in four cantos: it is a lively and striking picture of a Westmeath farmer's life about the year 1710, in the supposed history of Deoch an Doruis and his spouse their former content, comparative wealth, hospitality, and sportive entertainments at the Christmas season, compared with their present (1741) distress and privations, the diminution of good feeling towards their superiors, and the discontent engendered by the pressure of high rents.

By this and other pieces in the volume, we find that the common rural complaints of Ireland, -the exactions of landlords, the spirit of emigration, the absenteeism of the gentry, with the neglect of their tenantry, estates, and residences, were as strongly urged a century ago as at present. The matter is curious, and though sung in the most homely strains, not without force; but the verses are further deserving notice as having been supposed to impress Goldsmith's mind at an early period with strong commiseration for the state of the peasantry, and to have suggested passages in the "Deserted Village."

*

"Thus farmers lived like gentlemen,

Ere lands were raised from five to ten;
Again from ten to three times five,

Then very few could hope to thrive ;

But tugg'd against the rapid stream,

Which drove them back from whence they came;
At length 'twas canted* to a pound,
What tenant then could keep his ground.

* Auctioned.

"Not knowing which, to stand or fly, When rent rolls mounted zenith high, They had their choice to run away, Or labour for a groat a day. Now beggar'd and of all bereft, Are doom'd to starve or live by theft; Take to the mountains or the roads, When banished from their old abodes; Their native soil were forced to quit, So Irish landlords thought it fit; Who without ceremony or rout,

For their improvements turn'd them out; Embracing still the highest bidder, Inviting all ye nations hither, Encouraging all strollers, caitiffs,

Or

any other but the natives.

"Now wool is low and mutton cheap, Poor graziers can no profit reap. Alas! you hear them now complain Of heavy rents and little gain; Grown sick of bargains got by cant, Must be in time reduced to want; How many villages they razed, How many parishes laid waste,

To fatten bullocks, sheep, and cows,
When scarce one parish has two ploughs;
And were it not for foreign wheat,

We now should want the bread we eat.
Their flocks do range on every plain,
That once produced all kind of grain,
Depopulating every village,
Where we had husbandry and tillage;
Fat bacon, poultry, and good bread,
By which the poor were daily fed.
The landlords, then, at every gale,
Besides their rent, got nappy ale,
A hearty welcome and good cheer,
With rent well paid them twice a year;
But now the case is quite reversed,
The tenants every day distress'd;

Instead of living well and thriving,
There's nothing now but leading, driving -
The lands are all monopolized,
The tenants rack'd and sacrificed;
Whole colonies to shun the fate
Of being oppress'd at such a rate,
By tyrants who still raise their rent,
Sail'd to the Western continent :

Rather than live at home like slaves,

They trust themselves to winds and waves."

The censure of absentees has a variety of invective intermixed with some humour; but the following may suffice as a specimen of the former :

"Our squires of late through Europe roam,

Are too well-bred to live at home;

Are not content with Dublin College,

But range abroad for greater knowledge;
To strut in velvets and brocades,

At balls and plays and masquerades ;

To have their rent their chiefest care is,

In bills to London and to Paris.

Their education is so nice,

They know all chances on the dice;
Excepting when it is their fate

To throw away a good estate,

Then does the squire with empty purse
Rail at ill fortune with a curse.

Left like a desert wild and waste,

Without the track of man or beast;

Where wild fowl may with safety rest,
At every gate may build a nest;

Where grass or weeds on pavements grow,
And every year is fit to mow.

No smoke from chimnies does ascend,
Nor entertainment for a friend;

Nor sign of drink, or smell of meat,
For human creatures there to eat. *

* One of the greatest offences of the more opulent classes in Ireland in the eyes of the peasantry at that time, was any seeming want of the duties of hospitality; nor has the feeling, though diminished, passed away. By their interpretation, common to more rude communities, a man of rank or wealth was considered almost literally rather the steward than proprietor of his property; held in trust as much for the benefit of his relatives, neighbours, and adherents, as for his own family; and almost the first point noticed in the character of an Irish squire by a peasant of the present day is whether he is or is not a hard (or close) man. The opening scenes in the Vicar of Wakefield, and many other passages in Goldsmith, dwell upon the duties of hospitality.

His school vacations were frequently spent in the town of Ballymahon, where, many years afterwards, a few of his boyish tricks were remembered.

"It is now about forty years," says the Rev. John Graham in a communication to the present writer, "since one of the directors of the sports of Ballymahon, Jack Fitzsimmons, an old man, who had experienced many vicissitudes and then kept the ball court, frequently amused us with stories of, as he termed him and as he was usually called when a boy, Noll Goldsmith. One of them, I remember, related to a depredation on the orchard of Tirlicken, adjoining the old mansion of that name now in ruins, then the property and residence of part of Lord Annaly's family. In this adventure, which he detailed minutely, both were engaged: detection, however, either at the moment or soon afterwards, ensued; and, had it not been for the respectability of Goldsmith's connections, which secured immunity also to his companions, the consequences might have been unpleasant. This story,