceeding which he must by no means be provoked into adopting.

The skilful street tactician takes care of this, then, and studies to effect his retreats in such a way as to excite no suspicion of design. He does, indeed, take some very sudden and abrupt turns down streets and up lanes when he sees an enemy approaching; but he does it with so unconscious a look, and with such a bona fide air, that neither you nor his creditor would for a moment suspect any thing else than that he was just going that way at any rate. This operation requires great command both of muscle and manner, and can be successfully performed only by a very superior practitioner. To the street tactician, carts, carriages, and other large moving objects, are exceedingly useful auxiliaries as covers from the enemy, and the dexterity and tact with which he avails himself of their aid in effecting a "go-by," is amazing. By keeping the cart, carriage, or other body in a direct line between him and the foe, he effects many wonderful, many hair-breadth escapes. The chaise or cart is in this way, and for this purpose, a very good thing, but the waggon of hay, slow in its motion, and huge in its bulk, makes the best of all protecting covers.

With a waggon of hay moving along with him, and a very little manoeuvring on his own part, the expert tactician could traverse the whole city without the risk of a single encounter. But his having such an accompaniment for any length of time, is of course out of the question. He must just be content to avail himself of it when chance throws it in his way, and be thankful for its protection throughout the length of a street.

We have heard experienced street tacticians, men on whose skill and judgment we would be disposed to place every reliance, say, that it is a very absurd practice to run across a street to avoid a shop, and to pass along on the opposite side. Such a proceeding, they say-and there is reason and common sense, as well as scientific knowledge, in the remark-only exposes you more to the enemy, by passing you through a larger space of his field of vision-by giving him, in short, a longer, a fuller, and a fairer view of you. Far better, they say, to walk close by his window at a smart pace, when the chances are greatly in favour of your passing unobserved.

This way of giving a shop the " go-by" requires, indeed, more courage, more resolution than the other, being, certainly, rather a daring exploit; but we are satisfied, that, like boldness of movement in the battle-field, it is, after all, the least dangerous.

C.

DEATH OF CATHAL, THE RED-HANDED
O'CONOR.

(As recorded in the Annals of the Four Masters, translated by Mr O'DONOVAN.)

A.D. 1224.-In the spring of this year, a heavy and an awful shower of strange rain fell on a part of Connaught, viz. Hy-Maine in Hy-Diarmada, and other places, which produced virulent infections and diseases amongst the cattle of these territories, as soon as they had eaten of the grass upon which the shower had fallen. The milk of these cattle, also, when partaken of by the inhabitants, caused various inward diseases among them. It was but natural that these ominous signs should appear this year in Connaught, for they were the foreboding heralds of a very great loss and calamity, which fell this year upon the Connacians, namely, the death of Cathal the Red-handed, son of Torlogh More O'Conor, and King of Connaught, who had been the chief scourge of the traitors and enemies of Ireland; who had contributed more than any other man to relieve the wants of the clergy, the poor, and the indigent, and into whose heart God had infused more goodness and greater virtues than adorned any other cotemporary Irish prince; for, from the time of his wife's death to the time of his own death, he had led a chaste and virtuous life. It was in his time, also, that tithes were first lawfully paid in Ireland. This honourable and upright king, this discreet, pious, just-judging warrior, died on the twenty-eighth day of summer, on Monday precisely, in the habit of a Grey Friar, in the monastery of Knockmoy; which monastery, together with its site and lands, he himself had previously granted to God and the monks; and was interred in that monastery with honour and respect.

EELS.

THEIR snake-like aspect and other reptile attributes (observes Professor Wilson, in a work recently published, entitled " The Rod and the Gun"), no doubt tend to form and perpetuate the prejudice which many otherwise humane-minded men cherish towards these insidious fishes. They move on land with great facility, and with a motion resembling that of serpents. They have even been seen to leave fresh-water lakes during the night in considerable numbers, apparently for the purpose of preying on slugs and snails among the dewy herbage. They abound in many continental rivers, and are caught in immense numbers in those which empty themselves into the Baltic, where they form a considerable article of trade. It is stated that 2000 have been caught at a sweep in Jutland, and 60,000 have been taken in the Garonne by one net in a single day. The habits of these fishes in relation to breeding, migration, &c, are still but obscurely known. "That eels migrate towards brackish water," observes Mr Jesse, in his Gleanings in Natural History, "in order to deposit their ova, I have but little doubt, for the following reasons: From the month of November until the end of January, provided the frost is not very serious, eels migrate towards the sea. The Thames fishermen are so aware of this fact, that they invariably set their pots or baskets with their mouths up stream during those months, while later in spring and summer they are set down stream. The best time, however, for taking eels, is during their passage towards the sea. The eel-traps, also, which are set in three different streams near Hampton Court (the contents of which at different times I have had opportunities of examining), have invariably been supplied with eels sufficiently large to be breeders, during the months I have mentioned. This migratory disposition is not shown by small eels; and it may therefore be assumed that they remain nearly stationary till they are old enough to have spawn. I have also ascertained that eels are taken in greater or lesser numbers during the months of November or December, all the way down the river to the brackish water. From thence the young eels migrate, as soon as they are sufficiently large and strong to encounter the several currents of the river, and make their way to the different contributary streams. I have also been able to trace the procession of young eels, or, as it is here called, the eel-fair, from the neighbourhood of Blackfriars' Bridge, as far up the river as Chestrey, although they probably make their way as far, or farther than Oxford. So strong, indeed, is their migratory disposition, that it is well known few things will prevent their progress, as even at the locks at Teddington and Hampton the young eels have been seen to ascend the large posts of the flood-gates, in order to make their way, when the gates have been shut longer than

usual. Those which die stick to the posts; others, which get a little higher, meet with the same fate, until at last a sufficient layer of them is formed to enable the rest to overcome the difficulty of the passage. A curious instance of the means which young eels will have recourse to, in order to perform their migrations, is annually proved in the neighbourhood of Bristol. Near that city there is a large pond, immediately adjoining which is a stream; on the bank between these two waters a large tree grows, the branches of which hang into the pond. By means of these branches the young eels ascend into the tree, and from thence let themselves drop into the stream below, thus migrating to far distant waters, where they increase in size and become useful and beneficial to man. A friend of mine, who was a casual witness of this circumstance, informed me that the tree appeared to be quite alive with these little animals. The rapid and unsteady motion of the boughs did not appear to impede their progress."

ANECDOTE OF SHERIDAN. SHERIDAN and KELLY were one day in earnest conversation close to the gate of the path which was then open to the public, leading across the churchyard of St Paul's, Covent Garden, from King street to Henrietta street, when Mr Holloway, who was a creditor of Sheridan's to a considerable amount, came up to them on horseback, and accosted Sheridan in a tone of something more like anger than sorrow, and complained that he never could get admittance when he called, vowing vengeance against the infernal Swiss, Monsieur François, if he did not let him in the next time he went to Hertford street.

Holloway was really in a passion. Sheridan knew that he was vain of his judgment in horse-flesh, and without taking any notice of the violence of his manner, burst into an exclamation upon the beauty of the horse which he rode-he struck the right chord.

"Why," said Holloway, "I think I may say there never was a prettier creature than this. You were speaking to me, when I last saw you, about a horse for Mrs Sheridan; now, this would be a treasure for a lady."

"Does he canter well?" said Sheridan.

Beautifully," replied Holloway.

"If that's the case, Holloway," said Sheridan, "I really should not mind stretching a point for him. Will you have the kindness to let me see his paces?"

"To be sure," said the lawyer; and putting himself into a graceful attitude, he threw his nag into a canter along the market.

The moment his back was turned, Sheridan wished Kelly good morning, and went off through the church-yard, where no horse could follow, into Bedford street, laughing immoderately, as indeed did several of the standers-by. The only person not entertained by this practical joke was Mr Holloway.-Reminiscences of Michael Kelly.

MAID-SERVANTS and their “FRIENDS."-Every master and mistress in the United Kingdom knows what a maid-servant's friend is. Sometimes he is a brother, sometimes a cousin (often a cousin), and sometimes a father, who really wears well, and carries his age amazingly! He comes down the area in at the window or through a door left ajar. Sometimes a maid-servant, like a hare, has many friends." The master of the house, after washing his hands in the back kitchen, feels behind the door for a jack-towel, and lays hold of a "friend's" nose. "Friends" are shy: sometimes a footman breaks a friend's shins while plunging into the coal-cellar for a shovel of nubblys. We speak feelingly, our own abode having been once turned into a friends' meeting-house-a fact we became aware of through a smoky chimney; but a chimney will smoke when there is a journeyman baker up it.-Kidd's Journal.

Can we hope to find gold upon the surface of the earth, when Wisdom cannot be obtained without industry and labour. we dig almost to the centre of it to find lead and tin, and the baser metals!

Printed and Published every Saturday by GUNN and CAMERON, at the Office of the General Advertiser, No. 6, Church Lane, College Green, Dublin.Agents :-London: R. GROOMBRIDGE, Panyer Alley, Paternoster Row. Manchester: SIMMS and DINHAM, Exchange Street. Liverpool: J. DAVIES, North John Street. Birmingham: J. DRAKE. Bristol: M. BINGHAM, Broad Street. Edinburgh: FRASER and CRAWFORD, George Street. Glasgow: DAVID ROBERTSON, Trongate.

To the observing and imaginative traveller, our island must present a great number of peculiarities of aspect which will not fail to excite his notice, and impress themselves indelibly upon his mind. The scantiness of wood-for its natural timber has nearly all disappeared-and the abundance of water, are two of the characteristics that will most strike him; and, next to these, the great extent of prospect usually afforded to the eye in consequence of the undulating character of its surface. Sparkling streams are visible everywhere, and shining lakes and noble rivers come into view in rapid succession; while ranges of blue mountains are rarely wanting to bound the distant horizon. The colours with which Nature has painted the surface of our island are equally peculiar. There is no variety of green, whether of depth or vivid brightness, which is not to be found covering it; they are hues which can be seen nowhere else in equal force; and even our bogs, which are so numerous, with all their mutations of colour, now purple, and anon red, or brown, or black, by their vigorous contrasts give additional beauty and life to the landscape, and assist in imparting to it a sort of national individuality. Our very clouds have to a great degree a distinctive character-the result of the humidity of our climate; they have a grandeur of form and size, and a force of light and shadow, that are but rarely seen in other countries: they are Irish clouds at one moment bright and sunny, and in the next flinging their dark shadows over the landscape, and involving it in gloomy grandeur. It is in this striking force of contrast in almost every thing that we look at, that the pecu

liarity of our scenery chiefly consists; and it appears to have stamped the general character of our people with those contrasting lights and shades so well exhibited in our exquisite and strongly-marked national music, in which all varieties of sentiment are so deeply yet harmoniously blended as to produce on the mind effects perhaps in some degree saddening, but withal most delightfully sweet and soothing. A country marked with such peculiarities is not the legitimate abode of the refined sensualist of modern times, or the man of artificial pleasure and heartless pursuits, and all such naturally remain away from it, or visit it with reluctance; but it is the proper habitation of the poet, the painter, and, above all, the philanthropist; for nowhere else can the latter find so extensive a field for the exercise of the godlike feelings of benevolence and patriotism.

Yet the natural features of scenery and climate which we have pointed out, interesting as all must admit them to be, are not the only ones that confer upon our country the peculiar and impressive character which it possesses. The relics of past epochs of various classes; the monuments of its Pagan times, as revealed to us in its religious, military, and sepulchral remains; the ruins of its primitive Christian ages, as exemplified in its simple and generally unadorned churches, and slender round towers; the more splendid monastic edifices of later date, and the gloomy castles of still more recent times-these are everywhere present to bestow historic interest on the landscape, and bring the successive conditions and changes of society in bygone ages forcibly before the

mind; so that an additional interest, of a deep and poetical nature, is thus imparted to views in themselves impressive from their wild and picturesque appearance. So perfect, indeed, is this harmony of the natural and artificial characteristics of Irish scenery, so comprehensively do both tell the history of our country, to which Nature has been most bountiful, and in which, alas! man has not been happy, that if we were desirous of giving a stranger a true idea of Ireland, and one that would impress itself on his mind, we should conduct him to one of our green open landscapes, where the dark and ruined castle, seated on some rocky height, or the round tower, with its little parent church, in some sequestered valley, would be the only features to arrest his attention; and of such a scene we should say emphatically, This is Ireland! And such a scene is that which is presented by the ruins represented in our prefixed illustration.

Passing along the great northern road from Drogheda to Dundalk, and about four miles from the former, the traveller will find himself in an open pastoral country, finely undulating, thinly dotted with the cottages of the peasants, and but little adorned by art. On one side, to his left, he will see a little group of ruins, with a lofty but shattered round tower, giving index of their age and character. These are the ruins of the long since celebrated religious establishment of Monasterboice, one of the most interesting groups of their kind in Ireland. They consist of two small churches, a round tower, and three most gorgeously sculptured stone crosses, standing in the midst of a crowd of tombs and head-stones of various ages. Both the churches are of great antiquity, though, as their architectural features clearly show, of widely separated ages the larger one exhibiting the peculiarities of the ecclesiastical structures of the twelfth century, and the smaller those of a much earlier date. Both are also simple oblongs, consisting of a nave and choir; and the round tower appears to be of coeval architecture with the earlier church.

The tower, which is of excellent construction, is built of the slatey limestone of the surrounding hills, and is divided into five stories by belts of stone slightly projecting. The upper story has four oblong apertures, and the lower ones are each lighted by an aperture having an angular top. The doorway, which faces the south-east, has a semicircular arch, and is constructed of chiselled freestone: it is of the usual height of five feet six inches, by one foot ten inches in breadth, and is six feet from the present surface of the ground. The circumference of the tower is fifty-one feet, and its height is one hundred and ten; but its original height was greater, as a considerable portion of its top has been destroyed by lightning. In these churches and this tower Monasterboice has nothing which may not be found in many other early religious foundations in Ireland; but in the magnificence of its sculptured stone crosses it may be said to stand alone. They are the finest of their class in the country; but, as we shall make them the subjects of distinct notices, with illustrations, in our future numbers, it is not necessary for us to enter into a more particular description of them here.

Monasterboice, or, as it is called in the Irish language, Mainistir-buite-that is, the monastery of Buite, or Boetiusowes its origin to a celebrated bishop and abbot of this name who flourished about the close of the fifth century, and who is said to have been a disciple of St Patrick: according to our ancient annalists, he died on the 7th of December 522. Of its subsequent history but little is preserved, beyond a few scattered records of the deaths of several of its abbots and professors anterior to the twelfth century, of whom the celebrated poet, antiquary, and historian, Flann, was the most distinguished, and whose death is thus recorded in the Annals of the Four Masters:-

"1056. Flann of the Monastery, lecturer of Monasterboice, the last fountain of knowledge of the Irish, in history, poetry, eloquence, and general literature, died on the fourth of the calends of December (28th November), of whom it was said, 'Flann of the great church of sweet Buite, The piercing eyes of his smooth head were modest; The godly man of Meath was he of whom we speak ; The last professor of the country of the three finns was Flann."

A considerable number of historical poems by this distinguished man have descended to our times, of which a list is given in O'Reilly's Irish Writers; but his more valuable remains are his Synchronisms of the Irish Kings, with the Eastern and Roman Emperors, and of the Christian Provincial Kings of Ireland, and the Kings of Scotland of the Irish

race, with the, Chief Monarchs of Ireland. Of these works, which are of inestimable value to the Irish and Scottish historian, perfect copies are preserved in the MS. Book of Lecan, in the library of the Royal Irish Academy.

The notices in our Annals of the other distinguished men connected with Monasterboice are of little interest; but as they have never been properly collected together, we think them worthy of publication, for the use of the Irish topographical historian, to whom we trust our Journal will become a valuable repertory of authorities:

722. Ailchon, of Monasterboice, died.

769. Cormac, the son of Ailliolla, Abbot of Monasterboice, was drowned in the Boyne.

766. Dubdainber, the son of Cormac, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

800. Cuanna, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

836. Flaithri, Abbot of Monasterboice, a Bishop and Anchorite, died.

844. Muireadhach, the son of Flann, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

853. Radgus, the son of Maicniada, Abbot of Monasterboice, was drowned in the Boyne.

864. Colga and Aodh, two Abbots of Monasterboice, died this year

875. Maolpatrick, the son of Ceallach, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

881. Dunadach, the son of Cormac, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

887. Fothaidh, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

922. Muireadhach, the son of Donall, Abbot of Monasterboice, chief beadsman to all the men of Bregia, youths, clerks, and the stewart of Patrick's people, from Sliabh Fuaid (the Fews Mountain) to Leinster, died.

933. Maolbrigid, Abbot of Monasterboice, died. 965. Dubdaboirenn, Abbot of Monasterboice, died. 1004. Donall, the son of Macniadha, Abbot of Monasterboice, a Bishop and Holy Senior, died. 1039. Macniadha, a Bishop, and Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

1059. Donall, the son of Eodhossa, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

1067. Echtigern, the son of Flann, Aircinneach of Monasterboice, died.

1117. Eogan, the son of Echtigern, Abbot of Monasterboice, died.

These notices, extracted from the Annals of Ulster, and of the Four Masters, will show the great antiquity of the Abbey of Monasterboice, as well as the distinguished rank which it held among the religious establishments of Ireland previous to the occupation of the ancient kingdom of Meath by the English, after which period it disappears from history.

The following records from the same authorities relate to its general history:

968. Monaster boice and Lan Lere were plundered on the Danes by Donall, King of Ireland, and he burned three hundred and fifty of them in one house.

1097. The Cloictheach (viz. round tower belfry) of Monasterboice, containing books and several other valuables, was burned.

This last notice, and many others of the kind which occur in our Annals, are of great value in showing the original uses of our round towers, as set forth in Mr Petrie's Essay on the Round Towers of Ireland, now in course of publication.

In concluding these notices of a spot so long the abode of the piety, art, and learning of remote times, we may add, that in its present deserted and ruined state it is a scene of the deepest and most solemn interest; and the mind must indeed be dull and earthly in which it fails to awaken feelings of touching and permanent interest. Silence and solitude the most profound are impressed on all its time-worn features; we are among the dead only; and we are forced, as it were, to converse with the men of other days. In all our frequent visits to these ruins we never saw a living human being among them but once. It was during a terrific thunder-storm, which obliged us to seek shelter behind one of the stone crosses for an hour. The rain poured down in impetuous torrents, and the clouds were so black as to give day the appearance of night. It was at such an awful hour, that a woman of middle age, finely formed, and of a noble countenance, entered the cemetery, and, regardless of the storm raging around, flung herself down upon a grave, and commenced singing an Irish lamentation in tones of heart-rending melancholy and surpassing