Mr. O'Brady exulted in his triumph; the wine circulated freely; and as the bailiff's heart became more abundantly refreshed by the genial baptism, he felt constrained to recount sundry equivocal adventures of his sprightlier years. After these disclosures, the pastor, supposing, perhaps, that his potations had seduced him beyond the bounds of priestly dignity, recollected that he had to make a call at a neighbouring cottage, and took his departure accordingly. "Well," said Mr. O'Brady, "that old boy has the bit o' game in him, in spite of his piety." "the "Yes, yes," replied Edward; cloak is rarely worn so well as not to reveal an occasional glimpse or so of the old Adam." "Well, that's pretty severe, too; not that I differ from ye in the laist. Rather a little too hard upon Miss O'Swagger, though-- eh, Ned?" said his father. "Oh, I hate such "Come, my dear boy, proper Christian spirit and temper, you know --rational and--and all that kind o' thing-eh, Mr. Vincent?" "Sir," replied Edward, in an impassioned tone, "I love and venerate pure religion as much as any man, and would shed my last drop of blood in its defence; but I loathe from my very soul the blasphemous hypocrites who whine forth their canting prayers from the chastened lips of sanctity, while their hearts are sweltering under the fiery and fiendish plague of malevolence." 66 Cert'nly, cert'nly--'pon my soul, boy-haw, haw! I think he'd give the lights a bit of a-eh, mister? Help yourself-try that claret, sir. Now we must drink The great and glorious memory' Come!" That loyal toast was accordingly drunk with all the honours. MAHANIN was in danger of being banished the counthry; but we stood up for our birthright-we fought for the religion of our fathers-and by the help of God we prevailed over our enemies. What the intintion of these new lights may be, I don't know; but my 'pinion is that they're not frindly to the 'stablishment by any means, and therefore I never can feel justified in giving 'em the laist countenance or support. 'Tis my glory, boys, to belong to the Church of England as by law established-to the church that has been the means, in the hand of God, of keeping up the true Christian religion through't the land; and, as long as I live, I shall consider it my duty and privilege to stand up for the rights and liberties o' the church, and the institutions o' the counthry. I feel proud, sir, to say that old Ireland is nearest my heart. I have always dwelt among my own people, and endeavoured, I hope, in my humble way, to promote their peace and happiness; for though most of my tenantry and dependants profess another faith, I am far from wishing to bind any man's conscience. Still, I don't feel on that account the less firmly attached to my own church; and my sincere desire and prayer is that the religion which has been my hope and consolation through life, may continye to flourish when these old bones are laid low in the dust. Therefore, boys, in these times of newfangled docthrine, I give ye, with my whole heart and soul, The good old way! יי! 6 Bumpers and enthusiasm. "Ned, did you see any one at the dean's this morning?" “I did not; but the police are expected down in the course of tomorrow." "Ah, there will be sad doings, after all, I'm afraid. You have heard a good deal, Mr. Vincent, about the state of things here; and sorry I am to say, that the accounts you have respecting us on the other side o' the wather are far too true. The fact is, sir, that the counthry is kept in a state of continyel excitement by a set of knavish demagogues, who are doing all in their power to sow mortal dissension between landlords and tenants-ring the the people of the adjoining domain have lately entered into-hot water, Davidson-a combination to resist the payment of tithes in toto, and what the upshot may be I'm not able to say. I should be sorry to see any thing like violent measures had recourse to; but the just rights of the church are not to be trifled with. The Protestant clergy of this counthry, Mr. Vincent, are a most estimable and deserving class of men, who desire and labour to promote a spirit of peace and goodwill in their respective spheres; and I cannot, as a Christian magistrate, stand quietly by and see any of those worthy men reduced to the brink of starvation, maybe, in consequence of illegal combina tions. On this account I have pro- of the right sort, now." Accordingly, after discussing the national tipple over a blazing fire of bogwood, Edward and myself went to take coffee with the ladies, Mr. O'Brady excusing himself on account of business. AFFECTION. THAT lady's cheek was beautiful, And there was not a gem in her gorgeous vest And her joyous laugh on the breeze went forth That brow is sadder than is wont, And that eye is shadowed too, While the silken fringe o'er her cheek doth fall, And the gladsome tone from her voice had gone, Her small hand rested on a lute, Its breathings had died away; But deeper chords in her spirit were stirred - And she turned to hide, in her woman's pride, He took that hand within his own, But her pulse beat quick the while, And a flickering hue to her cheek came back, To her lip a trembling smile, As he fondly breathed of the flowers that wreathed "Lady, that gentle voice doth wake A loved, remembered strain ; And the beautiful smile on thy lip hath stirred The links of a golden chain; And I love to gaze on thine eye's bright rays Till the past comes back again. There is a cheek in mine own land, And a fond, dark eye-but its shadowy light Less brilliantly doth shine; Yet the softest shade o'er that cheek that straved ON THE FRENCH SCHOOL OF PAINTING WITH APPROPRIATE ANECDOTES, ILLUSTRATIONS, AND PHILOSOPHICAL DISQUISITIONS. IN A LETTER FROM MR. MICHAEL ANGELO TITMARSH, THE three collections of pictures at To account for a superiority over England-which, I think, as regards art, is incontestable-it must be remembered that the painter's trade in France is a very good one; better appreciated, better understood, and generally far better paid. There are a dozen excellent schools in which a lad may enter here, and, under the eye of a practised master, learn the apprenticeship of his art at an expense of about ten pounds a-year. In Eng. land there is no school except the Academy, unless the student can afford to pay a very large sum, and place himself under the tuition of some particular artist. Here a young man, for his ten pounds, has all sorts of accessory instruction, models, &c.; and has further, and for nothing, numberless incitements to study his profession which are not to be found in England; the streets are filled with picture-shops, the people themselves are pictures walking about; the churches, theatres, eating-houses, concert-rooms, are covered with pictures; Nature itself is inclined more kindly to him, for the sky is a thousand times more bright and beautiful, and the sun shines for the greater part of the year. Add to this incitements more selfish, but quite as powerful: a French artist is paid very handsomely, for five hundred a-year is much where all are poor; and has a rank in society rather above his merits than below them, being caressed by hosts and hostesses in places where titles are laughed at, and a baron is thought of no more account than a banker's clerk. The life of the young artist here is the easiest, merriest, dirtiest existence possible. He comes to Paris, probably at sixteen, from his province; his parents settle forty pounds a-year on him, and pay his master: he establishes himself in the Pays Latin, or in the new quarter of Notre Dame de Lorette (which is quite peopled with painters); he arrives at his atelier at a tolerably early hour, and labours among a score of companions as merry and poor as himself. Each gentleman has his favourite tobacco-pipe; and the pictures are painted in the midst of a cloud of smoke, and a din of puns and choice French slang, and a roar of choruses, of which no one can form an idea that has not been present at such an assembly. You see here every variety of coiffure that has ever been known. Some young men of genius have ringlets hanging over their shoulders - you may smell the tobacco with which they are scented across the street; some have straight locks, black, oily, and redundant; some have toupees in the famous Louis-Philippe fashion; some are cropped close; some have adopted the present mode-which he who would follow, must, in order to do so, part his hair in the middle, grease it with grease, and gum it with gum, and iron it flat down over his ears; when arrived at the ears, you take the tongs and make a couple of ranges of curls close round the whole head, -- such curls as you may see under a gilt threecornered hat, and in her Britannic majesty's coachman's state wig. This is the last fashion. As for the beards, there is no end to them; all my friends, the artists, have beards who can raise them; and Nature, though she has rather stinted the bodies and limbs of the French nation. has been very liberal to them of hair. Fancy these heads and beards under all sorts of caps-Chinese caps, mandarin-caps, Greek skullcaps, English jockey-caps, Russian or Kuzzilbash caps, middle-age caps (such as are called in heraldry caps of maintenance), Spanish nets and striped worsted nightcaps. Fancy all the jackets you have ever seen, and you have before you, as well as the pen can describe, the costumes of these indescribable Frenchmen. In this company and costume the French student of art passes his days and acquires knowledge; how he passes his evenings, at what theatres, at what guinguettes, in company with what seducing little milliner, there is no need to say; but I knew one who pawned his coat to go to a carnival ball, and walked abroad very cheerfully in his blouse for six weeks until he could redeem the absent garment. These young men (together with the students of sciences) comport themselves towards the sober citizen pretty much as the German bursch towards the philister, or as the military man during the empire did to the pékin from the height of their poverty they look down upon him with the greatest imaginable scorna scorn, I think, by which the citizen seems dazzled, for his respect for the arts is intense. The case is very different in England, where a grocer's daughter would think she made a misalliance by marrying a painter, and where a literary man (in spite of all we can say against it) ranks below that class of gentry composed of the apothecary, the attorney, the wine-merchant, whose positions, in country towns, at least, are so equivocal. As for instance, my friend, the Rev. James Asterisk, who has an undeniable pedigree, a paternal estate, and a living to boot, once dined in Warwickshire in company with several squires and parsons of that enlightened county. Asterisk, as usual, made himself extraordinarily agreeable at dinner, and delighted all present with his learning and wit. "Who is that monstrous pleasant fellow?" said one of the squires. "Don't you know?" replied another. "It's Asterisk, the author of so-and-so, and a famous contributor to such-and-such a magazine." Another instance. M. Guizot, when he was minister here, had the grand hotel of the ministry, and gave enter tainments to all the great de par le monde, as Brantôme says, and entertained them in a proper ministerial magnificence. The splendid and beautiful Duchess of Dash was at one of his ministerial parties; and went, a fortnight afterwards, as in duty bound, to pay her respects to M. Guizot. But it happened in this fortnight, that M. Guizot was minister no longer; but gave up his portfolio, and his grand hotel, to retire into private life, and to occupy his humble apartments in a house which he possesses, and of which he lets the greater portion. A friend of mine was present at one of the ex-minister's soirées, where the Duchess of Dash made her appearance. He says the duchess, at her entrance, seemed quite astounded, and examined the premises with a most curious wonder. Two or three shabby little rooms, with ordinary furniture, and a minister en retraite, who lives by letting lodgings! In our country was ever such a thing heard of? No, thank Heaven! and a Briton ought to be proud of the difference. But to our muttons. This country is surely the paradise of painters and penny-a-liners; and when one reads of M. Horace Vernet at Rome exceeding ambassadors at Rome by his magnificence, and leading such a life as Rubens or Titian did of old; when one sees M. Thiers's grand villa in the Rue St. George (a dozen years ago he was not even a penny-a-liner, no such luck); when one contemplates in imagination M. Gudin, the marine painter, too lame to walk through the picture gallery of the Louvre, accommodated, therefore, with a wheel-chair, a privilege of princes only, and accompanied-nay, for what I know, actually trundelled-down the gallery by majesty itself, who does not long to make one of the great nation, exchange his native tongue for the melodious jabber of France; or, at least, adopt it for his native country, like Marshal Saxe, Napoleon, and Anacharsis Clootz? Noble people! they made Tom Paine a deputy; and as for Tom Macaulay, they would make a dynasty of him. Well, this being the case, no wonder France: |