Having then definitely made my resolution, my baggage in my pocket, and my stick in my hand, gaily I commenced my voyage. It was a happy thing that I had this stick in my hand, for without it one of the children of St. Patrick would have broken his head on the pavement.

            As I was making my way along one of the footpaths, I saw a young boy near me amusing himself by jumping over the iron railings along the way, and jumping back again. In one of these leaps his foot caught on a sharp point of the railings. With such force had he jumped that, if the foot had remained on the spike, his head would certainly have struck the pavement, and with a killing blow. With a sudden and violent blow with the stick from below, I disengaged the foot, just in time, and he fell on his feet. Examining the wound I found that the foot was nearly pierced through. I carried the poor boy to an apothecary's where the wound was bound up, and giving the sufferer a shilling, I told him not to be such a fool another time. My walk, I said to myself, is going to be fortunate, since at the very commencement I have saved a young creature's life. I looked on this incident as a happy omen and pursued my way.

            I stopped at the door of a house to ask my way from a man on horseback, who was holding a conversation with a friend. When I had proceeded for about half an hour, the horseman joined me on the way and called out, 'I am an old soldier, I am going your way, if a share of my horse suits you it is at your service.' 'Monsieur,' I answered, 'I am a young soldier and I am very much obliged to you.' I had barely finished the words when I was already up behind him, and we had some interesting chat about the old wars. It was with great regret that I separated, later, from this good creature. I have not the slightest idea of who he was.

            I had not taken the trouble to calculate distances very carefully in starting, and now, late in the evening, I found myself still eight miles from my destination—and eight miles Irish count for something. It was past eleven o'clock when I arrived at the house where I expected to be received. The doors were locked, and to my distress I found that the owner, who had invited me to his house, was not at home. Further, that there was no inn nearer than four miles distant, and that on the side of Dublin which I had left. To go back on my way was a hateful idea—I preferred rather to go ten miles forward than four back—and so I went on. At half-past twelve I found myself in a village, its name unknown to me. Everybody seemed to be asleep; however, at the last, I found a cabin with a light in the window, the dwelling of some poor labourers who had returned late from the city. I entered, asked for hospitality, and had placed before me immediately what was in the house. For rest I passed the night on a three-legged stool, my back leaning against the wall. This for the first day of my travels was not a very agreeable beginning, but I had to take troubles as they came.

            There was no need to wake me in the morning. At dawn of day all the animals in the cottage, sleeping pell-mell with their masters, acquainted me with the fact that the sun was up, and I rose from my stool and left this unfortunate house of want. How profitable this night would have been to me had I been always the favoured child of fortune! I would advise parents to force their children thus to pass several nights in their youth; it would be more advantageous to them than years at school. Really to have compassion on the poor, and to have a real desire to help them requires that they should be approached; the careless rich, who have never seen the poor near at hand, think of them with disgust and turn away their eyes from the sight of poverty.

            About four o'clock in the morning I came to the camp at Bray, and was able at leisure to admire the good order and even elegance of the barrack arrangements. Excepting a few sentinels no one stirred. I was scandalised to see the soldiers so lazy while I was up so early. However, after having made a tour of the enclosure a number of times, I felt tired, and sitting down at a little distance at the foot of a tree, I fell asleep myself. At seven o'clock in the morning I felt a hand fumbling in my pockets, while a voice said 'Are you dead, Sir?' 'Yes,' I answered, and the apparition, who must have been none other than the devil in person, or at any rate some ragamuffin of the camp, fled.

            I quitted my hard bed without regret, and being informed that the residence of Mr. Burton Conyngham was not in the immediate neighbourhood, I started for a walk of three miles. I arrived at last at Rochestown, but it was still only half-past eight, and I could scarcely find anyone to speak to. They told me that the master of the house was sick, and that the breakfast hour was eleven o'clock. Patience was evidently necessary; one does not know the value of a good breakfast who has been lying in bed all morning, but after the night I had spent, and a light supper before it, I knew.

            Mr. Burton Conyngham I found surrounded by his family and by an army of apothecaries, surgeons, and doctors. I was not allowed even to speak to him. This seemed to me very strange for a simple cold, but I was not otherwise uneasy. When a man is rich, I said to myself, and has a cut finger, his entourage puts on a sad air, and if he has a cold the doctor will gravely fill him with medicines in order to acquire a certain reputation, and to prolong the cough which fortunately fills his pockets. I was wrong, however, in this case, for the malady was mortal. There was nothing for it now but to pursue my way, and crossing the wild mountains which seemed to overhang Dublin, I arrived, after three or four miles of walking, at Enniskerry, where I was received by Mr. Walker, who has made great researches in the matter of Irish antiquities. This little town belongs to Lord Powerscourt. His park and his house arc among the greatest curiosities near the capital. It is through this park that the River Dargle flows in a charming valley to which it has given its name, a valley of which the inhabitants are proud with just reason. In this park also is the Powerscourt waterfall, which strangers come from afar to view. The mass of water is not very considerable, and it does not detach itself much from the rock, but the fall of the water is great, and to me it seemed to resemble the wind-blown, snowy hair of a venerable old man. This may not be a remarkably happy comparison, but it expresses what I felt. The valley into which it falls is, without contradiction, the most romantic and the best wooded in all Ireland.

            It was spring, the trees were fully covered with new leafage, the charming verdure invited to repose. I fell into a dreamy state, and in it was safely delivered of the following rondeau. It has nothing to do with my travels, but let that pass:

A votre aise vous pouvez rire
Du torment que cause l'amour:
Vous connaitrez a votre tour
Qu'aimer est un cruel martyre
Quand on n'attend pas de retour.

Il me semble entendre en ce jour
Pour vos mechants traits de satyre
Le dieu d'amour, pique, vous dire
            A votre aise.

De ce dieu, charmante...
Craignez sur vous d'attirer l'ire,
Aimez, que votre coeur soupire,
Que pour moi son feu vous inspire
Et je vous dirai sans detour.
            A votre aise.<7>

            I have seen so many beautiful books in which the author has been gracious enough to present his loved one to the public, that I hope I may be excused for this short apostrophe, and that the public will be pleased that I have not lingered longer over the fine qualities, the white skin, the black eyes, and the fingers full of roguishness of my Maria, Lodoiska, or Carolina.

            The innkeeper at Enniskerry is a representative of the O'Tooles who owned this territory in the far past, and who lost their lands because they refused to submit to the English yoke. He has taken for sign the arms of the new proprietors.

            If ever the exiles return to France, and if their estates are not returned to them, I am certain of this, that it is not on my own lands that I shall become innkeeper.

            From the heights above the town one can see one of the singular openings which nature has made at several places in the mountains of this country. The road is carried through these chasms, as they are called, as they are the only places at which it is possible to cross the heights without climbing to the top. Returning eastward, nearly over the ground I had traversed, I fell in with a peasant who explained a number of things about the country with a good deal of sense. Generally the inhabitants of County Wicklow are very intelligent, and their country well cultivated, especially near the coasts. The low mountains and the numerous well-built houses give the district a very agreeable aspect.

            I came at last to Hollybrook, where I was received by Lord Molesworth, of whose goodness I had already had experience during my sojourn at Dublin. Here laurel, arbutus, holly, and even myrtle abound, although they do not appear to fruit well, the fact being, I suppose, that to ripen berries more heat is required than is provided in this climate.

            It was here that there lived Robert Adair, so famous in Scotch and Irish song. I have seen his portrait; he is the ancestor of Lord Molesworth and of Sir Robert Hodson, to whom Hollybrook belongs. They told me a curious story about him. A Scotchman, a champion drunkard apparently, having heard of the Bacchic prowess of Robert Adair, came from Scotland expressly to challenge him to drink with him. He had no sooner disembarked at Dublin than he demanded from everybody he met in his Scotch jargon—'Ken ye ane Robin Adair?' and in the end he found his man. He demanded a sight of him, and gave his challenge. Robert Adair was actually at table, and offered to begin the contest there and then; but the Scotchman declined, and invited him to where all was ready at the inn in Bray.

            In due time the champions appeared on the field of battle, but after ten bottles the Scotchman fell under the table. Thereupon Robert Adair rang the bell, ordered another bottle, and in presence of the domestics set himself astride the poor Scotchman, in which position he drank off the eleventh bottle without drawing breath, and gave loud huzzas for his victory.

            When the Scotchman recovered he returned to his own country, but the story had preceded him, and wherever he went he was met with the mocking question, 'Ken ye ane Robin Adair? 'And to this his invariable answer was 'I ken the de'il.'

            Following the windings of a romantic valley, shut in by steep mountains which were for the greater part clothed with verdure to the summit, I arrived at Bellevue, the home of Mr. Peter Latouche. Madame Latouche holds here a school for twenty-four young girls, who are maintained at her charge. She herself acts as school-mistress. When the girls come of age, she gives them a dowry, and marries them to labourers of good character. This is one of the most noble and most reasonable amusements of the rich that I have ever met with. Nothing in the world is more likely to change the face of a country than a succession of young and virtuous women accustomed to industry and the well-being which attends it.

            According to my usual custom I walked a good deal about the neighbourhood, entering into the cabins of the peasants and talking with them. This is the way to find, often, the falsity of certain reputations for benevolence; but it is also the way to find out the truth about other reputations, which have solid foundation in goodness. Many of the houses here are very clean and well kept, honest industry has brought comfort, and even the peasants who have not been amenable to influence exercised, blessed Providence for having here placed riches in good hands.

            There is in the parish church a superb monument in white marble, erected to the memory of David Latouche by his three sons. This David came from France at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, and, by continuous industry exerted for forty years, he acquired a very considerable fortune. Although a banker he was humane and charitable. They tell that, in his last days, he never went out without filling his pockets with shillings, which he gave to the poor as he met them. It was represented to him that if he gave to all who asked he was certainly giving to unworthy subjects, 'I know,' he said; 'but if my shilling falls right once in ten times that is enough.'

            The church which contains his monument was built by him. Over the portal is engraved this touching inscription, 'Of Thy own, O my God, do I give unto Thee.'

            It was at Bellevue that I received the sad news of the death of Mr. Burton Conyngham. Although I was now at the twelfth day of my march, and had really covered much ground, I was not, at this point, more than seventeen miles from Dublin, and I was much embarrassed as to the course which I ought to pursue. I saw clearly that after this misfortune I should have much labour and fatigue without any advantage to myself; in the end, however, after full reflection, the idea of the utility of which I believed my project to be susceptible made me set aside any personal considerations, and I determined to pursue my journey vigorously, and leave the rest to Providence. I resolved to present the letters of recommendation which Mr. Burton Conyngham had given me, even although the recipients might look upon them as messages from the other world.

            Here I paid my respects to the oldest and biggest tree to be found, not only in Ireland, but I should say in the mountains of Nice or of Provence. It is to be found in the beautiful garden of Mount Kennedy. The body of the tree is at least three feet in diameter, and wind and time having bent it to the ground, it took root in this situation, and has sent out branches of extraordinary size, so that in itself it is a little wood. Leaving here I buried myself in the passes of the arid mountains of the County of Wicklow, and came to Luggala, one of the houses of Mr. Peter Latouche. One is surprised to find such a house in such a wild and lonely place. The next house to it is at a distance of five or six miles. There are not even peasants' cabins in the neighbourhood. It is seated on a little bit of fertile earth near a beautiful lake, a bit of earth as distinct from the rest of the country as an island is from the water which surrounds it. Following the course of the stream which flows from the lake, I came to Glendalough, a word which in means the valley of the two lakes. It is singular that there is not a single ancient name in this country which has not its special signification. The appropriateness here is evident, for there are really two lakes, which join at the portion of the valley called 'The Seven Churches.' It is here in this desert place that are to be found the most ancient remains of the devotion of past centuries, remains whose antiquity reaches back to the early ages of Christianity. St. Kevin here founded a monastery in the third or fourth century of the Christian era, probably on the ruins of a temple of the Druids, who sought always the wildest places for the practice of their cult. This was for long a bishopric, but now it is united to that of Dublin. There are still to be seen the ruins of seven churches, and one of those round towers of unknown origin which are so common in Ireland. They are all alike, having a door fifteen or twenty feet from the ground, generally opening eastward, some narrow windows, and inside not the slightest remains of a staircase, unless this may be found in a few projecting stones which may have served to support floors in which there must have been trap doors to allow of passing from one to another by means of ladders. These towers are always found at some distance from a church, and entirely isolated. The one which is to be seen at Brechin in Scotland is exactly of the same character.

            I remember reading in the story of certain travels in the North of Asia a description of similar towers. The traveller, as far as I know, had no knowledge whatever of Ireland; he had escaped from Siberia, where, perforce, he had been living for years, and he reports having seen these extraordinary towers in that part of Tartary which lies to the north-east of the Caspian Sea. He gives a little engraving of one of them, with the ruins which are near, which ruins he says are those of 'a house of prayer near which these towers are always to be found.' If it were not for the dress and faces of the figures appearing in the picture, one would say that the illustration was that of an Irish ruin.

            Whatever these ancient buildings may have been, the Irish have now for them the greatest possible veneration. They come here from afar for pilgrimages and penitences, and on the day of the Saint, which is June 3, they dance afterwards and amuse themselves until nightfall. In this sacred enclosure are to be found remedies for many ills. Have you a pain in your arm?—it suffices to pass the limb through a hole worked in a stone, and you are free from your trouble. There is another stone on which for another ailment you shall rub your back, and another one against which you shall rub your head. And there is a pillar in the middle of the cemetery which, if you can embrace, will make you sure of your wife. The Saint's Bed is a hole about six feet long, hollowed in the rock—a very special virtue belongs to it. It is only to be reached after much trouble in scaling a steep slope of the mountain above the lake, but whoever has enough strength and resolution to climb to it, and will lie down in it, is sure never to die in childbirth. Belief in this virtue makes a great number of wives, and of girls who hope to become wives, come here to pay their devotions.

            All this seemed to come in very fitly at the beginning of my travels. I pushed my arm through the hole in the stone. I rubbed my back against the rock which cures the troubles of the back, and my head against another, thus ensuring my health for the remainder of my journey. I even tried to embrace the pillar, but I cannot tell with what result. As to the Saint's Bed, I thought there was little danger of my dying from the malady against which it insures, and therefore I did not climb.

            Rathdrum is a little town at some distance from this famous place. It seems to me fairly prosperous, for they make there a prodigious quantity of flannel, and the peasantry seem to be more industrious and more comfortably off than elsewhere. On the first Monday of each month there is held a market, and I am assured that flannel to the value of £4000 sterling is sold on one of these market days. Lord —— (I do not remember his name) has built, at his own charge, a warehouse in which the material can be deposited. He it is who has encouraged this new manufacture. The action does him honour, and in the end it will be advantageous to his estate.

            I found the peasantry very curious as to the time of day. Every minute women and children would run from cabins by the wayside to ask the traveller what o'clock it was, perhaps for the pleasure of seeing a watch, or of having a chat.

            There is in this neighbourhood a very considerable copper mine. The first expenditure on it amounted to; £60,000 sterling before the company had any return whatever. It is at present in a great state of activity, and employs about three hundred workers. The water which is taken from the mine is made to pass over certain metal plates which partly dissolve the copper and hold it. They make use here of a rather ingenious plan for renewing the air in the bottom of the mine. The course of a little stream has been altered so as to make it fall into the opening over faggots of thorn, and the water falling as a fine rain induces a current of air.

            The gold mine about which so much noise was made in 1795 is only about six or seven miles from here across the mountains. I had to ask my way to it pretty often, and my questions always seemed to excite the most lively curiosity. Peasants quitted their labours in the fields to answer me, and, in turn, put to me a thousand questions, wishing to know if I were going to work at the mine, if the Government had sent me, &c., &c.; and they told me how a certain Peter had sent his children to search for gold one Sunday morning after rain, and that they had brought him back more than twenty guineas worth. It is always the case that we hear about the lucky finds, but nothing is said about the many who have lost their time and even their lives in unfruitful searches. There are many workers who have passed days and nights in hard labour without finding anything to reward them for their trouble, and when at last, overcome by fatigue, they have returned to their families, they have died almost immediately.

            On my way I came to a rather rapid river of several feet depth, which it was necessary to ford, or make a detour of four or five miles to find a bridge. The weather was warm, and I profited by the occasion to take a bath. A peasant, rather well-clothed, who had been talking to me about the gold mine, was much interested in this matter, and in order to have the pleasure of talking with me longer, he imitated my example, and was good enough to carry my clothes to the other side.

            The place where the peasants have dug in search of gold is at the foot of a rather high mountain, called Cruachan, in the bed of a stream or rather of a torrent. Apparently the idea did not occur to any of them to dig on the slopes of the mountain, from whence it would seem that the gold had been washed into the stream.

            This torrent is called in Irish 'The Golden Stream 'and in English 'The Poor Man's Stream,' and from this it may be gathered that gold had been found long ago.

            I had a letter given me by my late friend, Mr. Burton Conyngham, for the officer of the regiment which the Government has placed here to guard the mine, and prevent the peasants from working. He walked over the ground with me several times. The number of holes which the thirst for gold has been the means of digging in this stream is inconceivable—some persons have assured me that they have seen as many as four thousand men at work at once. There is not a single one of these holes from which something has not been taken, although often it was not the worker who profited, but the women and children running about from one to the other who had nothing to do but use their eyes.

            The total value of what has been found in this mine is estimated at three or four thousand pounds sterling. The largest piece of gold taken weighed twenty-two ounces, and is supposed to be worth over eighty guineas. It would seem that this piece had been in a state of fusion, and had been carried from the mountain by the torrent, with the stones, peat, and trees which are washed down with the stream. It was attached to a stone, as if it had been melted round it, and the labourer who found it could only detach it by hammering blows. The Government has entirely forbidden any work here for some time; if they had not done so, all the vagabonds, not only of Ireland, but of England, and perhaps the Continent, would have been here in crowds, and the most of them, finding so much less than they expected, would have finished by ravaging the country for the means to live. There is always a guard of twenty or thirty men at some distance, and a sentinel at the mine to prevent any attempt at digging. As to whether the ground would pay for proper exploitation, nothing is yet known. The Government certainly cannot always maintain a force here, and it is quite certain that as soon as the men are removed the peasantry will return to work. Even if the mine were properly worked, the profit would hardly pay the Government, for I am convinced that the expenses would be more considerable than would be covered by the value of the gold found, unless, indeed, it were possible, as in Peru, to employ slaves.

            After having satisfied my curiosity I made a frugal dinner of potatoes and water in the neighbourhood, then turning eastward I came to Arklow, where I was received with great kindness by the Rev. Mr. Bailly, rector of the village He had the good nature to write out for me the following observations about the gold mine, and the large nugget of which I have spoken:

            'The gold is found in marshy spots by the side of a small stream, in a gravelly stratum and in the clefts of the rock which lie beneath. If is of all forms and sizes, from the large nugget described down to the smallest perceptible pieces, all bearing the appearance of having been in a state of fusion. When the mud and gravel are carefully washed, they afford a considerable quantity of gold dust. The large nugget is the property of eight poor labourers, who agreed to share in the result of the search.

            'The secret of the mine was discovered about eleven or twelve years ago by some poor people in the neighbourhood, who have since occasionally collected considerable quantities. It was not, however, publicly known until the beginning of September 1795; from that time several hundreds, sometimes thousands of the country people have been daily employed in the search. It is computed that gold to the value of several thousand pounds has been collected. On October 14 two companies of the Kildare Militia marched into Arklow, and on the following day proceeded to guard the mine on the part of His Majesty.'

            The country round the little town of Arklow is very pretty, well wooded, and diversified by mountain and plain. The company working the copper mines has the intention to render the river navigable as far as Rathdrum. It is a work which may be of the greatest utility, but the expenses are so very great that, unless the Government will come to the aid of the company, I do not think it will be possible to proceed. The port of Arklow, besides, is bad: rather, indeed, is it a roadstead, for the shore is flat, and vessels are obliged to remain nearly a mile out at sea and to set sail on the least appearance of bad weather.

            Walking in a torrent of rain, and with nothing to protect me from it beyond a piece of waxed cloth which I had bought in Dublin, and which doubtless appeared a strange garment to the inhabitants of the villages through which I passed, I stopped for a moment at Ferns to examine a little round tower near the ruins of the cathedral, and the old castle. The Bishop's Palace here was much larger than the largest town of his bishopric. I accosted a man who appeared to me a good sort of creature, and asked him some questions. Instead of answering, he looked me over from head to foot, and then asked if I had been born in an out-of-the-way corner of the kingdom. As I am always prepared for such questions, I answered, smilingly, in broad Scotch, 'I dinna ken, I dinna mind,' on which he required to know from whence I came and whither I was going. 'I come hence,' I replied, pointing to the north, 'and I gang there,' I continued, pointing to the south. 'I know your language,' said he, and tapping me on the shoulderhe went on, 'You are a d—d canny Scot. You are come to this country to make your fortune; well, well, we shall hear of you, for you are a d—d lucky set.' 'Ne'er fash, mon,' I replied, smilingly, and after I had asked my way, he indicated it with good grace.

            I used here a little ruse which has often been serviceable to me in my travels. Indeed, it rarely fails. Country folk could easily distinguish that I was a stranger, but they could not fix the nation to which I belonged, and when I addressed them a few words in broad Scotch, they always set me down as a Scotchman.

            The Irish are pretty well accustomed to see people of every class coming from Scotland, and making, by the end of a few years, a very considerable fortune. It is really when he is abroad that the character of the Scotchman is remarkable. It is sufficient that there should be in a town one of them who has made a little money, to attract a great number of his compatriots. They range themselves round the first-comer, and he pushes them forward, protects them, helps them with credit, and starts them in the way of well-doing, and I suppose there is hardly any considerable town in Europe in which you will not find a Scotchman who has worked his way into a good position, and others of his country who have followed, attracted by this 'smell of the roast.' It is all very creditable to them, and a foreigner who sees them at home has great difficulty in imagining how they can be so attached and so serviceable to each other far from their native hearths.

            The rain in this country is terrible; it seems to penetrate to the bones, and would make you shiver with cold in the middle of summer. Happily, the succeeding wind nearly always dries you. This is what happened to me as I entered Enniscorthy, after having been wet all day as if I had been walking through a river. I did not stop in this town (which is one of some considerable size and with many manufactures) longer than to rest myself, and, this accomplished, I proceeded three miles farther, to Wilton, where the hospitality of Mr. Alcock soon made me forget my fatigue. I found there an old irrigateur, who was going from house to house with a plan for watering meadows. The good man was cute enough to exact for his services a guinea per day in addition to food for himself and his horse. He claimed to having been secretary to Pope Ganganelli. Unless a man like this has got a touch of the charlatan about him, it is safe to bet that he will have no success in this country.

            From here I proceeded to Wexford, and without wishing it harm, I may say that it is one of the ugliest and dirtiest towns in the whole of Ireland. The excessive exercise in which I had indulged, and to which I had not been accustomed for a long time, compelled me to remain here eight days with a fever; and to make matters worse, the greater number of the letters I had for this town were those of my dead friend, Mr. Burton Conyngham. However, I received certain attentions. Wexford is situated on a large bay, which at low tide is almost entirely dry. Six or seven thousand acres of ground could here be reclaimed, and there would be an additional advantage of making out of the deepened river an important port. At Wexford I found the longest bridge I had ever seen joining two portions of land. I spent seven minutes walking from one end to the other, and from that I assumed that it is at least one-third of an Irish mile in length. This is a favourite walk with the belles of the neighbourhood. There are chairs on which folk may rest on Sundays, and there is a band which attracts a great many people and makes the promenade agreeable. Fortunes in this neighbourhood appear to be more equally divided than elsewhere; there are not to be found any of those monstrous whales of wealth who devour, for their needs, the produce of a province. On the other hand, there are many people in comfortable circumstances, and none excessively rich. The greater part of the proprietors are descendants of Cromwell's soldiers, but as these were numerous in this part of the country, it was necessary to make their lots smaller in order to give something to everybody. It was in this neighbourhood that Strongbow disembarked some of his troops to help the King of Leinster, MacDermot, who had been dethroned by his countrymen. We know what was the pretext for the invasion by Henry II, King of England, a little later, and how he compelled the different kings and princes of the island to render homage. Nevertheless, the English had to remain within strictly limited territory for more than three hundred years, and did not make themselves masters of the whole island until the time of Queen Elizabeth. The inhabitants of the Barony of Forth, near Wexford, are the descendants of the first followers of Strongbow. They have never mixed with the Irish, and still speak a singular language, which is more akin to Flemish than to modern English. They are like the Flemish also in manner, and marry among themselves. Their houses are cleaner and more comfortable than those of the other inhabitants, and they are also so much more clean in person that they appear quite as a different race.

            In the month of July 1793 the White Boys experienced here a complete defeat, and since that time they have not shown themselves. As a great deal has been said and written about them, I believe it will be of interest if I give a few details about their existence. In every country of the world the peasant pays tithe with reluctance; everywhere it is regarded as an onerous impost, prejudicial to the spread of cultivation, for the labourer is obliged to pay on the product of his industry. In Ireland it seems to me a more vexatious tax than elsewhere, for the great mass of the people being Catholic, it seems to them hard that they should be obliged to maintain a minister who is often the only Protestant in the parish, and who exacts his dues with rigour. Beyond the ordinary tithe he has a right, over nearly the whole of Ireland, to one-tenth of the milk of a cow, one-tenth of the eggs, and one-tenth of the vegetables of the gardens. One can easily understand that these conditions may be very severe when the minister exacts his dues in kind, and especially when it is considered that these poor miserable folk have, as well, to supply a subsistence for their own priests. They have often made complaints and claims in connection with this subject, and to these it was hardly possible to give attention without overturning the whole of the laws of the Establishment, as it is called; that is to say, the Established religion. From complaints and claims the peasants came to threats, and from threats to the execution of the things threatened. They assembled at night in great numbers in certain parts of Ireland, and in order that they might recognise each other safely, they wore their shirts outside their clothes, from whence came the name of White Boys. In this garb they overran the country, breaking the doors and gates of ministers' houses, and if they could catch the cattle they mutilated them by cutting off their tails and ears. All the time they did no other violent act, and a traveller might have gone through the country with perfect security. For different offences of the kind indicated the magistrates of Wexford arrested a score or so of the culprits, and immured them in the town prison. Their comrades demanded their liberation, and were not able to obtain it. They threatened then to come and free them by force, and advanced on the town to the number of two or three thousand. There were at the time no troops at Wexford; all that could be gathered up did not number more than one hundred or one hundred and fifty soldiers, who marched to meet the country folk.

            On their way to the town the White Boys arrested an officer who happened to be on the road, and sent a messenger to the Major that this officer would answer with his head for the surety of their comrades in jail. This caused much uneasiness in Wexford, where it was feared that they would carry their threat to execution. The Major in charge imprudently advanced before his soldiers in order to speak with the White Boys, and after some lively discussions, he received a blow from a scythe which laid him dead. Immediately on seeing this the soldiers fired, and in two or three minutes the whole force of the White Boys was broken up and put to flight, leaving behind them several hundreds dead. A few of the unfortunates who were wounded, fearing the punishment which would follow if they should be taken, dragged themselves as well as they could into the corn-fields and hedges, and there perished miserably.

            After this battle nothing has been heard of the rebellious peasants, and the country has been quiet. This revolt appears to me to be in little, a perfect parallel to the Revolution in France in its beginnings. I imagine that if, on the approach of these 3000 men, the Wexford authorities had given up their prisoners—and that might have been expected, since they had only 150 soldiers to oppose the countrymen—the pretensions of the White Boys would have been greatly augmented. They would have proceeded to impose their wishes on the country, and perhaps to put the magistrates in prison, and if only the Government had left them alone for three weeks or a month, or had temporised, or parleyed with them, instead of 3000 they would have numbered 30,000, and in all probability they would have destroyed the Government from which they had, at the beginning, asked favours.

            I found here a French family who have been living in Wexford for five or six years. It appears that a vessel leaving Brittany in 1791 was obliged by force of bad weather to disembark her cargo at Wexford. There were twenty or thirty passengers on board, of whom the greater part dispersed immediately. There remained at Wexford only a lady and her three daughters and her father, an aged man, with another daughter. By the end of two years their resources were entirely exhausted, and the inhabitants subscribed a sum to help them; this was enough to carry them on for three years longer, although miserably enough. Now, one of the daughters is married to a young man of the town, whose affairs seem to be fairly prosperous. I would not mention this little detail if the old man I had mentioned had not been the occasion of a trait of gratitude which does honour to human nature. Some English prisoners were dying of hunger and misery in the reign of Robespierre in a little town in Brittany. An old lady, touched by compassion, succeeded at the peril of her own life in helping them, and later in giving them money to help them to make their escape. They asked her how they could show their gratitude for her goodness. Her reply was 'I have a relative at Wexford. He is an émigré. That will let you know what his situation must be. Will you please carry this letter to him or arrange that he shall get it, and if you can do anything for him, I shall be obliged.' They had no sooner left France when they made inquiries at Wexford whether such a person as their benefactor described were still in existence. Very soon after, the old man received, from Lisbon, a very honourable letter from a merchant named MacGibbon, who, in acknowledging his obligations to Mademoiselle —— in Brittany, begged him to accept a bank-draft for twenty guineas. The old man also received another letter, which I have seen. It was from an English officer named Yescombe, promising a pension of twenty-four pounds per annum until the exile could be restored to his estates, and having the first quarter in advance. On hearing of such acts the heart dilates, and one is glad to find gratitude and benevolence in man without the balderdash of fine language used by the common run of benefactors, who are more often affected by self-love and the desire for praise than by desire to help another.

            I have so often met these amiable gentlemen, and I have been their dupe so often that I am nearly always tempted to treat very haughtily a man who offers me his patronage or protection. One day an individual of this type made me certain offers of service, to which I responded politely but rather coldly. 'It seems to me,' said he, 'that you do not believe what I say.' After a few moments of tergiversation, as he insisted, I answered, 'No, certainly I do not believe you. If you do me the services of which you speak, I shall be very grateful; but if, as so many others, you forget me the moment I am out of your sight, then, pray, allow me to take my way without troubling you.'

            While I was at Wexford a republican corsair had the impudence to come to the entry of the bay and to lay the vessels departing under contribution, afterwards making its escape. I thought it well to make mine, and travelled a dozen miles to Golph-Bridge to the house of a rich Quaker, at which I arrived wet and dirty. But these kind folks gave me an exceedingly hearty welcome. Amongst other things they lent me a riding coat in which I appeared at table. It would have covered three persons such as I, and I am quite sure its amplitude affected one of the Quakers of the house.  For he cut fully half the roast beef and put it on my plate, saying, 'Friend thou ought to fill thy belly.' I noticed that they said no grace before or after dinner, only that the good wife rested for a few minutes with her head bent over her plate, sighing a little. Afterwards she said to me that 'We believe it better to think without saying rather than say without thinking.' In the morning a pretty young girl of the house said to me with much charm and grace, 'Friend, hast thou slept well? 'And I verily believe that if the damsel had said to me the night before, in the same gracious tone, 'Friend, sleep well,' I would have lain awake the whole night.

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