that is if I shall take an impartial and scrutinizing survey of those who are now ushering themselves into notoriety upon this subject; it is not from emulation, it is not from envy-truth should be told-falsehood should be corrected.

I have expressed my regret that many "have omitted what they should have related." Alas! this is too truly verified by every writer I have seen. The education of a people is a subject that should engage all orders of society. For a people is a nation; with them it rises, with them it falls; yet the education of the Irish peasantry, is the very thing our Irish tourists disregard. They prefer to dwell amid the studded verdure of her valleys-to revel on her chill mountain tops as they tumble o'er each other, or to approach the grey solemnity of her cliffs, as they frown o'er the Atlantic billow, that bursts beneath their base. They know the generality of readers now-a- days turn over books only to amuse their leisure, perhaps then they take advantage of that knowledge. Hence it is that all have neglected or few have explored those regions I now tread; hence it is that I have alighted amidst thy mental solitude, isolated, and alone.

In the first place therefore, I conceive it necessary to run back for a moment, as far as the seventh and eighth centuries. About that period, the history of this country is marked in characters of blood. While party was then the only distinction-faction the only incitement; while the Anglo-Saxons were erecting their thrones upon the sepulchre of England; while they were slaughtering the native Briton, and butchering each other; while all seemed existing to fight, and fighting to exist-Ireland was amongst the foremost in the ranks of literature and science. If at that time, not only the inhabitants of the northern districts of this country, but likewise of Gaul flocked to her, to quaff of the pure fountains of Parnassus, she was not destitute of zeal in emitting forth her professors, as so many suns, to illumine the darkness of other nations. Accordingly we find, that about the time to which I have alluded, they conducted the principal academies of France and England.

I have thought it expedient for my subject thus briefly to have adverted to this portion of her history. Since from a lengthened series of oppressions and misgovernments, whatever little vestige of education can now be traced amongst that people, must be considered as the fallen greatness of her ancient temples.

Of the four provinces, that of Ulster appears beyond question the most modernised, and in general the most enlightened. Justly indeed might it be denominated a Scottish province. Perhaps it may be owing to the communication which I may say has always subsisted, and which still subsists, between it and our friends in Caledonia, that its population is certainly more comfortable, if possible more shrewd and more businesslike, than that of either Leinster, Connaught, or Munster. Their accent likewise bears with it such a siriking similarity to that of Scotia, that a stranger can scarcely believe them the children of Hibernia. Belfast, the provincial town, has its seminaries, academies, and literary institutions daily flourishing, as its trade is daily increasing. But purposing to distinguish the different gradations of education in that country, perhaps Belfast with its province may come under a more appropriate, that is a higher division. For the present then let us descend to the humble sphere of the peasant.

Of the three remaining provinces, Munster certainly opens the brightest prospect for the pursuit of our intended inquiries. The more effectually to attain this object, I should be inclined to subdivide that province. Out of the six counties it contains, I should give a preference in my selection, to Kerry or Tipperary. The county of Kerry, in particular, bears a saddening testimony of glories that have faded-of times that are no more. Up to the close of the last century, the Latin language was here in very general use. Many of the people-indeed, I should have said, the greater portion of the people, understood it far better than that of England, particularly about the period of 1766. If they understood it, they spoke it with as much fluency as they did their own vernacular tongue. This may seem somewhat an astonishing fact; it is, however, no less true. And I would here make an appeal to those who have ever witnessed the romantic lakes of Killarney who have ever gazed in absent, yet thrilling ecstasy, on all that the wildness of imagination could conceive, there embodied in the rude masterpieces of nature. I would ask them, have you ever observed a poor blind man sitting by the road-side as you were entering upon the scenery, perhaps while discharging the kind office of charity, have you ever stooped to conversation? Reader! poor McCarthy

(I think that is his name) would bring a blush upon many who carry a higher head in this foolish world. He stands forth a living-alas! a miserable testimony of the justness of those observations I have made. If he thoroughly understands the Latin language, he speaks it; if he speaks it, it is with fluency; if he speaks it with fluency, he speaks it classically.

But you may very reasonably inquire, how can these things be accounted for? I will then give you what appears to me the most satisfactory and at the same time the most probable solution.

And in the first place Ireland was, as we have observed, high in literature.

Secondly. From the moment that an English foot was set upon that soil, oppression and misgovernment were her policy.

Thirdly. During the persecuting reign of Henry VIII. and of his successors, down almost to our own times, but more particularly under the sword of Cromwell, the Irish catholic, hunted from every other portion of his country, fled for protection like the Briton of old, to the western wilds of the island.

Fourthly. There, enjoying comparative security, the people were enabled to proceed partially in the improvement-perhaps only to the retention, of those principles of knowledge, which before had placed them amongst the foremost nations of the globe.

But that our present inquisition may rest in greater security when terminated, that is, conducted with more distinctive nicety, I shall proceed to distribute the present system of Irish education into three parts.-1st, the schools of Grecian and Latin languages.-2nd, those of geometry, book-keeping, &c. &c. &c.And 3rd, the seminary of the village school-master. These three heads will include all; and will, I apprehend, afford sufficient grounds for forming a correct opinion as to the means of improvement at present within the reach of the people. Let us then begin with the village school-master; though last on our list, he may not be the least.

This gentleman generally does business in the country. Being an epicure perhaps he prefers the joyous stillness of the hamlet, to the noise and turmoil of the town. To establish for himself a reputation among the rural parishioners for great sinse and larnin is the first and most important consideration. Without this "sine qua non" he might just as well "look for a needle in a bundle of

straw," as for one "gorshoon" (child) from the neighbours. "Mush-in faiks they'd till him to go home to where he was suckled, and ediĉate himself first, afore he'd come to edicate others." This is a difficulty which exists-which must be surmounted. For this purpose he must consider himself the finest fellow in the universe; he must be super-exact in the selection of his diction; the common expressions of the English language must be despised. Nothing less than words of from five to seven syllables at least will answer. With these then he must be quite familiar-must have them on his fingers' ends, so as to let the common sort know to whom they are talking. Thus marshalled, he prepares to set out for the village (not forgetting to ram into his breeches pocket half a dozen old newspapers he got from some frind in town).

The first week is generally spint in gossiping about among all the old hags of the hamlet. He endeavours to make himself acquainted with all its localities. Inquires all about Father Mulcahy, the parish priest-where he was "brid, born and rared -what become of his seed, breed, and generation afore him,"-how many "spalpeens" has Bill o' Flanagan?

how many his daughter's uncle?-how's Jim Rafferty going on? how many chilthren has he now? what became of his aunt Biddy-and all about the jontlemin of the country. By this means, independent of all the knowledge that is outside his head, he makes himself thoroughly acquainted with the "home department." Full well does he know, that if he succeed in his profession, he must be able to appear above the commons; that is, to be acquainted first with everything; that is, to confound the ignorant sort of people.

The great hour for his display is at hand-Sunday comes-mass is overthe village sages collect together in the churchyard. Here they generally sit in censorship on the sarmun of his rivirince they discuss him from the "top of his hid to the sole of his foot." Upon this subject our friend the schoolmaster feels himself quite at home; immediately he steps forward to ixpriss his opinion.

"Yis-his rivirince is a mighty edicationed man; but he should fly into the Divil's own rage of a passion, as the poet sis-and stamp the boards—and thump the althur-and excommunicate the antithrinitarians."

"Be the powers of Moll Hogan," whispers one, "he's a

"Faiks-an-mushin, plase your honour, what's the manin of that big word?" inquires some urchin, thunderstruck by this burst.

"Go'ut-o-that, you spalpeen," exclaims an elder, as he knocks him on one side; "inthirrupt the jontleman whin he's dun."

“'Tis Constantinople, child — the name of the grand Turk," responds the condescending pedagogue.

The air of affability with which this answer was returned, conveys a degree of assurance to his hitherto astounded auditors-they venture to address him. "Mush-in, sir," sis one, "are you long from town, or are you going to stop among oursilves here?"

'Twas an angel spoke-he's answered in the affirmative. And now as they proceed onwards towards the village, invitations thicken from around him. He dines here to-day-breakfasts there to-morrow (and observing that he's as particular as a new-married couple to engagements), promises to take tay that evening with Misthur Mollowny, and the missus, and all the friends, and childer.

The sun has set. The once cheerful visage of heaven now saddens into nocturnal gloom. All nature retires to its darksome repose, amid the awful solemnity of stillness. But hark!-the gleam of light from yon village cot-the blithsome daughter-list! to the mingling voices-now loud'ning as if in disputations.-Reader! you and I shall enter.

What then have we found here? Why don't you see the company just after ta, seated around a fire of as good turf as was ever footed in the bog of "Allan?" In the centre is our frind the schoolmaster, looking as fine and as big as "a goose in a bog." Mixed up together sit Misthur Mollowny, and Paddy Fitzgarald, and Misthris Judy Mollowny, and Bill O'Regan, and Jack Dougherty, and Jack O'Flaherty, and all the frinds

and childer.

Here must the son of Mercury stand or fall-within this circle his die is to be cast, around him is marshalled the chief men of the village, extensive as well in the vast property of a numerous offspring, as in the influence they possess over other fine breeders of the parish. The conversation generally turns on the affairs of the nation; the newspaper is immediately brought into requisition; it is always voted by the company to the "natest" reader, and the reader when thus honoured is as proud of the appoint

ment as a "pacock with its nate tail." In the present instance all abandon their pretensions for this distinction, they resign in favour of our worthy friend.

"Och! thin your honour, sir, read us if you plase, how Dan is gittin on in the parliamint house. Be the powers of St Denis that's the whapping fellow that makes 'em shake in their shoes."

"Silence! silence!" roars the pedagogue, while he coughs and hems, and hems and coughs. Having next thrown his legs across in graceless elegance, put one arm a kimbo, and politely adjusting the newspaper in the other, he proceeds in a dignified accent, and quite a jonteel brogue, I thank you, to thunder out, "terrible assault and battery," &c.

The old villagers are lost in admiration of his claverniss, and to make a long story short they all promise to "sind him nixt mornin every mother's sowl of a spalpeen they have."

Such then must be the Irish country schoolmaster, to know nothing—to speak about every thing-to imagine that the sun and moon rise out of himself every day-to look down with condescension on the humbler classes of the people; by this means he causes all to wonder "How one small head could carry all he knew."

By this means the "denouement” of life is accomplished.

"

men.

and

-Quid non mortalia pectora cogis Sacra fames auri

my

"

THOMAS DELANY.

FRIENDSHIP.

The occupation of my life has been to acquire the friendship of great and good With every one I found some new talent of the mind, or virtue of the heart; and intelligence was enlarged, my emotions became more pure. I have repeated my existence in that of my friend; and 1 have preferred the passion of friendship to that of love; for friendship can be participated, but love has but one object. Friendship is a torch which will light other torches without wasting itself; but love, like a sepulchral lamp, is extinguished in the solitary tomb.

TASTE.

A correct taste is ever the concomitant of a chaste mind; for, as a celebrated author has justly observed, "our taste commonly declines with our merit.". A correct taste is the offspring of all that is delicate in sentiment and just in conception; it softens the inflexibility of truth and decks reason in the most persuasive garments.

No. 134.

THE golden leg was at last completed, much to the satisfaction of the old Baron and the fair Marian, for she did nothing but sit up admiring it day after day. She had scarcely a glance to bestow upon any other object, or seldom uttered a word which was not in praise of its brightness and beauty. It was indeed an admirable production, and from the artist's strict adherence in copying nature, and giving to every part a correct resemblance of the original, it might have passed for a splendid relic of the ancient sculptors. A portion of one of those ideal creations, which once decorated the

temples of the gods, and belonged to such beings as are never seen, unless it be floating before the dreamy fancy of a poet, upon the verge of the pale starlight, or peopling the loosened silver of a gliding cloud. For days and weeks did she sit, supported by pillows, gazing on her golden leg, rarely deigning to uplift her eyes from it; but leaning forward while her long ringlets fell down her yet beautiful face, as if looking into her own eyes, which were mirrored in the glittering gold.

Her husband would seat himself in the large arm chair which stood beside her bed, and gaze upon her, with a quiet melancholy, but she seldom observed him, and if he spoke, she but rarely replied; her thoughts were absorbed in contemplating the beauty of her golden leg. Her father would also visit her, and in the kindness of his heart, put a hundred interrogations in the course of an hour, soliciting her to name anything she wanted, which he swore he would obtain, even at the price of his whole estate. And one night, while the old man was thus pressing her to name something,

Marian fixed her eyes upon a beautiful picture of Hebe, which hung opposite, and requested to have a golden eagle; and although she had forgotten her wish altogether, the moment the words left her lips, or doubtless never thought of it even while speaking, still the old Baron set about it as anxiously as he had done the golden leg. Great was the astonishment of Lord Vernon when he was told that golden eagles were alive, and even bred annually (at that time), in Westmoreland, Cumberland, and the peaks of Derbyshire; and that a gentleman residing in the latter county had two of them in his possession. Away rode the old Baron, and having reached, after a journey of two days, the residence to which he had been directed, he was conducted into the presence of the squire who possessed the golden eagles. "Well, Sir," said Lord Vernon, looking at the squire, "these eagles."

"What eagles, my lord?" said the squire, who had become acquainted with the title of his guest.

"Golden eagles, sir," replied the Baron, "are they genuine, the real thing, eh?"

"Those in my possession are my lord," answered the squire; "they were reared from the nest, by my father, who shot one of the parent-birds, while hovering around its eyry, which stood on the loftiest peak that overlooks this country." "Nest shot," echoed the old Baron, "should have thought they'd been ballproof, stunned I suppose, over the head, thinnish there; are they pure sterling golden eagles?

"The real (Aquila chrysactos)” replied the squire, who was somewhat of a naturalist, "feathered to the toes; those feathers on the top of the head, and back of the neck, are slender and pointed, and of a golden rufous. Cere and feet golden yellow, length, three feet; expanse of the wings nearly nine feet."

'Large size," said the Baron, "very heavy, must be valuable, are they quiet; could a lady play with them in safety?" No," replied the squire; on the contrary, they are ferocious and daring; and when in a wild state, feed upon hares, fawns, sheep, goats, and large birds. They have been known to sail away with a child to their nests, and to feed upon it themselves, or share it with their young. Their eyes are large and fiery, and they can gaze upon the sun with as firm and unflinching a glance, as we can look upon a flower."

་་

Strange birds," muttered the Baron,

"

very different to the golden eagle over the Bible publisher, by St. Paul's; that's quiet, spreads wings, and so on, no danger. Well, I've promised Marian a golden eagle, and will give you a thousand golden nobles for one of these, what say you, eh?"

"A thousand nobles," echoed the squire, "you shall have one for fifty; a thousand nobles! too much my lord, I cannot take more than a twentieth part of that sum.'

Fifty nobles," said the Baron, "why they cannot be real golden eagles; what one for fifty nobles, with wings nearly nine feet! not the price of gilding; the golden leg cost two thousand nobles; but let me see them."

The squire conducted the Baron down a flight of steps which led into the garden, and having passed a winding walk, hedged in by high rows of box, they arrived at a spot secured by iron bars, through which were seen the two eagles, seated upon separate masses of granite. "Now, judge for yourself," said the squire, "and take which you like best; these are the golden eagles."

"Golden eagles, eh," said the Baron, striking the squire with his huge riding whip, "two dirty draggled birds, not worth the half of a turkey-cock, you scoundrel! told me they were sterling too. Fifty nobles indeed! they wouldn't fetch fifty groats in Fleet-market. I'll have you proclaimed for a swindler, and put in the pillory."

To what excess the old Baron's rage might have led him, we know not; for fortunately his son arrived, and succeeded in quelling the rising choler of the squire, by narrating the history of the golden leg. But the old nobleman departed full of ire, vowing that he would shoot the squire for shewing him two filthy birds for pure golden eagles.

But to return to poor Marian; she wasted away daily, rarely partaking of any food, her whole attention being fixed upon the leg. And just before she died, she requested of Lord Edward that it might be buried with her, to which he of course readily assented, and poor Marian was borne to the large family vault where the ancestors of her husband had slumbered (some of them) for more than six centuries. The golden leg was interred with her, according to her wish, and Lord Edward's promise.

We must now pass over a few years, and all the gossip of the neighbourhood, the tales of the white headed sacristan, and every rumour that then lived in