hearts of the people seem as gloomy and frigid as the season, and I am doomed to witness another Christmas divested of all those attractions, which, even in anticipation, used to make my heart leap with joy for three months before. All is now cold, chill, and formal; vulgar occupations are no longer suspended on the approach of this oncehappy season; and even the religious ceremonies, on these occasions, have undergone some alterations. It used not to be so; but then we had no Farm Societies, no premiums for encouraging the breed of hogs; we had neither wool fairs nor Scotch husbandry amongst us, and no one had the temerity to proclaim that a poor man should not cultivate his little farm. All then was truly Irish; our ploughs, harrows, and pitch-forks, were Irish; our cows, pigs, and horses, were Irish; and, what is more, our hospitality was really Irish.

These were the times to live in ; and in these times I had the good fortune to make my debut on the stage of life. My father was a substantial farmer, and lived in the low thatched house which his great grandsire had erected a century before, in the little valley which is on the right-hand side of the road that runs from Wexford to Bannow. The person who writes the superstitious articles in your Magazine will direct you to the house whenever you may choose to pass that way, as he seems familiar with every part of this country. Indeed, I suspected he must have once filled the situation of a blind beggar-man's pilot; how else could he have picked up all the queer stories he has sent you?*

My father was the noblest work of God'-he was an honest man'he was genuine home manufacture, and was clothed in the same material; but still there was nothing coarse about him. His venerable locks were combed backwards, and displayed a thoughtful and capacious forehead; and his

rosy countenance bore evidence to the goodness of my mother's ale. Every part of his dress bespoke ease and independence, while the silver buckles, horn-headed staff, and fair round belly, shewed that he was a man of rustic consequence. At chapel he occupied the most prominent matt,+ on the left-hand side of the altar; and his name headed the priest's list whenever a charitable collection was to have been made. Such a man, you may be sure, was looked up to by his neighbours with somewhat of reverence; and, of course, he was not a little formal in all his proceedings. But, above all, he prided himself in following the hospitable example of his father. In addition to half a score of vagrants, he had daily to supply the wants of as many visitors; for, as there was no public inn in that part of the country, his house served all the purposes of an ancient Betagh, an hotel where the guest paid nothing for his entertainment the friend and stranger were equally welcome; for it was the good man's boast that none ever left his door either dry or hungry.

Though hospitality was thus with him a kind of sentiment, still there were particular seasons in which it was considered obligatory-in which it blended itself with religion, and became, as it were, a sacred rite, hallowed by prescription. Christmas was one of these indeed it was the principal one, and busy and solemn were the accustomed preparations for this annual festival. My father's conduct, though chiefly regulated by habit, was yet in perfect accordance with those vulgar, but sage maxims, which supersede the use of ethical studies among the bulk of mankind. For almost every day in the year, and for nearly every possible situation in life, he had a trite saying: one of these I remember well, for it prognosticated bustle, and was big with expectation: it was this

Know ye all, that St. Thomas divine Is for baking, and brewing, and killing of

swine.'

It was but seldom, however, that such multifarious duties as are here indicated were protracted to so late a period as St. Thomas's Day. The brewing, at least, was always finished six weeks before, and the black and white puddings, which lined the capacious chimney, showed that the pig had been for some time in salt. Roast beef being an indispensable dish on a Christmas Day, the heifer or bullock was never slaughtered until about three days before; and, of course, the saint's day was always a busy one. On Christmas Eve the oven was usually heated; and thus expectation was kept on tiptoe until the arrival of this season of gladness and festivity.

Let Mrs. Trimmer say what she pleases, the life of a school-boy is not an enviable one; so at least I once thought, and so I fancy thought most boys on the approach of Christmas. Buonaparte, in his most ambitious hours, when devising plans for the subjugation of Europe, never experienced greater anxiety than I did when about to propose a barringout to my school-fellows and such was our desire of being freed from restraint, that we generally attempt ed this coup-de-main at least six clear weeks before the proper time. Unfortunately the enterprise generally iniscarried, not from want of unanimity among ourselves; but from the numerous facilities of ingress which an Irish academy in country parts afforded a lean and slippered' pedagogue. The hour, at length, however, came; and our young minds expatiated on the boundless joys afforded by twelve successive holydays. Many were the complaints of mother and maids at the event which restored me to home on Christmas Eve. Amidst the bustle and activity which then usually prevailed, I was a constant stumbling-block. My mother hit against me on her way to the parlour; my grandmamma, a collough of eighty, fell over me as she ran to rock the cradle; and Betsey was upset by my hurley, with a keeler of cream between her hands. Still I held my ground. I had my cake in the oven; and, until the peeler (not a policeman) drew it from the heated orifice, neither kicks nor cuffs-neither words nor blows-could force me from the scene

of action. But, my bread once buttered, I became useful. I cut the hemlock which polished the pewter dishes; caught the fowl which were to be sacrificed to the season; and sifted the gritty sand over the parlour floor. Nay, more; I kept the pigs at a respectful distance from the dairy door; and drew ale for my father when he was thirsty. At length, complimented as a good boy, I obtained permission to sit down by the parlour fire, where I generally waited in patient expectation of the hour when the confusion was to subside, and the cessation of toil and labour proclaim that the preparations had been concluded. Then, indeed, I would feel that Christmas had commenced. For an hour or two the blazing turf fire in the kitchen was the point of attraction; and unsparing was the broad mirth which there prevailed. Religion, however, would interpose its authority. The household would be commanded to prepare for the midnight Mass; for none would think of sleep on so solemn an hour. By eleven o'clock the whole family would be apparelled in their best clothes, and, soon after, proceed to the house of prayer.

I have stood beneath the dome of St. Peter's, and knelt on the floor of that holy edifice, when the Pope, in all the pomp of Catholicity, officiated. but never felt that spiritual delight, that hallowed devotion, and that pure and ardent zeal, which used to fill my very soul with ecstacy in the little thatched chapel at Rathangan. Years nor absence have not been able to efface from my recollection any thing connected with this primitive temple. I think I see its humble roof -with a wooden cross stuck in the gable-end-before me, as it once stood on the right-hand side of the road. How often have I wondered at the crowds which used to surround it before Mass on a Sunday! and how nimbly did I often run, on hearing the tinkling of the little bell from the green paddock behind it, in the hope of securing a place near to the altar before the people rushed in! Its interior exhibited many proofs of the religion professed by its frequenters. The little painted altar-the crucifix

the holy water-pots-and the twelve stations-clearly indicated a place of

brown ale;' and 'the wren-the wren, the king of all birds,'-ushered in St. Stephen's Day. But the mummers were the point of attraction. Their first performance always took place in a field adjoining the chapel on this day; and, when a boy, the pleasure I felt at witnessing the sport was considerably damped by the terror which the attendant clowns inspired. It was, however, I must confess, notwithstanding the presence of Darby and Joan, a pleasing sight to see twelve athletic young men, dressed out in ribands and silk-handkerchiefs, go through their artful evolutions for the purpose of pleasing the crowd. You must not judge of our mummers by the buffoons who exhibit on St.Stephen's Day in your streets; for theirs was no mercenary motive. They accepted of nothing but an invitation to dinner or supper; and their company was an honour which was conferred only upon a select few. My father's house was the first they usually visited; and, on this occasion, the ould black oak table groaned with the weight of the feast.' Whiskey flowed in goblets brimming full, and the rich ales sparkled even through the opacity of earthen bowls. But eating and drinking gave me little care; my time was always sufficiently occupied in laughing at the wit of Darby and Joan. Nothing, I thought, could be finer than that of presenting the captain with a dish of ashes for sturabout, and then sticking a live coal in it as a substitute for butter. Perhaps these things then delighted, because I was young and unsophisticated. There may be some truth in this; but surely those customs and profusions, however rude, which made all happy, should not be thoughtlessly condemned. Our pea

·

My paper is almost exhausted, and, I have not room to tell you how the remainder of Christmas was spent in my paternal home. Enough, however, is here stated to show, that our 'rude forefathers' were much happier than their degenerate sons; and I think an association formed for the purpose of restoring ancient manners, ancient customs, and, above all, an Irish Christinas of forty years since, would be of incalculable service to this suffering country. I speak feelingly on this subject. After an absence of two score years, I have returned to the land of my fathers; but, instead of finding, as I expected, Christmas such as I left it, what has been my surprise to find hardly a trace of it? My brother sneers at, and has departed from, his father's system. He has got Scotch ploughs, and Scotch ploughmen; Leicester ewes, and Dutch cows; yet, after all, he is not able to keep Christmas such as his father kept it. Still he talks of arts and science-the improvement in navigation and agriculture; but curse upon all these, say I, if they have only tended to banish an ancient Christmas from the land. Roleen.

MON STAFFord.