of that sight! I can never forget it. And although on all the surrounding hills scarcely fifty country people were assembled, I felt as if the whole of Europe were spectators of our defeat. The flag I had always believed triumphant now hung ignominiously beneath the ensign of the enemy, and the decks of our noble ship were crowded with the uniforms of English sailors and marines.

The blue water surged and spouted from the shot holes as the great hull loomed heavily from side to side, and broken spars and ropes still hung over the side as she went, a perfect picture of defeat. Never was disaster more legibly written. I watched her till the anchor dropped, and then, in a burst of emotion, I turned away, unable to endure more. As I hastened homeward I met the elder of my two hosts coming to meet me, in considerable anxiety. He had heard of the capture of the Hoche, but his mind was far more intent on another and less important event. Two men had just been at his cottage with a warrant for my arrest. The document bore my name and rank, as well as a description of my appearance, and significantly alleged, that although Irish by birth, I affected a foreign accent for the sake of concealment.

"There is no chance of escape now," said my friend; "we are surrounded with spies on every hand. My advice is, therefore, to hasten to Lord Cavan's quarters he is now at Letterkennyand give yourself up as a prisoner. There is at least the chance of your being treated like the rest of your countrymen. I have already provided you with a horse and a guide, for I must not accompany you myself. Go, then, Maurice. We shall never see each other again; but we'll not forget you, nor do we fear that you will forget us. My brother could not trust himself to take leave of you, but his best wishes and prayers go with you.'

Such were the last words my kindhearted friend spoke to me; nor do I know what reply I made, as overcome by emotion, my voice became thick and broken. I wanted to tell all my gratitude, and yet could say nothing. To this hour I know not with what impression of me he went away. I can only assert, that, in all the long career of vicissitudes of a troubled and adventurous life, these brothers have

occupied the chosen spot of my affection, for everything that was disinterested in kindness and generous in good feeling.

They have done more; for they have often reconciled me to a world of harsh injustice and illiberality, by remembering that two such exceptions existed, and that others may have experienced what fell to my lot.

For a mile or two my way lay through the mountains, but after reaching the high road, I had not proceeded far when I was overtaken by a jaunting-car, on which a gentleman was seated, with his leg supported by a cushion, and bearing all the signs of a severe injury.

66

Keep the near side of the way, sir, I beg of you, cried he; "I have a broken leg, and am excessively uneasy when a horse passes close to me."

I touched my cap in salute, and immediately turned my horse's head to comply with his request.

"Did you see that, George ?" cried another gentleman, who sat on the opposite side of the vehicle; "did you remark that fellow's salute? My life on't he's a French soldier."

"Nonsense, man; he's the steward of a Clyde smack, or a clerk in a counting-house," said the first, in a voice which, though purposely low, my quick hearing could catch perfectly.

"Are we far from Letterkenny just now, sir?" said the other, addressing me.

"I believe about five miles," said I, "with a prodigious effort to make my pronunciation pass muster.

"You're a stranger in these parts, I see, sir," rejoined he, with a cunning glance at his friend, while he added, lower, "Was I right, Hill?"

Although seeing that all concealment was now hopeless, I was in nowise disposed to plead guilty at once, and therefore, with a cut of my switch, pushed my beast into a sharp canter to get forward.

My friends, however, gave chase, and now the jaunting-car, notwithstanding the sufferings of the invalid, was clattering after me at about nine miles an hour. At first I rather enjoyed the malice of the penalty their curiosity was costing, but as I remembered that the invalid was not the chief offender, I began to feel compunction at the severity of the lesson, and drew up to a walk.

They at once shortened their pace, and came up beside me.

"A clever hack you're riding, sir," said the inquisitive man.

"Not so bad for an animal of this country," said I, superciliously.

"Oh then, what kind of a horse are you accustomed to?" asked he, half insolently.

"The Limousin," said I, coolly, "what we always mount in our Hussar regiments in France."

66

And you are a French soldier then," cried he, in evident astonishment at my frankness.

"At your service, sir," said I, saluting; a Lieutenant of Hussars; and if you are tormented by any further curiosity concerning me, I may as well relieve you by stating that I am proceeding to Lord Cavan's head-quarters, to surrender as a prisoner."

"Frank enough that!" said he of the broken leg, laughing heartily as he spoke. "Well, sir," said the other, "you are, as your countrymen would call it, bien venu,' for we are bound in that direction ourselves, and will be happy to have your company."

One piece of tact my worldly experience had profoundly impressed upon me, and that was, the necessity of always assuming an air of easy unconcern in every circumstance of doubtful issue. There was quite enough of difficulty in the present case to excite my anxiety, but I rode along beside the jaunting-car, chatting familiarly with my new acquaintances, and, I believe, without exhibiting the slightest degree of uneasiness regarding my own position.

From them I learned so much as they had heard of the late naval engagement. The report was that Bompard's fleet had fallen in with Sir John Warren's squadron; and having given orders for his fastest sailers to make the best of their way to France, had, with the Hoche, the Loire, and the Resolve, given battle to the enemy. These had all been captured, as well as four others which fled, two alone of

the whole succeeding in their escape. I think now that, grievous as these tidings were, there was nothing of either boastfulness or insolence in the tone in which they were communicated to me. Every praise was accorded to Bompard for skill and bravery, and the defence was spoken of in terms of generous eulogy. The only trait of acrimony that shewed itself in the recital was, a regret that a number of Irish rebels should have escaped in the Biche, one of the smaller frigates, and several emissaries of the people, who had been deputed to the Admiral, were also alleged to have been on board of that vessel.

"You are sorry to have had missed your friend, the priest of Murrah,” said Hill, jocularly.

Yes, by George, that fellow should have graced a gallows if I had been lucky enough to have taken him."

"What was his crime, sir?" asked I, with seeming unconcern.

66

Nothing more than exciting to rebellion a people with whom he had no tie of blood or kindred! He was a Frenchman, and devoted himself to the cause of Ireland, as they call it, from pure sympathy

"And a dash of Popery," broke in Hill.

"It's hard to say even that; my own opinion is, that French Jacobinism cares very little for the Pope. Am I right, young gentleman-you don't go very often to confession?"

"I should do so less frequently if I were to be subjected to such a system of interrogatory as yours," said I, tartly.

"They both took my impertinent speech in good part, and laughed heartily at it; and thus, half amicably, half in earnest, we entered the little town of Letterkenny, just as night was falling."

"If you'll be our guest for this evening, sir," said Hill, "we shall be happy to have your company,"

"I accepted the invitation, and followed them into the inn."

We feel that the assertion which we are about to make savours very strongly of national prejudice, but we are, nevertheless, tempted to hazard it— namely, that Irish topography still possesses a freshness of interest, for the stranger as well as for the native, which, in the present old age of the world, we might seek for in vain in that of almost any other country. Nor is it difficult, in our case, to assign a reason for such a characteristic, if we suppose it to be real. In those lands that are termed "classic," there is no spot that has not been so backnied by painters, poets, and tourists, as to have lost, in a great measure, however great its natural or historic interest, the piquancy of its attractiveness. In

other countries, again, the history of the past has been obliterated from the soil by the vicissitudes of recent times, and every vestige of the ideal has been effaced from the local scenery. Now Ireland has not been of sufficient historical importance to fall under the former category; nor, unfortunately for her material interests, has she made sufficient advances in industrial progress to bring her within the latter. The spirit of change has not made the same merciless inroads amongst us that it has among our neighbours; and if the slowness of our social advancement have its material disadvantages, there still, at least, hovers about our soil a spirit of the poetry of other days, fresh even yet as its own characteristic verdure. Modern improvements, and the other encroachments of this iron age of industry, have not so far invaded our hills, and lakes, and rivers, as to have expelled from them the traditionary history of ages, that have long since faded into oblivion in the annals of other nations. In our local names there still live for us the legends of our forefathers, and the sounds of a noble and expressive language that has become itself almost traditionary. Things and places are still but little altered from what they were when sung by

the bards, and described by the chroniclers of old, and the vestiges of races that occupied our soil in pre-historic times may still be traced in the rude works which they have left behind them, even though the present race, in whose bosoms this legendary interest of the land has been cherished, is fast vanishing from its surface.

Were we at a loss for an illustration of these historic attractions of Irish scenery, one of the happiest ones that we could select would be offered to us by the localities which we find described in Mr. Wilde's delightful volumethe "Beauties of the Boyne and Blackwater." The Boyne is, pre-eminently, a historic river. From the time when the star-led mariners of ancient Britain or Aquetaine, led on, we may presume, by traditions of yet remoter origin, crept along our eastern coast in search of the estuary of Inver Colpa, the Boyne has always figured in our annals, in the verses of our bards, in the legends of our saints; and if we wished to point out to the traveller places most sacred for the associations of our early history, most enriched with the monuments of our antiquity, and exhibiting some of the most favourable and characteristic features of our scenery, we would assuredly select for the occasion the banks and vicinity of the great river of Meath; observing, at the same time, and without intending flattery to Mr. Wilde, that his interesting handbook was indispensable as the companion of the tourist's rambles.

But, as it might be said that in making the volume, to which we now refer, contribute the subject of an article in the UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE, we are open to a charge of egotism, we owe it to our readers, in limine, to dissipate any ground that may appear to exist for such an imputation. It is true that not very long since, there appeared in these pages, under the head of IRISH RIVERS, some chapters from Mr. Wilde's pen, of which the scenery and antiquities of the Boyne formed the

topic, and that those chapters constituted the nucleus of the present work, as it first issued from the little press more than a year ago. To that extent only, however, can we claim idenany tity with it. The chapters from the UNIVERSITY Would, in point of quantity, form scarcely a third of the volune into which they have germinated, whilst, in point of matter, they have been thoroughly recast, and are indebted to the writer's more mature reflection, and opportunities of revision, to an extent which precludes us from any right we could have had to recognise them as our own. But if this were true of the first edition of the work, much more so is it of the second and greatly enlarged edition, the appearance of which, with most valuable and interesting additions, has quite removed any hesitation that we might have felt in reviewing Mr. Wilde's pages with the same freedom as we would those of any other writer. follow him, then, through some portions of the historic districts which he has chosen for his work, and in some of the speculations suggested on the way, at the same time taking care not to touch on any of the ground with which our readers have been already familiarised by his sketches in the pages of the UNIVERSITY, is the very agreeable task which we have here set ourselves; and, in order to perform it, we shall take a desultory course, not bind. ing ourselves to any order in the choice of our points of view.

To

Ascending, in the first place, almost to the source of the Boyne, to the celebrated hill of Carbery, and journeying thence, amidst a succession of monastic and feudal ruins, to the still more famous mound of Clonard, we shall invite the reader to halt with us on the way, at the Anglo-Irish remains of Monasteroris, of which Mr. Wilde gives us the following curious history:

"Monasteroris, in Irish, Mainister-Feorais, the Monastery of Mac Forais, or Mac Pierce's monastery, is celebrated in our mediæval history, and the references to it in the works of that period are numerous and interesting. The manner in which this name arose is peculiar and worthy of remark. Pierce de Bermingham was one of the early English settlers, and received a large grant of land in Leinster. The surname was dropped by the Irish-speaking people, and the Christian name Pierce, or Peter, translated into Gaelic as Horish, or Feorais, a name which the de

scendants of the Berminghams still bear to the present day. The clan-Feorais-the tribe name of the family of Bermingham-applied the Irish appellation to their territory, which was co-extensive with the barony of Carbery, and extended along the Boyne, both in Kildare and the King's County, as far as the borders of Meath. In process of time this Anglo-Norman stock became more Irish than the Irish themselves; they joined with the O'Conors of Offaly, and other Irish chieftains, and made fierce war upon the English settlers within the Pale at different times. We have an account of one of these wars given us by Dudley Firbisse:-That war was called the Warr of Caimin, that is, an abuse that was given to the son of the chiefe of the Berminghams (Hibernice, to Mac Ffeorais, his son) in the great court in the town of AthTruim, by the Thresurer of Meath, i. e., the Barnwall's sonn, so that he did beate a Caimin (i. e., a stroke of his finger) upon the nose of Mac Ffeorais, or Bermingham's son, which deede he was not worthy of, and he entering on the Earle of Ormonde safe guard; so that he stole afterward out of the towne, and went towards O'Conor Ffaly, and joined together; and it is hard to know that ever was such abuse better revenged than the said Caimin; and thence came the notable word (Cogadh an Caimin). During this war the Berminghams and O'Conors preyed and burnt a greate part of Meath.' Sir John De Bermingham, Earl of Louth, founded an abbey in the year 1325, for Conventual Franciscans, at Totmoy, in Offaly, the ancient name of this territory; and from the Irish name of this chieftain it was called Monaster-Feoris. In 1511, Cahir O'Conor, Lord of Offaley, was slain near this monastery. It was a place of considerable strength, as the remains of the building still testify, and sustained a lengthened siege by the Earl of Surrey, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, when he marched into Offaley at the time of his expedition against the O'Moores of Leix, who with other Irish chieftains had invaded the borders of the Pale. At the time of the suppression of religious houses it was granted to Nicholas Herbert."

Like a true enthusiast in legendary lore our author delights in holy wells; and we can conceive the heartfelt regret with which he penned the following sentence:

"The peasant's faith," he says, "" in the blessed well has ceased-the last remnant of it, at least in the midland counties of Ireland, was obliterated by the famine

"Old times are changed, old manners gone."

"We require," he again observes, "a book upon the holy wells of Ireland. Such a work would be instructive, amusing, and popular.

If illustrated by a good artist, capable of feeling such subjects, and drawing them with fidelity-a Petrie or a Burton-it would greatly assist the study of the antiquary, and such embellishments would afford the fireside reader a series of some of the most charming scenes which this country possesses. Amidst the wildest glens, among the most savage rocks, on bare mountain tops, surrounded by savage grandeur, or located by the quiet homestead in the cultivated plain; embosomed among aged trees in the sequestered valley; overshadowed by the ruined church or abbey wall, or guarded by the ancient sculptured cross; with the drooping thorn or the ragged ash, hung with the offerings of the pilgrim, stretching its arms over the crystal fountain; these venerated spots may be found in abundance; and with some blind girl' or burly boccagh kneeling by their waters, the artist will find subjects for his pencil of surpassing interest. And the author, in his description of these ancient and romantic sites of religious veneration or medical superstition, by inquiring into their Pagan origin, recounting the legends attached to each, so illustrative of ancient manners, and elucidating popular traditions which are becoming hourly obscured; in telling something about the Saint to whom each is dedicated, and of the rites and ceremonies, the rounds, prayers, and all the formulæ (generally self-imposed) which are gone through by the pious pilgrim, the devout penitent, the faithful valetudinarian, or the paid representative, together with some notices of the humours, fights, and frolic of the patron, its tents and pipers, beggars, rogues, and gamblers could not fail to interest his readers."

We confess we know no one more likely to succeed in such a work, as he has here sketched the plan of, than Mr. Wilde himself. He has a feeling exquisitely alive to the peculiar beauties of popular antiquities, and the old stones of our Irish monuments seem to speak a language for him which no one else could so well interpret. We only wish that not only our holy wells, but other features of Irish topography, about which hangs the sacred poetry of antiquity, were fortunate enough to be illustrated and described with the same artistic effect, the same knowledge and research, the same sentiment of veneration and sympathy for our ancient lore, that those favoured districts, through which flow the Boyne and Blackwater, have already been by him.

But the Blackwater-the ancient Sale, or Abhain-dubh-claims our attention as well as the Boyne; and if the latter can boast of its Oldtown, its

New Grange, its Brugh-na-Boinne, its Trim, and its Clonard, the former may vaunt at least its Kells, and its Tailtean. The Annals of the ancient and celebrated town of Kells would, as Mr. Wilde reminds us, fill a volume of themselves; but then, as he observes, "plague, pestilence, and famine, the sword, fire, battle, murder, and sudden death, form the chief items in its records." Of Tailtean, or Teltown, and its traditions, he gives us the following interesting notice :

"Upon a green hill, sloping gradually from the water's edge, and rising to a height of about three hundred feet, amidst the most fertile grazing lands in Meath, if not in Ireland, may be seen a large earthen fort, about a furlong's length to the right of the road, with a few hollows or excavations in the adjoining lands, apparently the sites of small, dried up lakes; and to the left of the road, nearly opposite these, parts of the trench and embankments of two other forts, which, judging from the portions still remaining, must have been of immense size, greater even than any of those now existing at Tara. mark the sites of the early Pagan settlement, and the position of the palace of Tailtean, one of the four royal residences which existed in Ireland in very early times.

These

"The first notice which the annals record of Tailtean (the name of which is still preserved the modern Teltown) is, that in the year of the world 3370, in the reign of Lugh Lamhfhada, the fair of Tailtean was established in commemoration and in remembrance of his fostermother, Tailte, the daughter of Maghmor, king of Spain, and the wife of Eochaidh, son of Ere, the last king of the Firbolgs (Annals of the Four Masters). This fair continued down to the time of Roderick O'Conor, the last monarch of Ireland, and was held annually upon the first of August, which month derives its name in the Irish language from this very circumstance, being still called Lughnasadh, or Lugh's fair-the Lammas-day-to which several superstitious rites and ancient ceremonies still attach throughout the country generally. Upon these occasions various sports and pastimes, a description of Olympic games, were celebrated, consisting of feats of strength and agility in wrestling, boxing, running, and such like manly sports, as well as horse-races, and chariot-races. Besides these the people were entertained with shows and rude theatrical exhibitions. Among these latter are enumerated sham-battles, and also aquatic fights, which it is said were exhibited upon the artificial lakes, the sites of which are still pointed out. Tradition assigns the site of the fair to that portion of the great rath still existing upon the northern side of the road, and about a quarter of a mile to the north-east of the great fort, or Rath