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ney corner, and sullenly and slowly turned round the richly-fraught spít with a heayy old-fashioned iron hand-dog.

The simmering waters soon began to send forth the most delicious of sounds to the ears of the hungry; the blue flames curled and twined round the black crocks in snake-like coils; the moaning wind sang, a melancholy foretoken of the death of the waning year; the burning turf, and the bright embers of the crumbling log, assumed strange images in the eyes of superstition and fancy; and the whole party drew closely round the glimmering hearth, drinking with greedy ears the honeyed words of the old Buchaugh. He was rich in the legendary histories of all the great families in the kingdom; explained the origin of such bitter maledictions as “the curse of Cromwell,” and “the screech of the morning;" sang ancient ditties, and told affecting love-stories, and superstitious tales of midnight goblins, ladies clad in white garments tinged with crimson blood, and gaunt warriors galloping through dark glens in sable armour and plumes of waving fire; fearful visions of dying men; and rich descriptions of fairy-revels among old ruins, or on the bright green sward, in the chill moonlight beam.

He had travelled from a village on the other side of Sligo, with the ancient piper behind him, alternately playing boisterous tunes and singing roaring catches, to scare away the mischievous elves and fearful goblins that fit about in the dark, and play lawless pranks upon sober travellers with impunity, on All Hallowmas Eve. “ Wicked flesh and blood too,” quoth he, « is often abroad on such a night as this. I remember, this time seven years, a poor sinful soul of a footpad formed a plan to waylay me, as I passed from father Fitzpatrick's snug little cabin, on the bog's side, to old Biddy Maguire's merry: making on the hill. The simple fool thought, perhaps, that my old cloak, like Thady Aroon's, was lined with rich gold; but no such thing, boys: Larry Donovan never takes more from charitable Christians, than just enough to make his heart glad, and his tongue chirrup for the night, living like the happy birds in the forest, without a single thought of the morrow, Well, boys, the footpad not having a distinct recollection of my figure, attire, and phiznomy, or perhaps being hoodwinked by the thoughts of the ugly business he was going about, instead of my own poor old body, actually fell upon little Jack Delany, that keeps the shebeen-house in the valley. It's an old saying and a true one, that a bad cause makes a weak heart; and by this pike in my grasp, little Delany overcame the cowardly cur of a footpad, (who was no Irishman, do you mark,) knocked the dirty poltroon down, and resolutely robbed him. Now, whether Delany was justified in going so far, Larry Donovan won't pretend to decide; for I'm told it was a poser for the rosy, good-humoured priest himself. But when Jack lies on his low death-bed, with the clammy dews standing on his brow, the moaning bibe combing her yellow locks, and singing the death-wail at his casement, then will this, and all poor Delany's other actions, appear to his darkening eye in their true colours."

The supper-table was now prepared. The bright holiday pewterplates and dishes gleamed upon the board, to the utter exclusion of the wooden bowl and rude trencher. The cobler's nob grinned ghastly in the centre, surrounded by huge piles of laughing potatoes, VOL. III. No. 15.--1822.

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while the light brown kid and frothy turkey harmoniously mingled their tempting odours. Caulcannon and apple-pies were smoking on all sides; piggins of pure Pothien shone brightly on different parts of the loaded table; and we took our seats as old Dennis played a festal flourish on his sonorous pipe.

After the repast, dancing was resumed, and the old mendicant cheerily accompanied the music with several verses of the old song,

“ 'Twas on a day,
When play was passing free
With great pleasantry,
Mirth and jollity,
Och! Ro!

And dancing also." The diversion was kept up for many hours, wben the exhausted young men and maidens again flocked round the entertaining Buchaugh. I had wound myself into the very inmost recesses of his affectionate old breast, by a lucky assertion that there were wandering mendicants in Fairy-land, as well as among the Milesians. A blended expression of surprise and rapture sat on his happy countenance, and he listened with dumb attention to my recital of part of the 'The Beggar's petition to Mab the Fairy Queen.

As I concluded iny quotation from the alms-begging prayer of the pigmy mendicant to her fairy grace, when she was rioting perhaps ou “a moon-parched grain of purest wheat," or

“ The broke heart of a nightingale

O'ercome in music," the old Buchaugh cordially grasped my hand, and drawing his tattered cloak closer about him, requited me with a narration of his “ travels into foreign parts."

After a preliminary draught, and the usual guttural “notes of preparation,” he thus began “Many, many long years ago, when the good wife in the bee-hive chair was as blooming a lass as any of the young blossoms that gather around her, I was slowly pacing along the sea-shore, near the little village of Stradbally, when a bare-footed little fellow ran up to me, ready to explode, with a message from old Thady Aroon, the great Buchaugh, who lay at the last extremity of life in one of the little cabins in the village. I found the old man at holy devotion' with a venerable priest: and as soon as his prayers were ended he motioned me to approach, and, convulsively pressing my hand to his weakly-throbbing heart, in a tremulous and broken voice spoke to me as follows; Donovan,' said he, you're my own cousin-german, and I'm sure you've as honest a heart as ever beat in the bosom of man. You know well enough how long I've been wandering over the land, curing the sick, amusing the lusty, carrying love-tokens over mountains and rivers, and bearing fond requests to young maidens from their lovers, to look up to the bright moon at midnight, and think that those who dearly loved them, although far, far away, were at that moment lifting their eyes to the same place, and fondly musing upon them. In the course of long life I have contrived to glean á mighty sum of money, which you will find carefully sewed up in my old patched cloak, with many valuable bonds and good notes from some of the great ones of the land. These I deliver up to thee, in the presence of this good and holy man, solemnly enjoining thee to act faithfully, and do the bidding of thy dying kinsman. By the side of the Blackwater you will find my only and beloved daughter, in a white little cottage, which was lately inhabited by my pious sister Bridget, whose death-lament was sung a few weeks ago -and my sweet bud is now left desolate and unprotected, She is married; but her husband breathes the air of a foreign and far-distant land. He is a young East Indian, whom his parents sent over to a relation in Dublín, for the purpose of receiving a liberal education. He saw my mild and beautiful child, loved her, and was beloved, ardently beloved, in return. Although springing from a proud and ancient family, he disdained not to wed with the humble blood of a wandering Buchaugh. True love levels all distinctions and degrees. The youth was suddenly called to the Indies by his father, and he left my daughter with her aunt, until he should have somewhat smoothed the severity of bis proud father's displeasure, which he expected would at first rage most vehemently, on hearing that the child of his hopes had married without his consent, and to the daughter of a beggar too-a wandering Buchaugh on the mountains of Erin. He knows not that Peggy's old father can give her the dowry of a Duchess, neither does the girl herself. I have confided the secret of my wealth to none on earth before this day. I fear, from the young man's silence, that his father has roughly thrust him from his roof for his indiscretion; and my dying wish is, that you, my young friend, should accompany my Peggy to Calcutta, seek out her beloved husband, and place them above the frowns and scorns of the cold world, and his cruel haughty relatives, by endowing them with this my tattered cloak.'

“ The old man died a few hours after, and I sought out the young bride's cottage at the place mentioned by the old Buchaugh.

“There I heard the thrushes warbling,
The dove and partridge I there descried,
And the lambkins sporting every morning

Down by the banks of Blackwater side.' After a long search, I at length discovered the jewel; and truly, never did the warm eye of youth gaze on a more lovely object. melancholy in which I found her absorbed, her pale countenance and mourning raiment, interested me beyond measure. I was then young and warm-hearted, and looked upon her with feelings little short of pure devotion.

*Her head hung down on her white, white breast,
A true lover's knot to her heart she pressid,
And the tear-drop gleam'd on ber cold pale cheek,

Like frozen dew on the lily meek.' I showed her the antique silver ring, richly studded with diamonds, of old Aroon, and she resigned herself wholly to my direction, bitterly bewailing the death of the old Buchaugh. We courageously set sail for the Indies, braving the fearful dangers of the great ocean, and arrived in safety at the doorgha father-in-law. He bore the honoured name of a proud Irish family, but unluckily springing from a younger branch, which his ancestors had impoverished by lavishing the whole of their possessions on the elder sons, he was driven to truck and barter

The deep for his support. He went on prosperously for many years, but meeting with a sudden réverse of fortune in some great speculations, had sent for his son to marry a rich heiress, in order to prop up his falling fortunes, the tottering state of which he had much ado to conceal. What a flood of agony did these dreadful tidings pour upon the heart of young Hector O'Hara, on his arrival at Calcutta! He often rallied his sinking spirits, and resolved to impart the secret of his marriage to his father; but the moment the old man appeared with his stern eye and care-worn brow, his resolution vanished. How could he hurry him into the grave, by saying he bad wedded with the daughter of a beggar? How blast all those budding hopes, from the blossoming of which he anticipated such pleasure and advantages?

" The father alternately endeavoured to threaten and cajole him into a consent to the marriage with the heiress--his mother on her bended knees besought him to save her from poverty and ruin; and his sisters turned with eyes full of tears and imploring looks upon him. Oppressed with their unrelenting persecution for many weeks, he had passed the night in dreaming agony. The whole family were gathered round him in the breakfast-room, assailing him with tears, threats, and bitter reproaches his fevered blood rushed wildly through his veins; his heart beat convulsively in his breast; his sight grew dim; his brain whirled, and I fear the fatal consent was just quivering on his white lip when the folding doors of the apartment suddenly burst open, and the pale face and slender figure of his Peggy appeared before him. “My wife! my dear wife!, was all that he could utter, and he bounded into her encircling arms. The father stood aghast, the women shrieked, and the young wife and her husband were still locked to each other's breast when I entered the room, and with a low obeisance introduced myself as a relation of the bride. The amazement of all instantly increased : and the face of old Hector assumed an expression of unfeigned horror and deep disgust, as I threw the old patched cloak of the Buchaugh at his feet, loudly proclaiming it to be the marriage portion of his son's wife. The sudden jerk loosened some of the stitches, and a shower of bright gold covered the floor. In a few words I explained every thing. The winning ways of Peggy soon moved the hearts of the family in her favour; her husband was happy in her love; and the old gold and great money-bonds of the wandering Buchaugh effectually saved the sinking fortunes of the proud old Hector O'Hara.

“ The grateful young couple implored me to pass the remainder of my days under their roof; but my beart yearned for the land of my forefathers. How could I die happy in a foreign country, with only one of my own dear kinsfolk to close my eyes and wail over my cold corpse ? How could I rest under any turf but that of old Erin The sun seemed to look upon me with a strange aspect—the moon had not half the sweet quietness in her white face, the stars did not shed the same soft light as in my own native land. There were no smiling maidens to look out upon me as I passed-no bright-eyed children to listen to my tales-no hoary grandsires to drop the tear at my pathetic ditties-no festal merry-meetings on All Hallow Eve-no willing voice to join with me in loudly chanting the soul-stirring anthem of Erin-go-bragh. My heart was in Ireland, all my affections were cen

tered in my own country; and I quickly bade adieu to my kind friends, and cheerily set sail again for my own little Isle of the Ocean.”

The old Buchaugh and the merry piper continued to amuse us for the greatest part of the night; nor did the rustic party break up before many of the youngsters were dosing in their seats, the piper's eyes twinkling with the effects of the strong Pothien, the merry cock crow- . ing out his matinal salutation, and the grey dawn glimmering over the suinmit of the lofty Knock-na-ree.

A.

LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIELD OF CRECY, 1820.

Evening's warm hues are on the hill,
The foliage on the bough is still,

The sun's last rays appear.
Nor shock of arms, nor havock's rout,
Nor the steel'd warrior's battle-shout,

Break on the listening ear.
It was not thus when England's might
Met here in arms, and dared the fight

With Gallia's chivalry;
When here the white and waving crest
That the Bohemian helmet prest,

Was bathed in siaughter's dye.-
There at yon cross,* aged, feeble, blind,
Yet bearing still th' heroic mind

That scorns at destiny,
Died ’midst his foes the hoary king,
And the young victor triumpl.ing

Tore his tall plumes away.
Yet lives the towert where Edward stood
And gazed upon that scene of blood-

A tottering monument,
A silent solitary thing,
Witness of Crecy's combating

And Gaul's pale standards rent:
And those that saw without dismay
Her legions form their wide display,

High, confident, and brave,
But little deeming that an hour
Would strew in dust their mail-clad power,

Like wreck upon the wave.
Boast of my Country-storied field !
Where now are they who once could wield

Her sword so mightily ? -
Where are my fathers ?—they are gone;
And by the record only known

Of what thy glories say.
Crecy, farewell! I've trod thy plain
With thoughts that thrill'd through every vein,

And highı romantic pride,
That England gave to thee thy fame,
And bore the suns of deathless name

Who in thy combat died.

12.

• A stone cross still marks the place where the king of Bohemia fell.

† A building resembling a ruined windmill, is still shown as the tower where Edward III, overlooked the battle.

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