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hearts of the people seem as gloomy and frigid as the season, and I am doomed to witness another Christmas divested of all those attractions, which, even in anticipation, used to make my heart leap with joy for three months before. All is now cold, chill, and formal; vulgar occupations are no longer suspended on the approach of this oncehappy season; and even the religious ceremonies, on these occasions, have undergone some alterations. It used not to be so; but then we had no Farm Societies, no premiums for encouraging the breed of hogs; we had neither wool fairs nor Scotch husbandry amongst us, and no one had the temerity to proclaim that a poor man should not cultivate his little farm. All then was truly Irish; our ploughs, harrows, and pitch-forks, were Irish; our cows, pigs, and horses, were Irish; and, what is more, our hospitality was really Irish.

These were the times to live in ; and in these times I had the good fortune to make my debut on the stage of life. My father was a substantial farmer, and lived in the low thatched house which his great grandsire had erected a century before, in the little valley which is on the right-hand side of the road that runs from Wexford to Bannow. The person who writes the superstitious articles in your Magazine will direct you to the house whenever you may choose to pass that way, as he seems familiar with every part of this country. Indeed, I suspected he must have once filled the situation of a blind beggar-man's pilot; how else could he have picked up all the queer stories he has sent you?*

My father was the noblest work of God'-he was an honest man'he was genuine home manufacture, and was clothed in the same material; but still there was nothing coarse about him. His venerable locks were combed backwards, and displayed a thoughtful and capacious forehead; and his

rosy countenance bore evidence to the goodness of my mother's ale. Every part of his dress bespoke ease and independence, while the silver buckles, horn-headed staff, and fair round belly, shewed that he was a man of rustic consequence. At chapel he occupied the most prominent matt,+ on the left-hand side of the altar; and his name headed the priest's list whenever a charitable collection was to have been made. Such a man, you may be sure, was looked up to by his neighbours with somewhat of reverence; and, of course, he was not a little formal in all his proceedings. But, above all, he prided himself in following the hospitable example of his father. In addition to half a score of vagrants, he had daily to supply the wants of as many visitors; for, as there was no public inn in that part of the country, his house served all the purposes of an ancient Betagh, an hotel where the guest paid nothing for his entertainment the friend and stranger were equally welcome; for it was the good man's boast that none ever left his door either dry or hungry.

Though hospitality was thus with him a kind of sentiment, still there were particular seasons in which it was considered obligatory-in which it blended itself with religion, and became, as it were, a sacred rite, hallowed by prescription. Christmas was one of these indeed it was the principal one, and busy and solemn were the accustomed preparations for this annual festival. My father's conduct, though chiefly regulated by habit, was yet in perfect accordance with those vulgar, but sage maxims, which supersede the use of ethical studies among the bulk of mankind. For almost every day in the year, and for nearly every possible situation in life, he had a trite saying: one of these I remember well, for it prognosticated bustle, and was big with expectation: it was this

Know ye all, that St. Thomas divine Is for baking, and brewing, and killing of

swine.'

We hope our correspondent is not serious; if he be, we are the last who should give publicity to his insinuation.-EDITOR.

† A matt was a kind of straw mattress, laid on the ground, for the purpose of kneeling on. These have gone out of fashion. We have now three galleries, two of which are occupied exclusively by the better sort of people; for vanity has found its way to Rathangan.

It was but seldom, however, that such multifarious duties as are here indicated were protracted to so late a period as St. Thomas's Day. The brewing, at least, was always finished six weeks before, and the black and white puddings, which lined the capacious chimney, showed that the pig had been for some time in salt. Roast beef being an indispensable dish on a Christmas Day, the heifer or bullock was never slaughtered until about three days before; and, of course, the saint's day was always a busy one. On Christmas Eve the oven was usually heated; and thus expectation was kept on tiptoe until the arrival of this season of gladness and festivity.

Let Mrs. Trimmer say what she pleases, the life of a school-boy is not an enviable one; so at least I once thought, and so I fancy thought most boys on the approach of Christmas. Buonaparte, in his most ambitious hours, when devising plans for the subjugation of Europe, never experienced greater anxiety than I did when about to propose a barringout to my school-fellows and such was our desire of being freed from restraint, that we generally attempt ed this coup-de-main at least six clear weeks before the proper time. Unfortunately the enterprise generally iniscarried, not from want of unanimity among ourselves; but from the numerous facilities of ingress which an Irish academy in country parts afforded a lean and slippered' pedagogue. The hour, at length, however, came; and our young minds expatiated on the boundless joys afforded by twelve successive holydays. Many were the complaints of mother and maids at the event which restored me to home on Christmas Eve. Amidst the bustle and activity which then usually prevailed, I was a constant stumbling-block. My mother hit against me on her way to the parlour; my grandmamma, a collough of eighty, fell over me as she ran to rock the cradle; and Betsey was upset by my hurley, with a keeler of cream between her hands. Still I held my ground. I had my cake in the oven; and, until the peeler (not a policeman) drew it from the heated orifice, neither kicks nor cuffs-neither words nor blows-could force me from the scene

of action. But, my bread once buttered, I became useful. I cut the hemlock which polished the pewter dishes; caught the fowl which were to be sacrificed to the season; and sifted the gritty sand over the parlour floor. Nay, more; I kept the pigs at a respectful distance from the dairy door; and drew ale for my father when he was thirsty. At length, complimented as a good boy, I obtained permission to sit down by the parlour fire, where I generally waited in patient expectation of the hour when the confusion was to subside, and the cessation of toil and labour proclaim that the preparations had been concluded. Then, indeed, I would feel that Christmas had commenced. For an hour or two the blazing turf fire in the kitchen was the point of attraction; and unsparing was the broad mirth which there prevailed. Religion, however, would interpose its authority. The household would be commanded to prepare for the midnight Mass; for none would think of sleep on so solemn an hour. By eleven o'clock the whole family would be apparelled in their best clothes, and, soon after, proceed to the house of prayer.

I have stood beneath the dome of St. Peter's, and knelt on the floor of that holy edifice, when the Pope, in all the pomp of Catholicity, officiated. but never felt that spiritual delight, that hallowed devotion, and that pure and ardent zeal, which used to fill my very soul with ecstacy in the little thatched chapel at Rathangan. Years nor absence have not been able to efface from my recollection any thing connected with this primitive temple. I think I see its humble roof -with a wooden cross stuck in the gable-end-before me, as it once stood on the right-hand side of the road. How often have I wondered at the crowds which used to surround it before Mass on a Sunday! and how nimbly did I often run, on hearing the tinkling of the little bell from the green paddock behind it, in the hope of securing a place near to the altar before the people rushed in! Its interior exhibited many proofs of the religion professed by its frequenters. The little painted altar-the crucifix

the holy water-pots-and the twelve stations-clearly indicated a place of

Catholic worship; and, though it wanted the pealing organ, the Gothic windows, and the painted ceiling of more splendid edifices-I question if Heaven has ever listened to sincerer prayers than those addressed from this lowly chapel. Pure zeal and ardent piety characterized its congregation; for they were simple and ignorant. Ay,-start not, ye Biblicalsthey were profoundly ignorant of

EVIL!

Although the chapel of Rathangan was always calculated for inspiring devotion, it was at a midnight Christmas Mass that its influence was more immediately felt. The dim religious light,' shed from the few economical candles that were burning, added to the solemnity of the hour; and the clinking of the beads, as they were piously counted, sometimes tended to show the holy stillness which reigned around. Not unfrequently, however, the storm raged without; and, at such times, a midnight Mass was truly im. pressive. I have heard many a one; and never yet left the house of God, on such occasions, without feeling myself elevated, as it were, above the cares of mortality. The last time I attended Rathangan, a bishop, Dr. Stafford, officiated; and, as usual, we had the Christmas carols sung. Talk not of the Messiah' of Handel; for my part I never heard any thing half so sublime as the carol which three brothers used to sing, at midnight Mass, commencing thus :

The darkest midnight in December, Great cause we have all to remember! The BABE who on this night was born.' These midnight Masses have been

discontinued; and I am sorry for it. Were it only for the custom-for the associations connected with themthey ought still to be persevered in. Piety could not object to them; and,

but that's true-you are, I understand, a follower of John Black's intellectual creed-a Protestant, and, of course, you know nothing about the matter. Let me, therefore, introduce you, sans ceremonie, to a Christmas morning.

Returned from chapel ere day-light (like a coy maiden) has peeped from her eastern curtains, the house is filled with friends, followers, and neighbours. A happy Christmas,' is the morning salutation; and then follows the substantial breakfast. The brown loaf-half barley, half wheaten-is cut up in triangular junks; the foaming tankard stands upon the table; and the guests crowd upon each other. More has been consumed on such a morning than would make insolvents of half our modern farmers; and yet our fathers wore frize coats and felt hats, and knew nothing of Scotch husbandry.

But the dinner, sir, the dinner, was the opus magnum. Bacon and cutlin pudding, roast beef, boiled beef, ducks, chickens, pullets, and turkeys, with a string of et cæteras as long as a plough-chain. Like master like man' was the order of the day. Guests there were none; for who would dine from home on a Christmas Day? Oh! sir, those were the times! Hunger was then confined to your pestiTential cities; for the peasantry, at least the Irish peasantry, knew nothing of it. The evening, you may be sure, was devoted to mirth and He was the titular bishop of Ferns, and resided in this parish. Some years afterwards he was killed by a fall from his horse. An anecdote, to the truth of which I can bear witness, will exemplify the primeval simplicity of his character, as well as the character of the people, at this comparatively recent period. One of his parishioners having had some money left to him by a friend, who died in the West Indies, was under the necessity of going to Dublin to receive it. At first the honest farmer hesitated, and considered with himself whether he had not better forego his claim to the property than venture on such a journey. The advice of friends, however, prevailed; and, after six months' preparation, he resolved to set out. Previous to his doing so, the good bishop addressed the congregation from the altar-informed them of the enter prise on which their old neighbour was bent—and concluded his exhortation by imploring their prayers for the safe return of the farmer. The distance from Rathangan to Dublin was scarcely seventy miles.

Such was the isolated situation of this part of the kingdom at that time, that the people knew nothing of the penal laws-not even by name. I can declare most solemnly that I never heard of them-never heard my father, or any other old man, allude to them-until I left that part of the country. The peasantry had some vague notions of wars and confiscations; but they knew nothing distinctly, except that Protestants had obtained the mastership.

brown ale;' and 'the wren-the wren, the king of all birds,'-ushered in St. Stephen's Day. But the mummers were the point of attraction. Their first performance always took place in a field adjoining the chapel on this day; and, when a boy, the pleasure I felt at witnessing the sport was considerably damped by the terror which the attendant clowns inspired. It was, however, I must confess, notwithstanding the presence of Darby and Joan, a pleasing sight to see twelve athletic young men, dressed out in ribands and silk-handkerchiefs, go through their artful evolutions for the purpose of pleasing the crowd. You must not judge of our mummers by the buffoons who exhibit on St.Stephen's Day in your streets; for theirs was no mercenary motive. They accepted of nothing but an invitation to dinner or supper; and their company was an honour which was conferred only upon a select few. My father's house was the first they usually visited; and, on this occasion, the ould black oak table groaned with the weight of the feast.' Whiskey flowed in goblets brimming full, and the rich ales sparkled even through the opacity of earthen bowls. But eating and drinking gave me little care; my time was always sufficiently occupied in laughing at the wit of Darby and Joan. Nothing, I thought, could be finer than that of presenting the captain with a dish of ashes for sturabout, and then sticking a live coal in it as a substitute for butter. Perhaps these things then delighted, because I was young and unsophisticated. There may be some truth in this; but surely those customs and profusions, however rude, which made all happy, should not be thoughtlessly condemned. Our pea

santry, forty years since, evinced in their moral and boisterous conduct a total exemption from grinding poverty; and the absence of care may be inferred from the fact, that the twelve days of Christmas were then an uninterrupted jubilee, during which no profane work was done. The time was devoted to mumming, hurling, and dancing. Every door stood open, and every table was covered with abundance. Drink and depart' is the injunction usually written over an oriental fountain; but in Ireland it was Stop and regale yourself:'

·

My paper is almost exhausted, and, I have not room to tell you how the remainder of Christmas was spent in my paternal home. Enough, however, is here stated to show, that our 'rude forefathers' were much happier than their degenerate sons; and I think an association formed for the purpose of restoring ancient manners, ancient customs, and, above all, an Irish Christinas of forty years since, would be of incalculable service to this suffering country. I speak feelingly on this subject. After an absence of two score years, I have returned to the land of my fathers; but, instead of finding, as I expected, Christmas such as I left it, what has been my surprise to find hardly a trace of it? My brother sneers at, and has departed from, his father's system. He has got Scotch ploughs, and Scotch ploughmen; Leicester ewes, and Dutch cows; yet, after all, he is not able to keep Christmas such as his father kept it. Still he talks of arts and science-the improvement in navigation and agriculture; but curse upon all these, say I, if they have only tended to banish an ancient Christmas from the land. Roleen.

MON STAFFord.

*We derive the name and practice of mumming from our English ancestors; for we are all Strongbonians. Mummers were common in England until within the last forty years, if not even later; and that we borrowed the pastime from thence is evident from the names of the dramatis persone. St. George is one of the most prominent characters; and, though we had a St. Patrick, he was a mere walking gentleman, for he had but little to do. Our neighbours of Munster, according to Mr.Croker, have mummers at May Day. With us they exhibit only at Christmas. Indeed I suspect that Mr. Croker has applied an English name to an Irish custom; for it does not appear that the Munster mummers perform in character. Munmer, according to Johnson, is derived from the Danish mumme, which signifies a masker, or one who performs frolics in a personated dress. The company generally consisted of twelve persons, and were chosen from among the most respectable and active young men in the parish. The custom, however, is rapidly falling into disuse.

KELLY'S REMINISCENCES.

THERE was never, probably, since the beginning of the world, a period to which Horace's docti indoctique scribimus could be more just applied than this in which we live. Every body writes memoirs; and even such persons as James Hardy Vaux, the pickpocket, and Harriette Wilson, the-what must not be mentioned put in their claim to live in after-ages. While such persons are the chroniclers of their own fame, we see no reason that Mr. Michael Kelly should not also detail to the public all the important matters which he has seen, or said, or sung, from his first appearance on the world's stage to the present time; when, in the common course of nature, he is perhaps soon to quit it for ever. Artists of every description are, from the nature of their lives, thrown into busy and varied scenes, and have opportunities of observing characters which are denied to persons of more fixed and regular habits. Their wits (such as they are,) are kept in constant exercise; and even the dullest wits will polish by frequent rubbing. Actors, more than any others, are a proof of the truth of this observation. The daily habit of saying the fine things which authors put into their mouths makes them have a relish of wit in themselves-like the wine-casks, which, though empty, retain the flavour of the generous liquor that has been poured into them; or like the horsehair bags in which the Jews sweat guineas, and to which constant shaking makes some portion of the precious metal adhere. Such a bag, or such a cask, is Mr. Kelly; who has just made himself the author of two

volumes of memoirs. Because he has lived in strange times, and seen some extraordinary persons, his stories are not uninteresting; but, for any merit of his own, he is as empty as either of the vessels we have been talking of, For this reason, in giving our readers a notion of such parts of his work as may be amusing to them, we shall take the liberty of overlooking the author as much as possible. It can

not be very important to the public
to know that Mr. Kelly's father and
mother lived in Dublin; and that our
author being destined for the musical
profession, received as good a prepa-
ratory education as could be got for
him in Ireland; after which he was
sent to Naples. He pursued his
studies upon the Continent under
various masters; and he does not
omit to hint frequently, with that mo-
desty for which their foes say our
countrymen are so remarkable, that
he was universally applauded.—
Whether this were so or not he knows
much better than we do; but we must
of British musical connoisseurs, when
condole with him upon the inferiority

compared with those of the Continent,
because we never heard that Mr.
Kelly stood very high indeed in the
He was
estimation of the latter.
considered a pretty good playhouse
singer, and nothing more. However,
what is more to our immediate pur-
pose is, that while at Vienna he be-
came acquainted with the great Mo-
zart, of whom he gives the following
description :—

He was a remarkably small man, very thin and pale, with a profusion of fine fair hair, of which he was rather vain. He gave

me a cordial invitation to his house, of which I availed myself, and passed a great part of my time there. He always received me with kindness and hospitality. He was remarkably fond of punch, of which beve rage i have seen him take copious draughts. He was also fond of billiards, and had an excellent billiard-table in his house. Many and many a game have I played with him, but always came off second best. He gave Sunday concerts, at which, I never was missing. He was kind-hearted, and always ready to oblige, but so very particular, when he played, that, if the slightest noise were made, he instantly left off.'

Mr. Kelly was present at the first representation of Mozart's Nozze di Figaro,' and gives a striking and interesting account of it. We must confess that we are obliged to envy him the treat which this must have

been.

'Paesiello's Barbiere di Siviglia, which he composed in Russia, and brought with him to Vienna, was got up; Signor Mau

*Reminiscences of Michael Kelly, of the King's Theatre, and Theatre Royal Drury Lane, including a period of nearly half a century; with original Anecdotes of many distinguished Persons, Political, Literary, and Musical; in two vols. Henry Colburn. London, 1825.

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