pencillings as well as the handling of the pen in obedience to her eye and judgment, beautifully demonstrate. Then she is quite at home in the matter of legends; nor is the kindred department of antiquities strange to her. The best thing, however, to be found in her book, the best impressions, are those which a hearty sympathy, with yet an unfettered and unprejudiced estimate of the Irish people, send home with an infectious power to the reader's own grateful experience. There is nothing sour, bitter, studiously sarcastic, nor hastily disparaging in her pages. On the contrary, all is generous, open-hearted, and we may add, open-spoken; for it is clear that her ladyship liked the people, dearly enjoyed roughing it among them, and that she turns to the scenes and the incidents of her "Rambles" with fondness and cherished benevolent hopes. A work deserving the character we have given of the present, and full of the influences we have named, be it but the journal, sketchy and lightsome, of a hasty tour; be it no other than a record of a buoyant rambler's impressions among new and beautiful or strongly marked external scenery; much more, when the pictures, whether joyous or plaintive and touching, are those of human life, becomes a gift to the world, that is not to be valued according to the occasion or the pretensions of the book. It becomes a valuable gift, which, in the case of Ireland, ought often to be presented to her; and such indeed as she can largely originate and repay. It is a gift which seems to come most appropriately from woman's hand; and seldom has it been more charmingly offered than by Lady Chatterton. We must now introduce our readers to a few specimens of these spirited as well as sweet volumes; nor can we do better than let her Ladyship be heard relative to what she considers to be the great want (eschewing politics, however,) of ould Ireland: : "It is the fashion to attribute to England all or most of Ireland's sufferings; but I think that a dispassionate and accurate view of Ireland, if such can be obtained, would prove that fashion is wrong. That some of its misery originated in its imperfect conquest by England is most certain; that this misery was increased by the Union, is a question I have frequently heard discussed; but no woman ought to be a politician, for she is sure to judge by the heart, not by the head. Therefore, without entering upon often-debated ground, I will venture to assert that, in my opinion, it forms, volcano-like, the fire within itself; and thus, from the strange character of its people, the principal miseries and misfortunes of Ireland arise. What must strike a stranger most in a visit to this country, if he happen to preserve his own senses, is the utter deficiency of that useful quality, common sense, in the inhabitants. As in quarrels between man and wife there are generally faults on both sides-so it is in the dissensions between different classes in poor Ireland. There are faults every where. The Protestants, Roman Catholics, landowners, and peasants, high and low, rich and poor, are all more violent, more full of party spirit,-in short, more angry, than in any other country. It seems as if there were something in the atmosphere of Ireland which is unfavourable to the growth of common sense and moderation in its inhabitants; and which is not without an influence even on those who go there with their brains fairly stocked with that most useful quality. Even strangers are sure to lose their sober-mindedness after a few months' residence, and to become most violent partizans. This sort of infatuation, which, to use the words of an old writer, often makes an Englishman more Irish than the Irish themselves;' which comes over every resident among this strange people, creates that extreme difficulty of ascertaining truth, which has always been so wonderful. Every one who comes among the Irish is immediately hooked into some party; and unless he possess a most independent mind, and a sufficiency of self-confidence to enable him to see with his own eyes, he is sure to judge of everything according to the ideas of that party with which he happens to associate. This is the origin of those strange and contradictory reports which are in circulation as to the state of Ireland. Common sense, I repeat, is lamentably wanted; and this occasions all other wants. Want of sense peeps through the open door and stuffed-up window of every hovel. It is plainly stamped on everything that is done or left undone. You may trace it in the dung-heap which obstructs the path to the cabin; in the smoke which finds an outlet through every opening but a chimney. You may see it in the warm cloaks which are worn in the hottest day in summer-in the manner a peasant girl carries her basket behind her back. This is generally done by folding her cloak, her only cloak, round it, and thus throwing the whole weight of the basket on this garment, of course to its no small detriment. This same want of sense lurks, too, under the great heavy coat, which the men wear during violent exertion in hot weather. In short, it is obvious in a thousand ways." Lady C. only professes to give facts, without venturing to speculate about the cause of this want of common sense; perhaps, however, she has approached the source of what she has been describing, when she mentions the almost universal display, even among the common people, "of an imagination at once glowing and enthusiastic, or some touch of tender and delicate feeling." The Irish also appear to be the subjects of the most sudden and irregular impulses of a humorous kind. Lady Chatterton refers to other singular features in the Irish character, as these are illustrated in their conduct, tastes, and manners. For instance, without any apparent abridgment of their happiness, they are content to live in hovels, which one would think might be easily improved; and by no means are they rendered uncomfortable when their dress is either ragged or deficient. Our authoress asserts that they find additional clothing an incumbrance; and adds, "How often have I heard them say, their Sunday dress gave them cold!" Again, "The first illness our old gatewoman ever had, was occasioned by the wearing a pair of shoes and stockings." Illness, we believe, is often caught in consequence of sudden changes from cold to heat, as well as from heat to cold. How much more likely is it that two alterations, as on Sunday, will have the described effect, especially when the habits of early life may not have accommodated the constitution to such changes! Her Ladyship's conclusion from the instances she adduces is this, -"I have come to the wise determination of allowing people to be happy in their own way. And the more we see of the world, the more convinced must we be, how totally independent of every outward cause and circumstance is happiness-that it springs entirely from the mind within, the Irish are living and laughing proofs." But this is a species of reasoning that, never entered into the philosophy of M. de Feuillide, when he fulminates about the squalor of Irish hovels and the raggedness of the people. Which of the writers, we ask, comes nearest to the truth? Perhaps some may think Lady Chatterton's estimate of Irish character defective or overcharged; for no outline sketch can ever be expected to find the same perception in the case of all spectators, nor will every one look from the same point or under the same light. But when we pass on to some of the anecdotes, the traditions, the descriptions of scenery, &c., which are so plentifully scattered throughout these volumes, nothing less than what we have already generally expressed of the work will appear or be felt. Here is her picture of Killarney: "It is impossible to write here. Beautiful visions crowd on the mind too rapidly for the hand to record. It is a region of enchantment: a hundred descriptions of it have been written, thousands of sketches have been made, but no description that I have read, or sketch that I have seen, made me familiar with Killarney. The Upper Lake, and the Lower Lake, Muckruss, and Innisfallen, must be seen to be understood. It is the colouring-the gleam of sunshine-the cloud-the tone-the effect -what, in short, cannot be conveyed by the pen without the cant of art, and is beyond the power of the pencil, that gives a magic to the scenery of Killarney. I say beyond the power of the pencil, because everything changes its hue so rapidly, and the forms of objects seem to change with their colour; it is impossible to convey the variety of images presented to the eye: the eye may follow them, as it follows the flash of lightning, but to record faithfully, requires thought and profund repose, which dwell not here. The aspect of nature is ever varying from grave to gay." The next is a picture still more real and truthful, as we think. It belongs to February and the neighbourhood of Cork, the myrtles in the open air being at the time covered with their blos soms: "The window of which I am sitting looks on a lawn of that bright yet delicate green so peculiar to this country-that lovely tint, of which VOL. II. (1839.) no. I. K those who have not visited the divisa dal mondo ultima Irlanda can form but a faint idea. Directly in front is a garden, where spring flowers of every hue meet the eye, and violets are breathing their delicious perfume, where the verdure of arbutus trees and brilliant gold-leaf plants give a cheerful summer air to the scene. Beyond flows the broad river, upon the glassy surface of which ships are gliding: some with dark red sails, others whose gracefully sloping masts and large white sails show that they come from the shores of Portugal. Near the beach are boats, in each of which a solitary figure lazily reclines, as if to enjoy the refreshing breeze and the bright sunshine. But no; these men are fishing. I see one man has just raised a small net attached to two long poles, the end of which droops gracefully into the water. This mode of fishing, I am told, is here termed 'Push-a-pike.' Nearer is a group who are catching salmon; and I can hear the merry laugh of these joyous fishermen as the jest is bandied to and fro. On the other side of the river rise sloping lawns, interspersed with villas; and beneath them, close to the water, is a road, on which coaches are passing, and some Cork belles, attended by officers in their gay uniforms, are cantering along. The brown stems and leafless branches of the elms and horse-chesnuts show indeed that the season is what we call winter; but the whole scene is so smiling, vivid, and warm, that it feels like June." Some of the out-of-the-world places, with their primitive, simple, yet nationally characteristic features, are brought before us in a vivid manner. For example, of Dingle, where though there be a population of five thousand, there was not to be found one regularly bred M.D., or practising attorney, we thus read : "Happy people,' exclaimed the gentleman to whom I am indebted for this piece of information; Happy people!' and he then inquired, being a stranger like myself-Pray, what do the inhabitants of Dingle do, in case of serious indisposition ? The reply was, 'Oh we have an excellent apothecary here; and when he sees much danger, why he sends to Tralee for help-and so most of the people, you see, die easy, without troubling the doctor.' Thus satisfied as to the state of medical practice in this ancient town, he proceeded to inquire about its form of government whether by a corporation, or a single county magistrate, &c. To this his friend rejoined, with some warmth-'Our town, sir, governed by a county magistrate?-not it, indeed! We have a corporation, a sovereign, a deputy sovereign, and various other officers. Our court possesses great powers. We could confine you, sir, in our prison for ten pounds; and let you out on the insolvent act, without giving you the trouble of going to Dublin.' Your powers are very great indeed, sir,' observed the visitor of Dingle; but I hope your sovereign will not have an opportunity of extending his kindness to me.' If he had,' was the answer, our sovereign, with that warmth of feeling and good nature, so characteristic of his townsmen, would visit you in prison-he would entertain you there, and he would drown your sorrows in mountain dew.' 'Your court, sir, having so much power,' said the stranger, ' must occasion many trials of great moment to be held in it; and of course you bave a number of those ingenious gentlemen commonly called attorneys, residing in your town.' Attorneys attorneys !' exclaimed the indignated inhabitant of Dingle. No attorneys, sir-not an attorney-thank goodness, we have not one nearer than Tralee! and that is two-andtwenty long miles from us, the shortest way, and a hilly road.' 'But suppose, continued the pertinacious stranger, that a point of law occurred in one of the cases that came before your court; what would you do then, without legal advice to expound and unravel the matter?' Do, sir?-Law, sir ?' repeated the man of Dingle, with a look of astonishment and affright.-Law, sir! we never mind the law in our court. We judge by the honesty of the case that comes before us; and let me tell you, sir, that if every court were so conducted, there would be but few attorneys, and the country would be quiet and happy.' But what would you do, if any person brought an attorney these twenty-two long miles, and hilly road, and introduced him into your court, and that he started some points of law, which required professional skill to reply to?' 'I'll tell you what I did myself,' was the answer to this apparently perplexing question. When I was deputy sovereign, two fools in this town. employed each of them an attorney, whom they brought at a great expense from Tralee. When the attorneys went into court and settled themselves with their bags and papers, all done up with red bits of tape, and one of them was getting up to speak, Crier,' said I, 'command silence.' Silence in the court!' says he. So I stood up, and looking first at one attorney, and then at the other, I said, with a solemn voice, 'I adjourn this court for a month.' God save the king!' said the crier, and then I left them all; and I assure you,' he added, that from that day to this, no attorney appeared in our court." "Before the miserable little shop of a blacksmith, whose whole property consisted of one old hat, a coat, an anvil, and a hammer, Father Casey stopped to hook up his horse, and beckoned us to follow him to a neighbouring cottage, not much better-looking than the blacksmith's: into this we entered to take shelter from the rain, which was still falling. The room was certainly cleaner than most Irish rooms in peasant's cabins ; it opened by a thin door, tottering upon rusty hinges, in a thin partition warped by heat and cold, and darkened by smoke. Beyond this, there was a parlour' remarkably well furnished, with a square-leaf-table on three legs whole and the fourth broken, a bookcase much out of the perpendicular, two chairs, and a turn-up bed, for use by night and ornament by day. The inhabitant of this humble chamber was a poor man; one who appeared to spend his slender income more in relieving the wants of others than his own. He was a pale faced individual, with an intellectual and pleasing countenance; dressed in a coat originally black, bearing testimony to its long duration by a sadly threadbare state, evident more particularly on the folds. We were introduced to him as a Mr.-no, a Reverend Mr.' something: he was a poor Roman Catholic curate! In this little cabin we waited till the rain was nearly over, and then started for Bally Ferriter's Hill, with the addition of the interesting-looking curate to our party." |