visers, and the other has been in the first instance the dupe of a whiteboy party, of whose proceedings the priest is cognizant. We would gladly give an analysis of this story, but we prefer referring our readers to the book itself rather than mar their pleasure by an unsatisfactory abstract. We will, however, make one quotation, from the similarity between it and the scene in the "Fair Maid of Perth," where a supposed murderer is obliged to undergo the ordeal of touching the body of his suspected victim; and we do this, not for the purpose of invidious comparison, but to shew the power of our author, even when matched against the Coryphæus of romantic fiction; no accusation of plagiarism can be brought against Mr. Carleton, as we know of cases in Ireland, where an appeal to this ordeal has been had recourse to. We will preface our quotation by merely observing that Frank McKenna is the individual suspected of having murdered Reillaghan.

Now, neighbours," said Darby, "hould your tongues, 'till I ask Frank M'Kenna a question or two. Frank McKenna, as you hope to meet God at judgment, did you take his life that's lying a corpse before us ?"

"I did not," replied M'Kenna; "I could clear myself on all the books in Europe, that he met his death as I tould yees; an' more than that," he added, dropping upon his knees, and uncovering his head, "may I die widout priest or prayer-widout help, hope, or happiness, UPON THE SPOT WHERE HE'S NOW STRETCHED, if I murdered or shot him."

I say amin to that," replied Darby, "oxis doxis glorioxis!-so far that's right, if the blood of him's not on you. But there's one thing more to be done : will you walk over undher the eye of God, AN' TOUCH THE CORPSE. Hould back neighbours, an' let him come over

alone: I an' Owen Reillaghan will stand here wid the lights to see if the corpse bleeds."

"Give me a light," said M'Kenna's father, "my son must get fair play, any way: I must be a witness myself to it, an' will too."

"It's but rasonable," said Owen Reillaghan; "come over beside Darby and myself: I'm willin' that your son should stand or fall by what will happen."

Frank's father with a taper in his hand, immediately went, with a pale face and trembling steps, to the place appointed for him beside the corpse, where he took his stand.

When young M'Kenna heard Darby's last question, he seemed as if seized by an inward spasm: the start which he gave, and his gaspings for breath were visible to all present. Had he seen the spirit of the murdered man before him, his horror could not have been greater; for this ceremony had been considered a most decided test in cases of suspicion of murder-an ordeal, indeed, to which few murderers wished to submit themselves. In addition to this we may observe, that Darby's knowledge of the young man's character was correct with all his crimes he was weak-minded and superstitious. He stood silent for some time after the ordeal had been proposed to him; his hair became literally erect with the dread of this formidable scrutiny; his cheeks turned white, and the cold perspiration flowed from him in large drops. All his strength appeared to have departed from him; he stood as if hesitating, and even the energy necessary to stand, seemed to be the result of an effort.

"Remember," said Darby, pulling out the large crucifix which was attached to his beads, "that the eye of God is upon you. If you've commit

ted the murder, thrimble; if not, Frank,

Frank had not yet uttered a word; but leaning on the gun, he looked wildly round him, cast his eyes up to the stormy sky, then turned them with a dead glare upon the cross and the crucifix.

"Do you confess the murdher," said Darby.

"Murdher," rejoined Frank; no; I confess no murdher: you villain do you want to make me guilty ?—do you want to make me guilty, you deep villain?"

It seemed as if the current of his thoughts and feelings had taken a new direction, though it is probable that the excitement, which appeared to be rising within him, was only the courage of fear.

"You all wish to find me guilty," he added; "but I'll shew yees that I'm not guilty."

He immediately walked towards the corpse, and stooping down, touched the body with one hand, holding the gun in the other. The interest of the moment was intense, and all eyes were strained towards the spot. Behind the corpse, at each shoulder-for the body lay against a small snow-wreath in a recumbent posture-stood the father of the deceased, and the father of the accused, each wound by feelings of a directly opposite character, to a pitch of dreadful excitement. Over them, in his fantastic dress and white beard, stood the tall mendicant, who held up his crucifix to Frank, with an awful menace upon his strongly-marked countenance. At a little distance to the left of the body, stood the other men who were assembled, having their torches held aloft in their hands, and their forms bent towards the corpse, their faces indicating expectation, dread, and horror. The female relatives of the deceased stood nearest his remains, their torches extended in the same direction, their visages exhibiting the passions of despair and grief in their wildest characters, but as if arrested by some supernatural object immediately before their eyes, that produced a new and more awful feeling than grief.When the body was touched, Frank stood as if himself bound by a spell to the spot. At length he turned his eyes to the mendicant, who stood silent and motionless, with the crucifix extended

"That's wanst," said the pilgrim : "you're to touch it three times."

Frank hesitated a moment, but immediately stooped again, and touched it twice in succession: but it remained still unchanged as before. His father broke the silence by a fervent ejaculation of thanksgiving to God, for the vindication of his son's character which he had just witnessed. "Now!" exclaimed M'Kenna, in a loud exulting tone, " you all see that I did not murdher him!"

"YOU DID," said a voice, which was immediately recognized as the voice of the deceased.

We wish we were able to extract the description of a snow storm in the mountains from this story, which for accuracy of conception and vigor of description is unequalled by any thing we recollect to have read; but we must hasten on, and passing over the "Donagh" and " Pig driver," proceed to the two concluding sketches in this volume, which are so connected together, that the "Geography of an Irish oath" may be considered merely as an illustration of the preceding "Essay on Swearing," in which is given a complete expose of the talent of an Irishman for oathtaking, especially the department in which he is unrivalled and unapproachable, namely, in swearing an alibi. Our author in this essay contrasts the English, Scotch, and Irish systems of swearing, and of course establishes a triumphant case for Paddy, proving his superiority in that polite accomplishment; "in fact he is an improvisatore in oath-taking, with this difference, that his extempore oaths possess all the ease and correctness of labor and design." We regret that our limits prevent our giving the whole of the

Geography of an Irish Oath," which may be considered as a supplement to the " Essay;" we shall lay before the reader that portion which gives the name to the sketch, and an outline of so much as is required to make our extract intelligible.

Peter Connell first began the world as the keeper of a Sheebeen house, about four miles from the town of Ballyporeen; by active exertion he gradually advances in the world, and at last arrives at the dignity of a squireen, at

least so far as to be able to keep an horse and car, and to farm an extensive tract of land. This advance in the world is to be mainly attributed to the good sense and activity of his wife Ellish, whose industry and steadiness have been the means of correcting Peter's unsettled and intemperate habits, and of almost weaning him from Poteen. Unfortunately for poor Peter, at this period, his wife is carried off by a fever, and he is left without the ballast which enabled him to stand the storms and tempests of life; his grief at the loss is so poignant and bitter, that he flies for relief from his agony of mind to the bottle, the usual resource of our fellow-countrymen, and even of less volatile and better educated men, when in difficulties more easily overcome than Peter's; this is chiefly owing to his kind friends having encouraged him to drown care by a little sup, when he found his grief coming on him.

Peter literally fulfilled his promise of taking a jorum in future. He was now his own master; and as he felt the loss of his wife deeply, he unhappily had recourse to the bottle to bury the recollection of a woman, whose death left a chasm in his heart, which he thought nothing but the whiskey could fill up."

Peter proceeds on in this manner, having become an habitual drunkard, his health rapidly declining, under the artificial excitement, which " often kills but never cures ;" his family and his landlord remonstrating with him, but in vain; as a "dernier resort" the priest is applied to, whose remonstrances would have been as ineffectual, had he not threatened to stop the masses for the soul of Mrs. Ellish Connell, and to return the money Peter had given him for saying them--the latter part of the threat is that which would probably havé never been executed. In consequence of the priest's interference, Peter at last promises to swear against more than a "rasonable share," and that evening goes to the house of the village school-master to get the oath drawn up.

"Misther O'Flaherty," said Peter, "I'm comin' to ax a requist of you, an' hope you'll grant it to me. I brought down a sup in the flask, an' while we're takin' it, we can talk over what I want." "If it be any thing widin the circumference of my power, set it down

་

Misther Connell, as already operated upon. I'd dip a pen to no man at keepin' books by double entry, which is the Italian method invinted by Pope Gregory the Great. The three sets bear a theological ratio to the three states of a thrue Christian. The Waste-book,' says Pope Gregory, 'is this world, the Journal is purgatory, an' the Ledger is heaven.' Or it may be compared,' he says, in the preface of the work, to the three states of the Catholic church-the church militant, the church suffering, and the church triumphant.' The larnin' of that man was beyant the reach of credibility.”

་

Arrah, have you a small glass, masther? You see, Misther O'Flaherty, it's consarnin' purgatory, this that I want to talk to you about." Nancy get us a glass-oh, here it Thin if it be, it's a wrong enthry in the journal."

is!

"Here's your health, masther!-not forgettin' you, Mrs. O'Flaherty. No, indeed thin, it's not in the journal, but an oath I'm going to take aginst liquor."

"Nothing is asier to post than it is. We must enter it undher the head oflet me see-it must go in the spirit account, under the head of Profit an' Loss. Your good health, Mr. Connell!-Nancy, I dhrink to your improvement in imperturbability! Yes, it must be enthered under the-"

"Faix, under the rose, I think,” observed Peter, "don't you know the smack of it? You see since I tuck to it, I like the smell of what I used to squeeze out o' the barley myself, long ago. Misther O'Flaherty, I only want you to draw up an oath against liquor for me; but it's not for the books, good or bad. I promised to Father Mulcahy that I'd do it. It's regardin' my poor Ellish's sowl that's in purgatory."

"Nancy, hand me a slate and cut

ter. Faith, that same's a provident resolution; but how is it an' purgatory concatenated ?”

"The priest, you see, won't go on wid the masses for her 'till I take the oath."

“That's but wake logic, if you ped him for them."

"Faix, an' I did-an' well too: but about the oath? Have you the pencil?"

* Very good. Now put down one wid ould Bartle Gorman of Nurchasy; an' two over wid Michael Morris, of Cargah. How many have you now?” “Twelve in all!!!! But, Misther Connell, there's a demonstration badly wanted here. I must confiss I was always bright, but at present as dark as Nox. I'd thank you for a taste of explanation."

"Asy, man alive! Is there twelve in all

“Twelve in all I've calculated it." - Well, we'll hould to that. Och,

och!-I'm sure, avourneen, afore I'd let you suffer one minute's pain, I'd not scruple to take an oath aginst liquor, any way. He may an wid the masses now for you, as soon as he likes. Mr. O'Flaherty will you put it down on paper, an' I'll swear to it, wid a blessin', to-morrow."

"But what object do you wish to effectuate by this?"

"You see, masther, I dhrink one day wid another from a score to two dozen tumblers, an' I want to swear to no more nor twelve in the twenty-four hours."

"Why there's intelligibility in that! -wid great pleasure, Mr. Connell, I'll indite it. Katty tare me a lafe out o' Brian Murphy's copy there."

"You see, masther, it's for Ellish's sake I'm doin' this. State that in the oath."

"I know it; an' well she desarved that specimen of abstinence from you, Misther Connell. Thank you, your health agin! an' God grant you grace and fortitude to go through wid the same oath! An' so he will, or I'm grievously mistaken in you.”

2221222

12

Witness present,

Cornelius O'Flaherty, Philomath.

June the 4th, 18—.

his

PETERCONNELL.

mark.

Dated this fourth of June, 18-.

:

"Faix I doubt that, Masther-ha, ha, ha!" replied Peter, I'm afeard I will of an odd time, for I'm not able to carry what I used to do but no matther; thry what you can do for me this time, any how. I think I could bear a long dozen still, if I don't make mistakes."

O'Flaherty accordingly set himself to work; and as his knowledge, not only of the parish, but of every person and house in it, was accurate, he soon had a tolerably correct skeleton map of it drawn for Peter's use.

"Now, see this dot-that's your own house."

own garden. What metaphor for a garden? Let me see!-let me cogitate! A dragon-the Hesperides! That's beyant you. A bit of a hedge will do an' a gate."

"Don't put a gate in; its not lucky. You know when a man takes to dhrink they say he's goin' a grey gate, or a black gate, or a bad gate. Put that, out, an' make the hedge longer, an' it'll do-wid the two tumblers, though."

"They're down; one at the Reverend Father Mulcahy's. How will we translate the priest ?"

"Faix I doubt it will be a difficquilt business."

66

Upon my reputation I agree with you in that, especially whin he repates Latin. However, we'll see. He writes P.P. afther his name; pee-pee is what we call the turkeys wid. What'ud you think of two turkeys?"

"The priest wud like them roasted, but I could'nt undherstand that. No; put down the sign of the horsewhip, or the cudgel, for he's handy and argues well wid both.

"Good! I'll put down the horsewhip first, an the cudgel alongside of it; then the tumbler, and there'ill be the sign of the priest."

"Ay, do, Masther, and faix the priest 'ill be complete; there can be no mistakin' him thin. Divil a one but that's a good thought!"

66 There it is in black an white. Who comes nixt? Frank Carroll. He's a farmer. I'll put down a spade and harrow. Well that's done. Two tumblers. "I won't mistake that aither; its clear enough."

66

Bartle Gorman of Nurchasy. Bartle's a little lame, an uses a staff wid a cross on the end that he holds in his hand. I'll put down a staff wid a cross on it."

"Wud there be no danger of me mistakin that for the priest's cudgel ?" "Not the slightest. I'll pledge my knowledge of Geography, they're two very different weapons."

"Well, put it down, I'll know it."

"Michael Morris, of Cargah. What for him? Michael's a pig driver-I'll put down a pig. You'll comprehend that ?"

"I ought; for many a pig I sould him in my day. Put down the pig ; an if you could put two black spots upon his back, I'd know it to be one I sould him about four years agone-the fattest