In the present case Hull's anxiety evidently was to cut me; but I was “ unshakeoffable,” and, as the French gentleman says, the more he tried to persuade me, the more I would not go back. Finding me resolved, he became silent, and looked sad, as I thought; and, having revolved something in his mind, burst out with a strong desire to do himself the honour of calling at the rectory, to drop a card for Wells, where he could leave me. “ But,” said I, “ my dear Hull, we must actually pass the inn to go to the parsonage— I never saw you in such a worry before.” “Oh! not I,” said Hull; “ nothing worries me.” And hereabouts in the dialogue we reached the summit of the gentle acclivity, whence one again descends into Blissfold, and I was about to entreat him to enlighten me a little more with regard to Mrs. Brandy, ball's early history, of which he had professed to know much, when I beheld a female of Brandyball dimensions, but considerably her senior, with a bright crimson cloak and fur tippet, a bonnet of remarkable size and shape, the relieving colour to the whole appendage being coqulicot of the most fiery tinge. “ Ha!" said'I, “ here is a stranger-a rarity in these parts !" Hull did not without his glass distinctly perceive the approaching mass of humanity, but, having made use of his “ preservers," he uttered his customary “pooh, pooh!” in the deepest possible grunt, and made one more effort at checking my progress with—“ Now, pray don't come any further." “ Oh, come on," said I ; " let us see the new arrival.” We neared the object, and, when at the distance of about five or six yards, the convoy, puffing and blowing with the exertion of getting up the little hill, exclaimed, in a tone of the severest reproach Oh, Tommy, Tommy! I thought you were never coming ; there's the dinner a spoiling, and getting as cold as ice.” “ Tommy!" said Hull, looking as fierce as a turkey-cock; “ don't Tommy me." At the end of which speech, which brought them in closer contact, he gave her a glance expressive of rage at her rashness, and an earnest desire that she should submit to be as patiently as the little boys by the hackney-coachmen. “What d’ye mean, Mr. Hull?” said the lady: "why do you order an early dinner, and say we shall enjoy ourselves—as nice a steak as ever was seen, and pickles and ’tatoes to match—and then go and stay away till near three o'clock ?” My dear aunt,” said Hull, “ I could not help it Aunt! what d’ye mean by aunt, Tommy?” cried the lady. “I'm sure the gentleman must be quite shocked to hear you talk in this way.” “I am too glad, Ma'am,” said I, “ to have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of any relation of my old friend.” “ Relation!” almost screamed the lady. “ Pooh, pooh !” said Hull. “Go away, Ma'am—I'm coming--go and get things ready. I'll be down directly “ Not I!" said the lady: “ if I'm not good enough to walk down this little dirty place with you, I'm sure I'm not good enough to ride about in chaises with you all over the country; so come, no nonsense, give us your arm.” “My dear friend,” said Hull, "good day-good day—don't come any further ;-1-really-that's the worst of travelling with one's relations." "Don't talk stuff, Tommy,” said the lady: “ you have been gallivanting about—just like you—and I'm left to eat cold rump-steaks" “Galli what ?” said Hull—“pooh, pooh!-hold your tongue." Seeing the state of affairs, and having realized the suspicions which had, during the latter part of our walk, grown up in my mind, I thought it but fair to accede to his wish, and leave him in the quiet possession of his amiable friend ; and accordingly I shook hands with him just at the mile-stone, and was bidding him farewell and bowing with the greatest ceremony to his travelling companion, when Wells, and his wife, and Bessy, made their appearance by emerging from a gate which opened to the Town-field, and actually cut off the descending pair from the possibility of reaching their destination without passing them. " Ha!” said I,“ here's my father-in-law.” “Good bye,” said Hull; “good bye-some other time-eh? My aunt is hungry-he!-I happen to know-pooh, pooh !" Saying which he fidgeted past the coming trio, and, although he might have been extremely intimate with Wells's relations, neither the time nor circumstances seemed at all suitable to a furtherance of the acquaintance, although I found as usual that Hull had spoken the whole truth when he claimed a recollection of the Rector, who perfectly well remembered his name, and having been much edified by the reports of some of his dissertations upon the productions of the venerable Caxton and Co. many years before. I really was sorry, after what did actually occur, that I had so resolutely “ stuck to his skirts” in the walk. Whatever might be the relationship between the little gentleman and the large lady it was nothing to me, and I admit I should not have liked, under similar circumstances, to have suffered a similar interruption, and, as misfortunes never come alone, the inopportune appearance of the Rector and his family did not much mend the matter. It inay naturally be supposed that Wells was by no means sparing in his jokes and remarks upon what he had witnessed; however, the subjects of greater importance which occupied our attention somewhat diverted him from his full play, and, having resolved to say nothing to Harriet or her mother of the news that Hull had brought of Cuthbert, we waited, as may naturally be supposed, with the deepest anxiety for further intelligence from Nubley. LETTERS FROM IRELAND. —NO. v.* IN THE SUMMER AND AUTUMN OF 1837. In the road from Macroom to Killarney, we rested a couple of hours at the village of Ballivourney, in the midst of a waste, where its cottages, large paper-mill, police-station, wild stream, and wilder hills beyond, form a welcome picture. The interior of the shebeen, or village inn, was dreary and dirty, and we quickly left it for the little street, containing about a score of dwellings, now emptied of most of their tenants, who were all full of the success of the election for Cork county. Several were gathered round a decent man, who was conversing calmly with the landlord of the shebeen ; several women, who stood near, were earnestly regarding him, and talking to each other in tones of reproach and sorrow, with every now and then an uplifted hand and warning shake of the head. But he was not unsupported : on the other side was an old woman, dancing and singing in surpassing joy; applauding to the skies the man's rash deed, and exclaiming that he was a true patriot, he was the boy who was a lover of his country! Inquiring into the cause of all this excitement, they pointed to an adjacent spot, all blackened by a recent fire. There, on the previous evening, had stood a neat cottage, a rick of hay, a store of potatoes, in whose possession their owner might laugh at poverty and want, and bid them turn to other homes. Yet his own hand laid desolate the comfort of the present, the hope of the future: the tale would seem incredible, had we not verified its truth on the spot. On the preceding evening the Killarney coach brought the news of the result of the county election, which he no sooner heard, than he cut a caper several feet high in the air, and, crying and laughing at once for joy, ran to his cottage, and, taking a wisp of straw, set fire to his hay-rick. The sale of this hay was his only resource for the ensuing winter : he saw it burn with a martyr's calmness and loftiness of feeling ; " it was for liberty he did it,” he said. His neighbours ran together to behold the sight, and danced and shouted round the pile, that, burning fiercely, threw the glare of its flames on the cabins and the enraptured patriots, men, women, and children. Not Bourbon, when he gave his jewels and last possessions to his troops on marching to the sack of Rome, felt more gloriously free of this world than the farmer of Ballivourney, as his whole year's produce went to ashes. He next brought out his furniture-chair, table, dresser, and stool-all were thrown, one by one, upon the glowing pile, and each sacrifice to patriotism drew forth a fresh shout of wonder and admiration. Then a second thought struck him, an Irish thought, which is quicker and odder than that of any brain : he brought forth all his store of potatoes, and throwing them on the ashes, they afforded in a short time an excellent supper to the crowd, every one of whom plucked them hot and crisp from the bonfire, and eat them with a fulness of heart and relish which the disinterestedly happy alone can know. Was ever a potato roasted in a nobler cause, on more illustrious ashes ? The man was perfectly sober during all this; and, when he retired to * Continued from p. 320, No, ccvii. " the poor his desolated home to sleep, one might suppose that regret, and perhaps despair, would come during the watches of the night; or when morning broke, and he saw himself bereaved of everything. But it was not so: he rejoiced in his desolation, and said that he would do the deed over again for the love of his country. His features and voice were calm as he said this : many of his neighbours, now that their excitement was over, condemned him, for they saw that he was a ruined man. Perhaps in no country is a little independence so exquisite a blessing as in this. Between the furnished cottage and its store of corn or hay, and the squalid cabins of most of the peasantry, there is a great gulf fixed. This man's home was no longer a place for him; unable to pay his rent, he must go forth as a day-labourer: his furniture burned, he had no money wherewith to replace it; nor could he afford to pay the rent of his now desolate cottage—every hope of comfort for his future life was gone. Although he had no wife or children to share his lot, he was not wholly alone. “ There's the pig,” said a woman, who, with many others, was looking on the blackened spot; cratur's wandering here and there, as if he didn't know his own home, now the master is gone: he'll never have so sweet a home agin.” The Macroom road to Killarney is for the last few miles through a wild valley, whose bare mountainous sides, closing gloomily on either hand, form a noble approach to the lakes. Ireland seems in all things to be a land of extremes: there is but a step from the villa and castle to the dismal cabin; from the sad voices and sights of the “ valley of shadows” to the tables of luxury and the sound of the harp and the viol. Killarney is like a little exquisite land of rest and joy, beyond whose bounds all is barren. The first sight of its purple mountains, the Turk and Glena a mass of forest, the others naked; the lesser hills, the splendid foreground of about two miles in extent, covered with the noblest single trees, was one of the most indelible we ever beheld in any land. On a bold hill on the left, the castle of Mr. Colman, an English gentleman, is enviably situated on a site whose singular and commanding beauty first tempted him to settle here. On the right are at intervals some fine villas, which continue quite to the town of Killarney, which you approach through a squalid street of cabins, where dirt and misery seem to have taken up their abode. The town consists of two principal streets; is very populous; has three large inns, which, with numerous lodging-houses, are in the season full of strangers from all parts of the world - French, Italian, German, Scotch, with innumerable English. The Irish have but little habit or love of visiting their own country. Will it be believed that there are affluent families, several of whom we knew, who keep their carriages, and have lived twenty or thirty years within a few hours' drive of Killarney, and have never yet seen it! On the high road from Cork, within view of their windows, were vehicles filled with tourists of all ranks and nations, driving eagerly to the lakes, to which shore their own chariot-wheels were not driven. The distance of Killarney from the lakes is a great inconvenience, and induced us to drive two miles distant to the village of Cloghereen, which is almost at the water's edge, and close to the gate of Mucruss. This abbey was founded, in 1440, for Conventual Franciscans; there was a religious house on the same site before this period, as appears from a MS. in Trinity College, Dublin, wherein it is stated that is the church of Irrelagh was burned in 1192.” The abbey consisted of a nave, choir, transept, and cloisters, with every apartment necessary to render it a complete and comfortable residence for the venerable inmates who once dwelt there. It is even now so perfect that, were it more entire, the beauty of the ruin would be diminished. The interior of the choir, as well as the cemetery without, is a favourite place of sepulture with the people. In general they bury in Ireland in such very shallow graves, and the soil being of a nature that decomposes very fast, and the coffins slightly made, the boards as well as their contents are frequently exposed to public view. Even here, in this most beautiful ruin, the sight as well as smell are revolting: you seem to be trampling on the dead, above whom the wild flowers and the foliage are of rank luxuriance. There is even an ingenuity in exposing the sad relics in various fantastic forms. The cloister is very entire; its corridor supported by small Ionic pillars; its gloom is deepened by a noble yewtree, two centuries old and thirty feet in height, whose sheltering branches are flung across the battlements. This tree is held in great veneration by every one who approaches it, not only for its age and splendid form, but for the peculiar situation in which it grows. On this solitary yew, on the gloomy cloisters around it, and nine skulls placed in a row on the edge of the stone-work, the last light of day was feebly falling. Nearly in the middle of the churchyard is an immense ash-tree, whose branches almost canopy the ruinous places : around its trunk a large ivy, whose stem is of the thickness of a man's body, had wound itself with great beauty; in the body of this ivy, and so firmly imbedded that they seem part of the tree, are several human bones; they could not be extracted without the destruction of the tree. Long ago a large heap of bones was thrown on this spot to the height of several feet; the strong ivy in its growth forced its way through them, and even appropriated some within its own bosom, The abbey is approached through a gloomy avenue of trees, and is almost hidden by their foliage; it is a very solemn place, and so very beautiful is its domain, that, in spite of its uncharnelled bones and coffins, we returned to it again and again. On the first evening there chanced to be a funeral here: the wail, heard at some distance, led our steps to the spot, where a little group of mourners had just placed the bier in the grave, round which they were standing, and a young man, the husband as he seemed to be, was in the ruined chapel, raising the ullagone with all his might: the poor fellow wept as he mourned : there is a depth of feeling in this lament, of which the following translation can give but a faint idea : “Oh! it is I that have great cause to shed my heavy tears, For dark unto my troubled soul eternity appears; Oh, Queen of Queens, I turn to thee-oh! turn thou away.” The walk that leads from the abbey along the shore, a distance of three miles, is a very lovely one, passing above the lower lake and |