hilly spot of ground, the waving undulations of which it followed; the houses built here and there, variously grouped, now on small hills, now on bottoms; the streets, rising and descending; and the bold gothic architecture of the various edifices, gave it rather a picturesque appearance. The archers entered by the Florentine gate, and proceeded along the only level and straight street in Sienna, as it kept all through to the top of the long, low hill where it commenced. A crowd of people accompanied the prisoners to the great square; on one side of which they remarked, as they entered, the Cathedral-on the other, the Palazzo dell Signoria, or Hall of Justice, a large edifice built of cut stone as far as the first story, and the remaining portion being finished with bricks. The archers halted in the square, awaiting their last orders from Castruccio, who had gone for a short time into the Signoria.

While they stood waiting, Montanini and his sister, notwithstanding their previous state of anxiety, and that they had both been frequently through the city before, could not refrain from gazing on the majestic Cathedral il Duomo, which arose before them in all the grandeur of its marble walls and beautiful gothic portico, the work of the celebrated architects, Agostino and Angnolo.

The return of Castruccio, and the stir of the crowd which was pressing close on them, soon recalled Montanini and his sister to themselves; the former of whom and his servant were ordered by Castruccio to follow him into the Signoria; and though the order was evidently not designed to extend to Nella or her attendant, she did not hesitate to follow Montanini into the great hall that conducted to the different apartments, where the magistrates attended on stated days to administer justice. They had advanced into the hall, and were preparing to follow Montanini in the same way up the main stair-case, when their lordly guide, perceiving their intention, informed them with all the dignity of a magistrate in the hall of justice," that they were free and might depart."

"We must part here, Nella," said Montanini, burriedly, "and we shall soon see each other again; for I trust," he continued, looking contemptuously at Castruccio, "that good men will do me justice, and protect me from the villany of those who would detain me here. Farewell, sister. Go," said he, speaking in a lower tone "go to a widow-woman's of the name of Volba; she lives in the narrow street at the other side of the square, nearly opposite to this; and you will find in her house a very good lodging for yourself and Suina ;" and pressing his sister in his arms, the tears came and could not be suppressed.

As for poor Nella, this separation, which had not till now entered her thoughts, and which she felt was unavoidable, was at once destructive of the little firmness she had left; but Castruccio was growing impatient, and her brother would not be indebted to him for even moment's delay with herself; and after his parting hopes whispered, and adieus given once more, he had torn himself from her, and was gone with his faithful negroshe knew only this, with his mortal enemy as his guide. She was left alone in the middle of a large hall, with hundreds of inquisitive eyes gazing upon

her.

This she felt with a sensitiveness that is nourished in solitude; and striving to keep down these tell-tales of sorrow, "at the least before the idle curiosity of those around, she hurried out of the Pallazo, and went in search of the house to which her brother had directed her. A short search was only necessary, and finding the landlady at home, to her she made known her wants.

After many a curtsey, and scrape, and question, the talkative and troublesome Volba promised the best chamber she had to "La Signora," and plenty of litter for the poor horses, as they seemed worn. But again would her tongue carelessly run on.

of

distance; she had, perhaps, accomplished a visit "Doubtless, "La Signora' had come from a to Our Lady--she had gone on a pious pilgrimage. She herself had also made vows, and was desirous a pilgrimage but her business hindered her. She was obliged to earn her poor livelihood, and, then, her health was but poorly-it had been bad as long as she was a widow. She wished La Signora' might not suffer as much as she did."

:

Without paying much attention to the torrent of words poured out by her hostess, Nella, after giving the old lady in a few words her directions concerning herself, set out, followed by Suina, for

the cathedral. As she entered, she received the "holy water" from an old man who was leaning against one of the pillars that supported the portico, and who appeared, by his quiescent attitude, and the marble colour of his countenance, to form a part of the sculpture that adorned that portion of the church next the ground.

The walls on the inside, as on the outside, were covered with black and white marble; the pillars were light and graceful, and the windows enriched at the sides with rows of little columns rising above one another, like the seats in an amphitheatre.

The ceiling, and the moulding that ran round it, was azure, and sprinkled with stars of gold. The cupola, like the roof, was supported with marble pillars, and adorned with statues of the same material-among which might be seen the twelve Apostles of Josephe Mazzuole of Sienna. On the pavement, which was composed of black, white, and grey marble, were depicted a variety of incidents from the Old Testament, and the beautiful finish of the pieces representing the sacrifice of Abraham, and the passage of the Red Sea, particularly attracted the eye.

The arms of the different cities in alliance with the Republic had likewise their places there: the elephant of Rome surmounted by a tower, the lion of Florence, as also that of Massa, the dragon of Pistoria, the hare of Pisca, the unicorn of Viterbo, the goose of Owietto, the vulture of Volaterra, the stork of Perouse, the lynx of Peronne, and the kid of Grossetti, “tutti quanti," producing a most singular and, in fact, a magical effect on the eye.

After bestowing the tribute of a religious attention on each object that met their view, as they advanced up this magnificent temple, Nella and Suina proceeded humbly towards the chapel, and kneeling sought that succour which was in vain looked for from the wide world around. (To be continued.)

COMPOSITION OF MILK.

An improved mode of analysing milk has been discovered by Dr. Playfair. The cow being in good milking condition, and at the time fed upon aftergrass, he ascertained the average amount of her milk for five days, and then proceeded to analyse it. In the first day it was observed that the milk of the evening contained 3.7 per cent of butter, and of the following morning 5.6 per cent. The deficiency in the first observation is referred to the consumption of a greater portion of the butter or its constituents, from respiratory oxidation during the day when the animal was in the field, than during the night when it was at rest in the stall. When confined during the day, and fed with after-grass in a shed, the proportion of butter rose to 5.1 per cent. ; when fed with hay, the butter was 3.9 and 4.6 per cent.; when fed with portions of potatoes, hay, and bean flour, the butter was 6,7 and 4.9 per cent.; with hay and potatoes, 4.6 and 4.9 per cent. The author then examines Dumas's theory of the origin of fat in animals, in reference to the foregoing experiments, and concludes, in opposition to that theory, that the butter in the milk could not have arisen solely from the fat contained in the food, while it may reasonably be referred to the starch and other unazotised elements of the food, as maintained by Liebig. Experiments of Boussingault are quoted in favour of the same conclusion, and observations of dairymen in different localities. Potatoes are particularly favourable to the flow of milk and increase of butter, from the starch they contain; so is malt refuse. Porter and beer are also well known to be favourable to the production of butter, both in the milk of woman and of the cow, although these fluids do not contain fat. The quantity of caseine (cheese) in the milk, is showi to be dependant on the quantity of albumen in the food supplied on different days to the cow, and to the supposed destruction of the tissues by muscular exercise. Peas and beans are the food which yield most caseine. Pasturing in the open field is more favourable to the formation of butter. It is also shown that the proportion of butter, in the milk of woman, is increased by the rest and the diminution of the respiratory oxidation.

LACE-MAKERS OF NOTTINGHAM-Lace making is a mechanical process, requiring constant and unremitting attendance. It appears that the number of the machines, which was 1,312 in 1836, has since then a good deal diminished, and that the trade is passing into the hands of the larger manufacturers. This arises from the enormous sacrifice which the rapid changes of pattern and the necessary improvements demand. So rapid are these fluctuations, that a machine, which cost 1,000l., has been sold in a short time for 451.; and in 1833 and 1834, five or six hundred of the old slow machines were broken up, and sold for old iron. Their prices vary from 250l. to 1,0007. The short life of these costly machines renders it necessary to get the utmost possible produce from them while they last; and hence the hours of work are extremely long. The majority of these machines are still worked by hand. The total value of the lace produced in 1835 was found to be 2,212,000l. The quantity is probably increased since then, at a less sale price, by the improved machinery. Although the lace of Nottingham is wholly made by machines, they require constant tending; in order to mend the thread, and pass the ends of it through the bobbins into the aperture in the carriage, of which the objeet is, as it were, to feed the machine. About 1800 bobbins have to be threaded for every machine. It will scarcely be credited that this operation is performed by children as young as three or four years old, who work even at that age from 12 to 14 hours per day.

MY OWN FIRESIDE,

Round the hearth, where the fire burnt bright and clear,
I have sat with dear friends from year to year,
Where the merry talk and the tale went round,
And the heart beat time to the music's sound;
But the friends that once sported with blightsome glee
Now rest in the grave 'neath yon willow tree.
And the heart that once bounded with gay delight,
And the eyes once that sparkled with radiance bright,
And the lips that once told the sweet tale of love
As true as the stars which shone bright above,
Are silent and low 'neath the cold, cold sod;
But their spirits have flown to their rest with God.
How long have I sat by that old arm-chair,
And nursed the dear parent that linger'd there?
How oft have I heard a kind prayer from him,
With his faltering voice, while his eyes grew dim?
Yet he pointed with hope to that world on high,
Where his soul now lives and shall never die.
And still have I guarded with filial care
The fragments now left of that old arm-chair;
And there do I sit at the evening's close,
There dream of my forefathers' sweet repose—
That with them I may rest where no wintry gale
Disturbs their calm home by its murmuring wail.
And the brothers that sported in childhood's hours
'Neath the grateful shade of the summer bowers,
That sped o'er the hills in the hunting race,
And spurr'd on the steed to the distant chase,
Or roll'd off the ball o'er the level green-
Yes! where I stand now oft have they been.
And the sister I watched with a brother's love,
Whose voice like the sounds of some gentle dove,
Whose beauty was rich as the lily's hue,
As fair, but as frail, as the rose she grew;
Yet death nipp'd the blossom in summer's bloom,
And the flower soon dropt to its early tomb.
All, all the dear friends I once loved are gone,
I'm a stranger now left in this world alone;
No charms has the grandeur of men for me,
No peace in their lordly halls I see;
For me all the glory they once possess'd
Are sunk with life's hopes to their final rest.

ELLIS.

LONDON MILLINERS.-There are about 15,000 milliners and dress-makers in London. They commence work usually at from 14 to 16-that is to say, at an age when the future health and constitution is determined by the care it then receives. A very large portion of these girls are boarded and lodged by their employers, and they often come from the During the busy country healthy and strong. seasons-i.e., from April to August, and from October to Christmas-the regular hours of work" at all the principal houses" are, on the average, eighteen hours daily!

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. «• *."—Most certainly in our next.

"E. J. M."-The lines are in type, and shall appear in our next number.

"T." Dundalk.-If the person you speak of would take the agency of our Journal, the object would be effected. "W."-We are anxious to oblige our numerous friends in your locality, and shall act on your hint.

"L. L."-"P.F."-" D."-and "K." received. "T. W." inadmissible.

The length of several communications compels us to divide them; but in such cases the continuations shall be consecutive.

Printed and Published for the Proprietors at the Office, 32 Lower Sackville-street, Dublin, where all communications are to be addressed, to the Editor.

The Trade supplied direct from the Office.

No. 21.-VOL. II.

IRISH LEGEND.

THE BANQUET OF DUN NA N-GEDH, AND THE BATTLE OF MAGHRATH.

A legendary tale, under this title, translated from the original Irish by our gifted countryman, Mr. John O'Donovan, has just been printed for the Irish Archæological Society. It is a valuable accession to the scanty stock of materials we posness illustrative of the condition of Ireland previous to the Anglo-Norman conquest, affording illustrations of manners, customs, and feelings, which enable us to estimate the degree of civilization to which the people had attained when the poem was produced. The learned translator believes that the legend was written immediately after the Anglo-Norman invasion, assigning as reasons for fixing this date, that the title of "earl" is given to one of the kings of Ulster, and that the style of the work exhibits that turgid redundancy, arising from the extravagant use of epithets, which characterises the last and most corrupt age of native Irish literature. A brief outline of the story will give an illustration of the manners alluded to.

Domhnall, king of Ireland, had a remarkable dream, which so alarmed him that he resolved to consult a celebrated monk, named Maelcobha, to whom he was related by marriage. Here is the poetic version of the conversation between the king and the monk

"Domhnall I have seen an evil dream,

A week and a month this night,

In consequence of it I left my house.

To narrate it. to tell it.

My whelp of estimable character,

Ferglonn, better than any hound,
Methought assembled a pack,

By which he destroyed Eriu in one hour.
Pass thou a true judgment upon it,

O Muelcobha, O cleric,

It is thou ought st readily,

Thou art a seer and a true cleric.

Maelcobha―The son of a king and a greyhound whelp

Show the same courage and exploits;

They have both the same propensity,

And in dreams are [deote] the same thing.
The son of Ulster's king of high authority,

Or the sou of the king of the province of Connaught,
Cobhtach, will oppose thee in every way,

Or his playmate, Clougal Claen,

PRICE 1d.

Domhnall That Cobhtach should oppose me

It is cruel to say, for it is difficult :

And the comely Congal would not rise up

Against me for the world's red gold.

Maelcobha-A counsel which shall injure no one
From me to thee, O grandson of Ainmirè ;
To fetter them for a full bright year;

Thy prosperity will not be the worse for it.

Domhnall-Alas for the judge who came to the decision, For which remorse would seize me;

Should I do the deed, 'twould not be joyful,
I would not consult sense ar reason."

So confident was the king in the fidelity of his foster-son, Congal, that he invited him to a feast, given to all his vassal chieftains. Collectors were sent out to make provision for this banquet, and they were directed to collect as many goose-eggs as possible, the royal purveyors being particularly deficient in that rare delicacy. In the course of their search the collectors came to a hermitage in Meath, tenanted by an old woman. The sight of a flock of geese in front of the cell induced them to enter it: they found a large vessel of goose-eggs within, and seized it without ceremony. The old woman informed them that these eggs belonged to" a wonder-working saint of God's people," Bishop Erc of Slaine, whose custom it was to remain from morning until night immersed up to his arm-pits in the river Boyne, reading his psalter, which lay open before him on the strand; after such penance his favourite dinner was a goose-egg and a half, and three sprigs of watercresses from the Boyne." The royal collectors, who were "plebeians in the shape of heroes," thought even this fare too dainty for the aquatic bishop, and marched off with their prize.

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"The holy patron, Bishop Erc, of Slain, came to his house in the evening, and the woman told him how he was plundered. The righteous man then became wroth, and said-'It will not be good luck to the person to whom this kind of food was brought; and may the peace or welfare of Erin not result from the banquet to which it was brought; but may quarrels, contentions, and commotions be the consequence to her.' And he cursed the banquet as bitterly as he was able to curse it."

The consequence of this curse to Ireland, says the bard, was, that the country" was not one night thenceforward in the enjoyment of peace or tranquillity"! Bishop Erc's malediction took effect in the midst of the banquet; a goose-egg on a

silver dish was placed before every one of the chiefs, but when Congal was served," the silver dish was changed into a wooden one, and the goose-egg into the egg of a red-feathered hen." Congal was enraged; his heroic fury rose, and his bird of valour fluttered over him, and he distinguished not friend from foe." A regular battle ensued, until at length he rushed from the palace, followed by all his vassals, after having defied the king, and

66

menaced him with immediate war. Domhnall, being a man of peace, sent twenty-four saints to remonstrate with Congal, "each saint having the intercessory influence of a hundred;" but Congal refused to listen to them, menacing them with instant death if they ventured to enforce their remonstrances by excommunication. A division of poets was then sent, but their mission was equally inefficacious. Congal returned to Ulster, and by the advice of his uncle went to seek auxiliaries from the kings of Wales and Britain. Another stranger arrived at the same time as

Congal at the British court; this unknown prince had met with the royal poet on his road, and being a lover of minstrelsy, he made acquaintance with him, and won his favour by a singular act of friendship:

“A heavy shower fell, consisting of intermingled rain and snow, and he put his shield between the poet and the shower, and left his own arms and battle dress exposed to the snow. What is this for?' said the poet. I say unto thee,' replied he, 'that if I could show thee a greater token of veneration than this, thou shouldst receive it for thy learning, but as I cannot, I can only say, that I am more fit to bear rain than one who has learning. The poet was thankful for this, and said to him,If thou wouldst think proper to come with me this night to my house, I shall procure food and a night's entertainment for thee." 'I think well of it,' replied the other. They repaired to the poet's house, and got a sufficiency of meat and drink there."

The unknown youth accompanied the poet to a feast given by the British king in honour of Congal's arrival, and there a scene occurred, which is thus told :

"Before entering the place the poet had told him [the unknown youth] if a bone should be brought on a dish in his presence, not to attempt breaking it, for there was a youth in the king's household to whom every marrow-bone was due, and that if one should be broken against his will, its weight in red gold should be given him, or battle in single combat, and that he was the fighter of a hundred. That is good,' said the other; when this will be given I shall do my duty.' He stopped not till a bone was brought on a dish to him, and he put a hand on each end of it, and broke it between his two fingers, and afterwards ate its marrow and flesh. All beheld this and wondered at it. The hero to whom the marrow was due was told of this occurrence, and he rose up in great anger, and his heroic fury was stirred up to be revenged of the person who had violated his privilege, and ate what to him was due. When the other had perceived this he flung the bone at him, and it passed through his forehead and pierced his brain, even to the centre of his head. The king's people and his household rose up to slay him in revenge for it; but he attacked them, as attacks the hawk a flock of small birds, and made a great slaughter of them, so that their dead were more numerous than their living, and the living among them fled. He came again, and sat at the same poet's shoulder, and the king and queen were seized with awe of him, when

they had seen his warlike feats, and his heroic rage and champion fury roused. But he told them that they had no cause to fear him unless the household should again return into the house. The king said that they should not return. He then took his golden helmet off his head, and fair were his visage and countenance, after his blood had been excited by the fury of the battle."

(whom she had sent out some years before as a
The queen recognised this youth as her son,
knight-errant,) by a ring which he wore on his
finger: and so excited was she that she "cast her
royal callad (a cap or wig) into the fire, and
screamed aloud." In this recognition the king
refused to join, because three different adven-
turers, each claiming to be his absent son, and
each having a hundred brave attendants, had pre-
sented themselves before him successively, and he
had sent each to travel round Britain for a year.
Soon afterwards the three candidates appeared;
two of them were slain by the prince, and the third
nised the stranger as the rightful Conan and his
confessed his fraud, after which the king recog-
legitimate heir. The command of the auxiliaries
granted to Congal, was entrusted to Conan, and
the two princes felt themselves able to face a
world in arms. Domhnall did everything in his
power to divert Congal from the war, but when
his efforts failed, he set before his nobles, in a
sensible speech, the trifling nature of the offence,
and the large offers of compensation which he had
made. One of his bards put this manifesto into
verse-
e-the only means of insuring its circulation
in a land where reading and writing were little
practised-

"Behold ye the conduct of Congal of Cunilgne!
What is the difference at all between

The egg of the red-feathered hen,
And the egg of the white-winged goose?
There is little difference of meat
Between the hen egg and the goose egg;
Alas for him who destroyed all Erin
For a dispute about one egg!

The full of seven strong vats was offered
Of goose-eggs together,

And an egg of gold along with them

On the top of each vat."

The prevalence of pagan superstitions in the armies on both sides is fully shown in the following passage :

"In the mean time the soothsayers, the revealers of knowledge, and those who had delivered predictions, were contradictory and doubtful, in consequence of the length of time and stubbornness with which the heroes on both sides maintained the field without yielding or giving way on either side. Wherefore the predictions of their philosophers and wise men became uncertain and doubtful to some of them on either side, they having renounced and disbelieved their own demoniacal sciences of magic, in consequence of the incessant successive rallyings and dispersions of the forces on either side in the contest; so that their diviners and wise men could do no more than remain in a state of suspense and indecision, until they should learn on which party the success and prosperity of the battle would descend and tarry, and which of them the battle-terrific Beneit [Bellona] would more inspire with her vigors."

the end Conan and Congal are slain, with all their A long description is given of the battle. In followers, save one, named Sweeny, who went mad, and another of unknown name, who remained a prisoner.