the lakes of Killarney, we spread like wild fire. Down even to distant Needen, following the course of the Kenmare-the deep embayed Mayne, as Spenser calls it-our name is held in honour. Dingle rejoices in us-and some copies have even made their way into the leonum arida nutrix-Iveragh -the birth-place of the great Daniel O'Connel. Through the negligence of the bibliopoles in Kerry, we are generally a month late in the kingdom; and the natives are laughing at the jokes of October, while they, in more favoured lands, are rejoicing over those of November. It really, sometimes, is a great inconvenience to be born a degree or two of longitude out of the way. But when we do arrive, the face of the country seems gladdened; it is a kind of holiday. Beal fires for our jubilee, As they are a learned people, our learned articles tickle them the most. A credible gentleman assured us, that he was at a party a short time ago in Castle-Island, where one of the company being called on for a song, gave the Latin translation of Chevy Chase, which enriched a couple of our late numbers, beginning with "Persæus ex Northumbria," and never pulled bridle till he came to the last line, "Sit nobis finis bona," to the great delight of the company. We are not over popular at Killarney; for the guides, &c. of that place find that when one of our numbers is in a boat, the visitors can hardly take an eye off it; Upper and Lower Lake, Mucross, and all the other lions of the place, being quite unheeded. We are not to blame for this: we can assure the Lake School of Ciceroni, that were we to see any one attending so exclusively even to ourselves among such scenes, we should certainly, addressing him in the words of the head of another kind of Lake School, exclaim, Up, up, my friend, and quit your book; though, to be sure, there would be no need, we flatter ourselves, of bidding him (as in the poem we quote) to clear his looks, after the perusal of our heart-enlivening lucubrations. In Cork-but what shall we say of Cork, except to confess our obligations to it for giving us some of the best contributors we have? There is no need of mentioning the names of Dowden, Jennings, Holt, Fogarty, and VOL. VIII. many more too long for enumeration, who are all from that great metropolis of beef and butter; they are already consecrated to fame. They have made us amazingly popular in that city; so that we arealmost the only book now read by the Corcegians. Like their own salmon, we never go out of season there. What the Chaldee was to Scotland, the Luctus over Sir D. Donelly was to Ireland, and particularly to Cork. It was like Aaron's sceptre-it swallowed up all other topics of conversation. Go where you would, from the red' forge to Deuroche's cross, you would see the population merry or mournful, according as the jocose or pathetic mood prevailed over Number XXXVIII. Asudden flood of criticism seemed to have burst on Cork, as rapidly as a swell in the Lee. We have read much more stupid papers in the Edinburgh than were then spoken in that city in common conversation. With a natural partiality, they preferred Dowden to Lord Byron, and Jennings to Wordsworth; and though we do not quite agree with them, we own that much may be said on both sides. At the philosophicals there, it is needless to say we are adored ;—as a proof of it, we shall just mention, that the customary fines for absence are always remitted if the absentee can show that he was detained by the unavoidable business of reading Blackwood. Their institution delights in us; at their library we are devoured; in the Minerva rooms, which, by the way, we can recommend as an admirable establishment, Higginson is fatigued to death in answering demands for us; and on the day of our arrival, the impatient subscribers press round Bolster's shop, Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa. There is a certain learned Glasgow gentleman, (we rather think he is a provision-merchant; but in this we speak with hesitation, for we would fain avoid saying any thing but what is quite right), who, a few weeks ago, visited" the beautiful city," and was so impertinent, to say the least of it, as to abuse us in the hearing of certain of our friends the inhabitants. We hereby give that profound butterdealer a word of friendly caution-to keep a tight rein on his tongue in future, more particularly in quarters 2 B such as this. Little do these fellows know the extent of our means of information: they had better keep an eye to themselves. Like the Baron of Bradwardine, we are cautious; but, nevertheless, beware the bear" is an old motto and a good. 66 As for the towns about the county, we do as much as could be expected. Mr Fogarty has spread us in Blarney; but he has paid us there a compliment which we do not approve. He has tied one of our volumes on the famous Blarney stone, and pilgrims now kiss that volume instead of their ancient Ca-aba. We do not like this, we say; for it is notorious, that the Blarney stone is sacred to humbugging-a practice which we detest; and we beg our worthy correspondent to remove it quam primum. The Scots Greys, a superb regiment, as Buonaparte justly called them, introduce us wherever they are quartered-a circumstance to which we owe many thanks, in particular to the gallant and friendly Lieutenant, who has cheered the darkness of Bandon, by bringing us in among the worthy devourers of bacon who inhabit that ancient borough. And, to conclude our long, yet very imperfect tour through Ireland, by stopping at its Ultima Thule, we shall only observe, that one copy finds its way to the island of Cape Clear, where it is read every Sunday after mass, at the chapel door, by the priest who rules the islanders. He is the only man in his wave-beaten dominion who can read, and he translates any difficult passage into most admirable Irish. Such a man is an invaluable acquisition to the capers. After all, however, it may be doubted, whether justice has as yet been done to us in the kingdom of Ireland. The only comfort we have is, that if full justice is denied to us-it is granted to every body else. We are not read so much as we deserve to be -but no other periodical work is read at all. The Irish people do not approve of Mr Southey's long elaborate articles, about conquering generals and parish churches; and they are of opinion, that whatever Ugo Foscolo's merits may be as an Italian poet, he is one of the clumsiest reviewers that ever tried the trade-more particularly when he sets about overlaying with learning a work of airy grace and classical wit, such as Mr Frere's inimitable Giants, and Mr Rose's as inimitable Beasts, They do not make due allowance, (indeed, it could scarcely be expected of them), for the disadvantages attending the process of translation, and in short, vote the whole concern a bore. Notwithstanding the immense merit of innumerable articles, therefore, it may be said, almost without a figure, that the Quarterly has never made good its quarters in that country. Miss Edgeworth indeed asserts, in her life of the Old Gentleman, that "the Edinburgh and Quarterly Review, and Blackwood's Magazine, may now be seen on the tables of the superior farmhouses"-but we suspect this is a flattering picture, and that here, as in many other passages in that work, it may be enough to believe one third of the statement. The invention however, if such it be, leans to virtue's side, and is besides, more indicative of genius, than any to which claim has been laid by the defunct Pentegamist. The There are many circumstances which forbid us to hope, that we can at any period become the favourite work of all men of all parties in our own Island; particularly, the physical bulk of the Whig party, which is a sore stumbling block and obstacle to us in many quarters-and we have never denied it to be so. But, in Ireland, there are positively no Whigsso few at least, that they are in no There the way worth mentioning. great division of mankind is into Protestants and Catholics, for both of which parties we have the utmost respect, and whom we hope in good time to see reconciled to each other, and living (SALVA TAMEN ECCLESIA ANGLICANA), in all things, without heart-burning and bad blood. only effectual means of serving Ireland, is the promotion of knowledge-the spreading of education-the diffusion of light; for we are well aware, that the animosities which have been kept alive among the people of Ireland, have been nursed and cherished only for the filthy purposes of a few interested demagogues; and that nothing but a little more education is necessary, to enable the whole of that generous people to see through their tricks. And, as it is, what a refreshing contrast does the state of Ireland at this moment present, to that of so many turbulent infatuated districts in England-London itself included! England has been disgraced by a Matthew Wood-and Scotland by a Joseph Hume; but Ireland has sent forth no designing cit nor meddling surgeon, to create or inflame the wounds of popular discontent. London and Montrose are in the paws of the Radicals, but the cities of Ireland are all in the hands of staunch and true men. It is sufficient praise of itself, to say, that at this moment, the favourite public men with the people of Ireland are, Mr Charles Grant, Mr Peele, and Mr Plunkett "Good men she hath in honour:-better none !" There needs no wizard's eye to see what a share of the power of Britain must long continue to be in the hands of Irishmen, and men intimately acquainted with the spirit of Ireland; and we think as little, to foresee, that ere long, the exertions of such men as Grant and Peele, for her good, must be crowned with that success which is always deserved, and almost always achieved, when virtue and genius are combined in strenuous co-operation. But to return to ourselves-we may safely say, that we are THE ONLY IRISH MAGAZINE. In Ireland itself, no periodical of the smallest pluck has ever been published. The Dublin is a contemptible abortion; the Belfast is dead: a few were tried in other towns, Cork for instance, but they were all miserable things, and never did one of them take firm root in the soil of the potato. As for the English periodical works-not one of them, on any side, knows any thing at all about Ireland. Their praise and their blame are equally decisive of their ignorance: whereas, we, we flatter ourselves, have shewn in this very paper such an intimate acquaintance with the affairs of that island, as may justly astonish any born Irishman, from Donaghadee to Balleydonoghan; or, if he would rather have it so, from Carnsore Point, to Bloodyfarland. And yet, this is a part of our career, on which we can as yet scarcely be said to have even entered. Let those that wish to know what's what, keep a good eye to our Irish articles the next twelvemonths. We promise them they shall not look in vain. SKETCHES OF VILLAGE CHARACTER. The Village Schoolmaster. A STRIPLING tyrant of unyielding look- Demands the unbuttoned waistcoat, opened wide- With air important, solemn, and devout, "The Prayer," in whispers, quickly circles round, Explaining lessons"-n -now essays to read. This prelude o'er, a solemn pause ensues, As each, with darkened face, his fellow views Till dire suspense, to certainty gives way, “Well—well—and well, sir! make a little ha ste The Village Wedding. FROM house to house, with nicely papered hair, Blind Davie Daw has plucked the sounding string, So high they leap-so knowingly they spring, Thy scraping slack, thy bow in mercy draw, They flounce, they giggle, and their necks they twist, The wiser few in conversation sit Here gaucy Wives with aprons new are seen, Fill up each pause with lengthened draughts of ale. Poor hapless Tibby much the Muse bewails, Oh, pause, and shiver through each boiling vein! |