amid this kind of porcupine armor, often finds himself, while travelling in England, shoved hither and thither in no very pleasant fashion. If, unluckily, he happens to have upon him some garment that bespeaks a foreign country, he seems to be singled out as the special object of suspicion and aversion. If, after living this kind of life for a few months, the traveller yearns to be among a people with whom he can have some sympathy, let him cross the Irish Channel, and go to Ireland. He will there meet with ready kindness and open-handed hospitality. The very name of stranger, the sound of which induces an Englishman to double lock his heart and his door, is a ready title to an Irishman's hospitality. Nor is this virtue practised among the rich alone. It is even more strikingly displayed by the poor, according to their means. A poor Irishman will part with his last shilling for a friend, a neighbor, or even a stranger, in distress. He will divide his last potato, giving the larger half (to use Pat's own expression) to one more needy than himself. "A stranger," says a certain traveller, "will always find it more easy to get in, than to get out of the house of an Irishman. The neighbor or the stranger finds every man's door open; and to walk in without ceremony at

meal time, and to partake of his bowl of potatoes, is always sure to give pleasure to every one of the house, and the pig is turned out to make room for the gentleman. If the visitor can relate a lively tale, or play upon any instrument, all the family is in smiles, and the young will begin a merry dance, whilst the old will smoke, after one another, out of the same pipe, and entertain each other with stories. A gentleman of an erratic turn was pointed out to me, who, with his flute in his hand, a clean pair of stockings and a shirt in his pocket, wandered through the country every summer. Wherever he stopped, the face of a stranger made him welcome, and the sight of his instrument doubly so; the best seat, if they had any, the best potatoes and new milk, were allotted for his dinner; and clean straw, and sometimes a pair of sheets, formed his bed; which, although frequently not a bed of roses, was always rendered welcome by fatigue, and the peculiar bias of his mind."

Curran, in one of his celebrated speeches, thus beautifully described the native hospitality of his country: "The hospitality of other countries is a matter of necessity or convention; in savage nations, of the first; in polished, of the latter; but the hospitality of an Irishman is not

the running account of posted and legered courtesies, as in other countries; it springs, like all his other qualities, his faults, his virtues, directly from the heart. The heart of an Irishman is by nature bold, and he confides; it is tender, and he loves; it is generous, and he gives; it is social, and he is hospitable."

During the march of a regiment, the Honorable Captain P―-, who had the command of the artillery baggage, observing that one of the peasants, whose car and horse had been pressed for the regiment, did not drive as fast as he ought, went up to him and struck him. The poor fellow shrugged up his shoulders, and observed there was no occasion for a blow, and immediately quickened the pace of his animal. Some time afterwards, the artillery officer, having been out shooting all the morning, entered a cabin for the purpose of resting himself, where he found the very peasant whom he had struck, at dinner with his wife and family. The man, who was very powerfully made, and whose abode was solitary, might have taken fatal revenge upon the officer; instead of which, immediately recognizing him, he chose the best potato out of his bowl, and, presenting it to his guest, said, 'There, your honor, oblige me by tasting a potato, and I

hope it is a good one; but you should not have struck me; a blow is hard to bear.'"

Let us turn a moment to the intellectual character of the Irish. And first, as to their imaginative qualities. These are remarkably displayed in their legends, their superstitions, and their popular poetry. The art of poetry appears to have been cultivated from early antiquity, and it is a curious fact that rhyme is an Irish invention. As early as the fifth century, the use of rhyme was familiar among the Irish, as well in their vernacular verses, as those which they wrote in Latin. It may be remarked here, that poetry in its infant state is seldom separated from music, and that, in Ireland, many of the early poems appear to have been sung, and accompanied by the harp, or cruit. In some very ancient verses, on the death of Columba, preserved in the "Annals of the Four Masters," we find allusion to this : "Like a song of the cruit, without joy, is the sound that follows our master to the tomb!" This passage reminds us of Ossian; and it is curious to remark that the very poems which Macpherson pretends were founded upon fragments of ancient Erse song, gathered from the western borders of Scotland, are, in fact, founded upon Irish poems, well

ascertained to have been composed in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. It is true, indeed, that many of these songs were current among the Gaelic inhabitants of the Hebrides and the western Highlands; but the people of these portions of Scotland were but the descendants of Irish emigrants. These kept up a constant intercourse with Ireland, and, adopting the popular poetry of the latter country, made these borrowed lyrics familiar as their own. But Ireland claims their paternity; and authentic history has now restored them to their birthplace.

The popular legends of the Irish eminently display the imaginative character of the people. In these, the fairies largely participate, seeming in Ireland to perform even more extraordinary feats than in merry England. The banshee, a pure Irish invention, is a nondescript being, supposed to be attached to particular families, and to take a lively interest in their welfare. There are few ancient houses in Ireland unprovided with this domestic spirit. It gives notice of impending calamity, and a death in the family is always foretold by the wailings of this illomened attaché. As, in England, the oldfashioned witch was more common than the