THE RESULTS OF COMMERCE.

If we consider our own country in its natural prospect, without any of the benefits and advantages of commerce, what a barren uncomfortable spot of earth falls to our share! Natural historians tell us, that no fruit grows originally among us, besides hips, and haws, acorns, and pig-nuts, with other delicacies of the like nature; that our climate of itself, and without the assistance of art, can make no further advances towards a plum than to a sloe, and carries an apple to no greater perfection than a crab; that our melons, our peaches, our figs, our apricots, and cherries, are strangers among us, imported in different ages, and naturalized in our English gardens; and that they would all degenerate and fall away into the trash of our own country, if they were wholly neglected by the planter, and left to the mercy of our sun and soil.

Nor has traffic more enriched our vegetable world, than it has improved the whole of nature among us. Our ships are laden with the harvest of every climate. Our tables are stored with oils, and spices, and wines; our rooms are filled with pyramids of China, and adorned with the workmanship of Japan; our morning's draught comes to us from the remotest corners of the earth; we repair our bodies by the drugs of America, and repose ourselves under Indian canopies. My friend, Sir Andrew, calls the vineyards of France our gardens, the spice-islands our hot-beds, the Persians our silk-weavers, and the Chinese our potters. Nature, indeed, furnishes us with the bare necessaries of life, but traffic gives us a great variety of what is useful, and at the same time supplies us with everything that is convenient and ornamental. Nor is it the least part of this our happiness, that whilst we enjoy the remotest products of the north and south, we are free from those extremities of weather which give them birth; that our eyes are refreshed with the green fields of Britain, at the same time that our palates are feasted with fruits that rise between the tropics. Nature seems to have taken a particular care to disseminate her blessings among the different regions of the world, with an eye to this mutual intercourse and traffic among mankind, that the natives of the several parts of the globe might have a kind of dependence upon one another, and be united together by their common interest. Almost every degree produces something peculiar to it. The food often grows in one country, and the sauce in another. The fruits of Portugal are corrected by the products of Barbadoes, and the infusion of a China plant is sweetened by the pith of an Indian cane. The Philippine islands give a flavour to our European bowls. The single dress of a woman of quality is often the product of an hundred climates. The muff and the fan come together from the different ends of the earth. The scarf is sent from the torrid zone, and the tippet from beneath the pole. The brocade petticoat rises out of the mines of Peru, and the diamond necklace out of the bowels of Hindostan.

There are not more useful members in a commonwealth than merchants. They knit mankind together in a mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute gifts of nature, find work for the poor, add wealth to the rich, and magnificence to the great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his own country into gold, and exchanges its wood for rubies. The Mohammedans are clothed in our British manufacture, and the inhabitants of the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep.-ADDISON.

HE who affects useless singularities has surely a little mind.-LAVater.

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE IRISH
PEASANTRY.
No. III.

KEENS AND DEATH CEREMONIES.

The women mix their cries, and clamour fills the fields. The warlike wakes continued all the night,

DRYDEN.

And funeral games were played at new returning light. "AN easy death, and a fine funeral" is a proverbial benediction amongst the lower orders in Ireland. Throughout life the peasant is accustomed to regard the manner and place of his interment as matters of the greatest importance; the greatest importance; "to be decently put in the earth, along with his own people," is the wish most frequently and fervently expressed by him. When advanced in life, it is usual, particularly with those who are destitute and friendless, to deny themselves the common necessaries of life, and to hoard up every trifle they can collect, for the expenses of their wake and funeral. Looking forward to their death as to a gala given by them to their acquaintances, every possible preparation is made for rendering it, as they consider, "creditable ;" their shroud and burial-dress are often provided many years before they are wanted; nor will the owners use these garments whilst living, though existing in the most abject state of wretchedness and rags. It is not unusual to see even the tombstone in readiness, and leaning against the cabin-wall, a perpetual Memento mori that must meet the eye of its possessor every time he crosses his threshold.

There is evidently a constitutional difference in the composition of the English and Irish peasant; but this peculiarity may be more satisfactorily accounted for by the prevailing idea with the latter of a future state being a material one, and subject to wants even more urgent than those of this life! under this impression, shoes, considered a luxury quite unworthy a thought, are believed almost indispensable after death, when it is supposed much walking has to be performed, probably through rough roads and inclement weather. The superstition evidently proceeds from the tenet of purgatory, held by the Romish church; and on this particular, the general belief of the Irish peasantry is somewhat at variance with the representations of their pastors: the priest describes it as a place of fire, but the people imagine it to be a vast and dreary extent, strewed with sharp stones, and abounding in thorns and brambles.

The attachment to particular burial-places arises from the same cause; and the anxiety amongst the vulgar to be interred with their relatives, bestows even on death a feeling of social interest. A remarkable instance occurred some time since. An old beggarwoman, who died near the city of Cork, requested that her body might be deposited in White Church burial-ground. Her daughter, who was without the means to obtain a conveyance, determined herself to undertake the task, and, having procured a rope, she fastened the coffin on her back, and, after a tedious journey of more than ten miles, fulfilled her mother's request.

Separate interests (as in the case of marriage) often cause disputes at funerals; and as no acknowledged rule exists in such cases, a battle usually ends the dissension, and the corpse is borne away in triumph by the victorious party to a cemetery perhaps twenty miles distant from that originally intended.

I remember once overhearing a contest between a poor man and his wife, respecting the burial of their infant. The woman wished to have the child laid near some of her own relations, which the husband strongly opposed, concluding her attachment to her

friends was superior to her love for him; but he was soon convinced by his wife's argument, that as her sister had died in child-birth only a few days previous, she would afford their poor infant suck, which nourishment it might not have, if buried elsewhere. Another melancholy instance of superstition occurred in the case of a woman, who presented several beggars with a loaf and porringer, that her deceased child might not want a porringer or bread in the next world. She accounted for her knowledge of the wants of an after-state, by saying that a very good man, who used to have occasional trances, in which it was known his soul left his body and became familiar with disembodied spirits, returning to its former habitation after a short absence, told her, on his recovery from one of these fits, that children, dying at an early age, whose parents' neglect deprived them of the use of a porringer, were obliged to lap milk out of their hands; whilst others, who were provided in life with one, had a similar article prepared for their comfort in a future state; and "now," continued the woman, as she bestowed her last loaf and porringer on a mendicant, "my mind is at ease, for my poor child is as happy as the best of them."

Many other anecdotes of the same nature might be related, but these are sufficient for the purpose of illustration.

The belief also of a similarity between spiritual and mortal existence extends, not merely to necessities, but to points of etiquette.

It is a general opinion amongst the lower orders, that the last buried corpse has to perform an office like that of "Fag" in our public schools by the junior boy, or at a regimental mess by the youngest officer; and that the attendance on his churchyard companions is only relieved by the interment of some other person. The notion may seem too absurd, yet serious consequences have sometimes resulted from it; and an instance comes within my recollection where two funerals, proceeding to the same burialground, arrived within view of each other a short distance from their place of destination. Both immediately halted, and a messenger was mutually despatched to demand precedence; their conference terminated in blows, and the throng on both sides forsaking the coffins, rushed forward, when a furious contest ensued, in which some lives were lost.

It is a prevalent notion that the ghost of a stranger is seldom well received by the ancient possessors of a churchyard, particularly if it has long been reserved to a clan or sept, when the cuggeriegh, or intruder, is sadly annoyed by his associates. There is in this a strange variation between life and death in the Irish character, as the trait of hospitality towards strangers is proverbially predominant while living.

When priests, or others noted for their sanctity, die, their graves are resorted to for some of the clay, which is mingled with water, and drunk for the cure of various diseases.

The wake of a corpse is a scene of riot rather than of mourning. The body lies exposed in the coffin for two or three nights previous to interment, surrounded by many candles, and with the face uncovered. To avert misfortune arising from the death of the heads of families, when a man dies his head is placed at the foot of the bed; but women are allowed to remain in the usual position. In the evening a general assembly of the neighbours takes place, when they are entertained with whiskey, tobacco, and snuff. On these occasions songs are sung and stories related, while the younger part of the company beguile the time with various games and sports, such as blindvan's buff, or hunt the slipper. Dancing, or rather

running in a ring, round an individual, who performs various evolutions, is also a common amusement; and four or five young men will sometimes, for the diversion of the party, blacken their faces, and go through a regular series of gestures with sticks, not unlike those of the English morris-dancers.

An Irish funeral-procession will present to the English traveller a very novel and singular aspect. The coffin is carried on an open hearse, with a canopy supported by four pillars. It is adorned with several devices in gold, and drawn by four horses, and is, perhaps, more impressive to the beholder than the close caravan-like conveyance used in England. But in Ireland what is gained in solemnity by this principal feature, is suddenly destroyed by the incongruity of the rest of the train, generally composed of a few postchaises, the drivers in their daily costume of a long great coat and slouched hat. In addition to these, I have seen a gig in which the clergyman (I imagine, by his being equipped in a white scarf and hat-band) drove a friend; afterwards came a crowd of persons of all descriptions on foot. No noise, no lamentations were to be heard; but the figure in the flowing white scarf brandishing his whip, gave it very much the effect of an electioneering procession.

The open hearse is common throughout Ireland, and that used by the poorer classes becomes perfectly grotesque, from the barbarous paintings of saints and angels with which it is bedizened. The concourse of persons who attend the funeral of an opulent farmer, or a resident landlord, is prodigious. Not only those to whom the deceased was known, but every one who meets the procession, turns to accompany it, let his haste be ever so great, for a mile or two, as it is accounted unlucky, or unfriendly, to neglect doing so.

The funeral of a gentleman acknowledged as the head of a clan (now an event of rare occurrence, and almost solely confined to the county Kerry) is one of those sights it is impossible to behold without feeling sublime sensations. The vast multitude, winding through some romantic defile, or trailing along the base of a wild mountain, while the chorus of the death-song, coming fitfully upon the breeze, is raised by a thousand voices. On a closer view, the aged nurse is seen sitting on the hearse beside the coffin, with her body bent over it; her actions dictated by the most violent grief, and her head completely enveloped in the deep hood of her large cloak, which falls in broad and heavy folds, producing altogether a most mysterious and awful figure. At every crossroad, such roads being considered symbolic of their faith, there is a general halt; the men uncover their heads, and a prayer is offered up for the soul of their departed chief.

The Irish funeral howl is notorious, and although this vociferous expression of grief is on the decline, there is still, in the less civilized parts of the country, a strong attachment to the custom, and many may yet be found who are keeners, or mourners, for the dead by profession.

In the fourth volume of the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, the musical notation of one of these lamentations may be seen; and Dr. O'Brien, in his Irish Dictionary, describes the keen as-" a cry for the dead, according to certain loud and mournful notes, and verses, wherein the pedigree, land, property, generosity and good actions of the deceased person and his ancestors, are harmoniously recounted, in order to excite pity and compassion in the hearers, and to make them sensible of their great loss in the death of the person whom they lament."

Having a curiosity to hear the Keen more distinctly sung than over a corpse, when it is accom

PROPER MODES OF TAKING EXERCISE.

a welcome, but had numerous invitations, on account of the vast store of Irish yerses she had collected, and could repeat. Her memory was indeed extraordinary; and the clearness, quickness, and elegance with which she translated from the Irish into English, though unable to read or write, is almost incredible. Before she commenced repeating, she mumbled for a short time, probably the beginning of each stanza, to assure herself of the arrangement, with her eyes closed, rocking her body backwards and forwards, as if keeping time to the measure of the verse. She then began in a kind of whining recitative, but as she proceeded, and as the composition required it, her voice assumed a variety of deep and fine tones, and the energy with which many passages were delivered, proved her perfect comprehension and strong feeling of the subject, but her eyes always continued shut, perhaps to prevent interruption to her thoughts. From several keens which I took down from this woman's dictation, I select the following; it will, doubtless, appear to the English reader an odd compination of the sublime and vulgar. It was composed on Sir Richard Cox, the historian, who died in 1733; the first verse presents a curious picture of Irish hospitality.

My love and darling, though I never was in your kitchen, yet I have heard an exact account of it. The brown roast meat continually coming from the fire; the black boilers continually boiling; the cock of the beerbarrel for ever running; and if even a score of men came in, no person would inquire their business; but they would give them a place at your table, and let them eat what they pleased, nor would they bring a bill in the morning to them. My love and friend, I dreamed through my morning slumbers, that your castle fell into decay, and that no person remained in it. The birds sung sweetly no longer, nor were there leaves upon the bushes; all was silence and decay!-the dream told me that our beloved man was lost to us-that the noble horseman was gone! the renowned Squire Cox!

66

My love and darling, you were nearly related to the Lord of Clare, and to O'Donovan of Bawnlehan; to Cox with the blue eyes and to Townsend of White Court. This is the appointed day for your funeral, and yet I see none of them coming to place even a green sod over you."

Keens are also a medium through which the disaffected circulate their mischievous principles, and this they do without much attempt at concealment, the Irish language being a sufficient cloak for the expression of seditious sentiments; few, if any, of the gentry being acquainted with it.

Those criminals whose lives have been forfeited in the cause of rebellion, derive no small consolation from the idea of martyrdom, which they fondly imagine they have attained, and in this they are encouraged by the popular voice, apostrophizing their shade as that of an hero and a patriot. Their countrymen are called upon to revenge their death, and to recover the estates of their Milesian ancestors, whose spirit has alone descended to them; on that spirit and what it will achieve, many verses are bestowed. It is compared to the mountain-eagle, that even in bondage, the hand of strangers could not tame; to the mountain-torrent, that would suddenly burst forth with overwhelming inundation, and destroy the lands where the cold-hearted Saxons, as they call them, revelled.

[Abridged from CROFTON CROKER's Researches in the South
of Ireland.]

Dr. Combe remarks, in his Physiology applied to Health, that,-—

Scotland are common among the youth of our cities, and In Summer, walking excursions to the Highlands of when proportioned in extent to the constitution and previous habits of the individual, nothing can be more advantageous and delightful. But not a season passes in which health is not sacrificed and life lost, by young men imprudently exceeding their natural powers, and undertaking journeys for which they are totally unfitted. It is no unusual thing for youth, still weak from rapid growth, and perhaps accustomed to the desk, to set out in high spirits, at the rate of twenty-five or thirty miles a day, on a walking excursion, and to come home so much worn out and debilitated that they never recover. Even a single day of excessive fatigue will sometimes suffice to interrupt growth, and produce permanent bad health. Many young men hurry on the fatigue during the shooting season, in cases where, by premature developement of consumption by excessive prudent management, they might have escaped it for years, if not altogether. The principle of not exceeding the point at which exercise promotes nutrition and increases strength, will serve as a safe guide on all occasions. and indicate the the rule by experience, and generally prepare themselves rate at which it may be extended. Old sportsmen know for the moors, by several weeks of previous training. The science and judgment which fox-hunters display in preparing their horses for their future exertions in coursing by their riders, to the training of their own families. are well known, and might be still more usefully applied

After many very judicious remarks on different kinds of exercise, Dr. C. concludes that division of his subject with a case, which affords an extremely apposite illustration of almost every one of them. The particulars were furnished to him by a young friend, who, at the time of his experiment, was about seventeen years of age, and growing rapidly.

After having passed the Winter, closely engaged in a sedentary profession, and unaccustomed to much exercise, he was induced, by the beauty of returning Spring, to dedicate a day to seeking enjoyment in a country excursion; and for that purpose set off one morning in the month of May, without previous preparation, to walk to Haddington, by way of North Berwick, a distance of thirty-four miles. Being at the time entirely unacquainted with physiology, he was not aware that the power of exerting the muscles depended in any degree upon the previous mode of life; miles, he must necessarily continue to possess the same but thought that if a man was once able to walk thirty power, under all circumstances, while youth and health remained. The nervous stimulus arising from his escape from the desk, and from the expected delights of the excursion, carried him briskly and pleasantly over the ground decrease. Unfortunately, the next part of the road lay for the first twelve miles, but then naturally began to through a dull, monotonous, and sandy tract, presenting no object of interest to the mind, and no variety of any description; so that the mental stimulus, already greatly impaired in intensity, became still weaker. Being alone, his intellect and feelings could not be excited by the pleasure of companionship and conversation; weariness conse quently increased at every step: and long before his arriva. at North Berwick (twenty-five miles), every vestige of enjoyment had disappeared, time seemed to move at a marvellously tardy pace, and every mile appeared double in length.'

Not being aware that excessive exercise, without a sucand digestion, and having a lively recollection of the pleaceeding period of repose, is equally unfavourable to sleep dinner with an appetite whetted by a proper degree of sure and refreshment consequent upon eating a good bodily labour in the open air, he looked forward with confidence to some recompense and consolation for his toils when dinner should make its aopearance. In this, how

a square aperture left in the top, but closed in every other part. This opening is covered up by means of slips of whalebone fixed to the stones, and having their ends pointing to the middle; these immediately yield to any weight, and will allow it to fall into the trap and then recover their position; the contrivance is concealed by a little snow or earth, scattered on the whalebone. By placing the bait so that the Fox must step on this yielding floor, he is precipitated into the chamber beneath, from whence he cannot escape; and several may be thus taken in succession. Other traps are made by the same people, which kill the Fox by causing a large stone to fall upon him when he pulls at the bait.

In the more southern regions, the common Fox is taken for its fur in different kinds of traps, among which the form used in England to take, or rather to deter trespassers, called steel-traps, is much employed. The animal is so cautious, that the trap, of whatever kind it may be, must be carefully concealed, and the odour of the hunter disguised by rubbing the trap with assa-foetida, castoreum, or other strongly-scented substance.

The Black, or Silver Fox, is a rare variety, there being seldom more than four or five taken at any one station during the season, though the hunters have recourse to all their art to capture them. The fur is thicker and finer than that of any other variety, and is generally of a black colour, rendered hoary or silvery by an admixture of hairs whate at the upper end. It is stated, that formerly the skin of one of these animals was sold for its weight in gold! At present it fetches six times the price of any other fur, except, in proportion to their size, those of the Sable and Ermine.

The ERMINE, or STOAT (Mustela erminea), has been so long celebrated for its delicate fur, that its name has oecome a figurative expression for anything of great purity; and several fabulous stories have been told of it, such as that it prefers death to soiling its coat by passing through any dirty place, and that the hunters availed themselves of this delicacy to capture the animal, by surrounding its haunt with mud, &c. It is larger than the Common Weasel, but otherwise resembles that animal in every respect; and the Ermine, when in its Summer dark coat, is easily mistaken for a Weasel. The Stoat is common to all northern regions, and is hunted in the same manner and by the same persons as the following.

The SABLE, (Mustela zibellina.) The fur of this animal 1s most prized when it is of an uniform dark colour, approaching to black; and a single skin of such a quality, if in fine condition, will sell for from ten to twelve pounds: the commoner kinds are much lighter on the throat and under parts, and have whitish spots round the neck. The Sable is an intelligent animal, like the rest of its congeners, and capable of being domesticated. It inhabits woody districts,

especially forests of fir, of all the northern regions, and lives in holes of trees: it hunts during the night, and preys on all small animals and birds, and occasionally eats vegetable food: in size it equals the common Marten, being about eighteen inches long. The coldest and most dreary regions of nortn-eastern Asia and the adjacent islands, are the principal habitats of the Sable; it is there that the chase of this animal is followed on the most systematic and extensive plan.

The hunters having assembled at the place of meeting, form themselves into parties of from five to ten or more, each having a leader or captain; they carry provisions and means of cooking, and such other necessaries as may enable them to pass the Winter in these remote and frozen districts. When a party arrives at the hunting-ground chosen for it, huts are built, and the hunters wait till the frost sets in; the season when the Sables are in their highest perfection, being the months of December, January, and February.

In penetrating into the woods, the hunters mark the trees to enable them to trace their way back again; and they build huts, well banked up with snow, at intervals on their route, to serve as places of rendezvous and shelter during storms. At every promising spot they set traps, which are either pits, common fall-traps, or else of the following construction :

A plank is laid horizontally between two trees, having a bait set near one end of it; above, another heavy piece of wood is suspended obliquely, one end being just supported by an upright post, from the bottom of which, a rod or wire proceeds to the bait which is fastened to it; by moving the bait the post is disturbed, and allows the upper beam to fall on and kill the Sable.

These stations and traps are visited from time to time to take out the prey and re-set the baits; the hunters, if the Sable becomes scarce, trace its foot-prints on the snow to its retreats, and set nets over the mouths of their holes, and often wait for days together for the appearance of the animal. It occasionally happens that the hunters' supply of provisions fail them, or they lose their way in the interminable forests, and are reduced to the most severe privations, if not actually perish: but such accidents are now of rare occurrence, owing to the well-organized arrangements made for the purpose of supplying the stations with food.

These hardships, undergone by fellow-creatures in administering lamentation for many writers and travellers, who seem to have forto the artificial wants of luxury," have been a frightful theme of gotten that it is to the "artificial wants of luxury" that man is indebted for most of his knowledge and intellectual superiority. If we were to renounce this main-spring to commercial activity and enterprise, every state would live in utter ignorance of the rest of the world, ductive of misery than the vanity of ladies desirous of obtaining sable unless it arrived at such knowledge by some stimulus far more promuffs and tippets.