treats the subject as the physician treats medicine in a work destined for the use of families. The experienced eye discovers the extent of his knowledge in the facility with which he lays aside the pedantry of the schools, and makes himself at once intelligible to the uninstructed. The seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth sections introduce us, in a masterly manner, to all the minute details of practice, connected with the preparation of the trees for removal, the taking up and transportation of them, the planting them in their new situations, and their subsequent treatment. The eleventh and last, though, to the planter, not the least interesting section, shows, on incontrovertible evidence, at how very moderate an expense the most striking effects ever produced by wood may be obtained. Instead of its being necessary to lay out from £2 to £15 on the removal of a tree of any size, as was the case formerly, Sir Henry Steuart states his own experience to be, that the larger trees are commonly removed for from 10s. to 13s. each, taking the distance at half a mile, and the smaller for from 6s. to 8s. As if to make assurance doubly sure, the finely engraved plates, which accompany the volume, place before our eyes the exact effects produced, and show us how economy may be made to assort with all that is beautiful in landscape. Having thus briefly gone over the leading features of the work, our readers will be better able to see the weight which must be attached to the scientific principles upon which the whole of Sir Henry Steuart's practice is founded. We shall illustrate this still more clearly, by alluding to the admirable account he gives of the vegetable economy of trees; in the course of which he shows that the anatomy of trees, and the constitution and properties of plants in general, may be considered to be regulated by as fixed and certain laws as have been discovered to belong to animal physiology. His disquisition, in particular, on the four protecting properties which nature invariably gives to trees in open exposures, is worthy every attention. These properties are-1st, Thickness and induration of bark; 2dly, Stoutness and girth of stem; 3dly, Numerousness of roots and fibres; and, 4thly, Extent, balance, and closeness of branches. These are also the properties which should be always looked for in trees intended for removal. If the reader will peruse attentively the following quotation, as a brief specimen of the author's intimate and scientific acquaintance with all the ramifications of his subject, we venture to say, that he will find both his own stock of knowledge increased, and his respect for Sir Henry Steuart augmented: "In order to assist the reader in forming a clear conception of the great value of a proper thickness of bark to trees intended for removal, it will be necessary to inquire a little into the means by which the sap-vessels minister to the sustenance of plants. In the warmer latitudes, the sap flows in certain plants during the whole year; but, in those that are more temperate, the functions of vegetables are suspended, or nearly so, during the winter season. Early in the spring, however, it begins to rise in woody plants, and continues to ascend till it reach the extremities of the branches. This sap is absorbed from the soil, by the extremities of the capillary rootlets, and conveyed upwards, through the vessels of the root, to the trunk. In its ascent, it rises only through the wood and the alburnum, in tubes of various sizes, and is prepared or elaborated by the leaves. That process, according to some, is effected by means of an alternate contraction and dilatation of the sapvessels, and still more, by a respiration, perceptible and imperceptible, in the leaves, which is peculiar to plants, whether woody or herbaceous, and by the action of the atmosphere. But, according to others, it is rather the exhalation from the leaves, than what is properly their respiratory functions, that affects the ascent of the sap. When this has taken place, the sap is then converted into the proper juice, or what has been, by some, called Cambium, that is, juice fitted for nutrition; and it descends by the returning vessels of the leaf stalk, and the longitudinal vessels of the rind, or inner bark. Thus, the circulation is carried on by a double process, the ascending and the descending; whereby the vessels terminate downwards in absorbents, by which the fluids are received, and they terminate upwards in exhalents, by which those fluids are discharged. This doctrine of the two currents of sap was originally struck out by Malpighi and Grew; but the first who showed the organs of communication between the two currents to be the leaves, was unquestionably Darwin; a discovery, which the ingenuity of Knight subsequently extended and confirmed, and traced the existence of the circulation of the sap. "During the descent of the proper juice, it further appears, that each branch is nourished by the juice prepared by itself, and that the surplus, beyond what is required for that purpose, descends from the junction of the branch with the stem, and contributes to the increase of the stem, and at last of the roots which originally supplied it. The descending juice is the efficient and proximate means employed by nature, for the support and nourishment of every part; therefore, to say that a tree is vigorous and healthy, is to say, in effect, that it has an abundant supply of sap. "From this cursory account, it is apparent of what vast importance it is to the planter, to maintain the sap, and still more the proper vessels, in the due exercise of their functions, and to protect them from external injury, of which cold may be considered as the greatest. For this purpose, nature has wisely provided such trees as are in open exposures, with a thick and coarse covering of outer bark, which forms a defence from the elements to the inner bark, in which the descending or proper vessels are situated. "Further, we know that heat is necessary to cause vegetation as well as to continue it. Hence the wonderful effects of shelter, in close woods and plantations, in encouraging growth; all trees, during infancy, require a considerable proportion of warmth to make them shoot freely, as is proved by comparing the striking difference in their progress, at different degrees of elevation or exposure. What is most remarkable in sheltered trees is, that several of the kinds, most delicate and tender while young, for example, the oak, are found, when matured in a kindly temperature, to be the best adapted to resist the elements, and set their greatest fury at defiance. " In adverting to heat as essential to vegetation, it is particularly worthy of notice, as already observed, that the epidermis and bark of trees drawn up by shelter are usually thin, the former often smooth and glossy. The descending vessels, by consequence, as they lie under it, never fail to suffer severely, on being exposed to a cold atmosphere. It is greatly on this account, as well as from scantiness of roots and lateral boughs, that plantations sustain such extensive injury on being suddenly thinned. Where that operation is performed in a gradual manner, it gives time for nature to prepare the trees for the change, by strengthening the coat of bark, and likewise by multiplying the roots, and thickening the spray and branches; and thus the proper vessels are prevented from being chilled by untimely exposure. The fact, though universally known, is never referred to the true cause by common observers. "These considerations furnish ample ground to admire the wise provision of Nature in bestowing a much thicker, coarser, and more indurated covering of bark upon all trees in open exposures: For, in vain might they possess every other property, if the sap-vessels were not sufficiently protected and enabled to do their office. Were that to happen through thinness of the bark, there cannot be a doubt but that the plants would become stunted and sickly, and both branches and spray would suffer injury in consequence, as we see happen to the generality of transplanted trees, which do not possess this protecting property. From all which it appears, that the health and protection of the proper vessels, by means of a due thickness and induration of bark, is an indispensable pre-requisite in all subjects meant for removal, and that it is deserving of the rank here assigned to it." P. 115-121. By these observations alone, it will be clearly seen that our author has delighted to observe, with no inaccurate or untaught eye, the curious and complicated mechanism displayed by nature, in nourishing and bringing to perfection the most beautiful of all her vegetable productions. He well remarks that every part of a tree depends on the condition of every other part which con tinually acts and reacts. It is upon this principle that the whole of his improvements in arboriculture are found. ed. His great rule to the planter is, -preserve all the parts in as entire and perfect a state as possible, and especially attend to the protection of the sap-vessels, for on a due regulation of the sap, success mainly depends. Now, this is in direct opposition to the old or "mutilating" system, by which it was considered necessary to lop away, previous to reinoval, nearly all the beautiful and luxuriant top branches of a tree, in order to bring it down to the ability of the roots, and thus not only to disfigure it for life, but from the obvious want of leaves sufficient to elaborate the sap, and the equally striking want of branches to communicate nourishment to the stem, and ultimately to the roots, to give the whole tree a stunted and paralyzed existence. But by the new, or "preservative" system, not a twig is touched, not a fibre is cut off; and thus the fine symmetry of the tree is retained, for Sir Henry Steuart, like Isaac Walton, uses it "gently, as though he loved it." "After being replanted, according to a peculiar method, productive of stability in an extraordinary degree, it is found capable of resisting the wind, from whatever quarter it may blow, on the simplest principles, namely, the acquired steadfastness of the stem, and the length and distribution of the roots, added to the balance of an extensive top." But, notwithstanding the candid and modest manner in which Sir Henry Stenart talks of what he has done, and what every body else may do, by following his directions, there are some who may be disposed to make pretty large allowances for the partiality with which every theorist is inclined to view his own system, and may still, therefore, continue to entertain doubts on many points. Instrumental as we are desirous of becoming in enforcing on the attention of our countrymen what we believe to be the improvements, and scientific and practical discoveries, of a man of genius, we consider it proper to remove these scruples, by giving a place in our pages to the following extract, from the report of a committee of the Highland Society of Scotland, appointed to inspect the operations at Allanton, and consisting of some of the best practical and amateur arboriculturists in the country, among whom were Sir Walter Scott; Dr Graham, Professor of Botany; Dr Coventry, Professor of Agriculture; Agriculture; and G. Laing Meason, Esq. of Lindertis. Having carefully surveyed the Park at Allanton, and examined both the single trees and the groups, the committee, in their report, which, we learn from good authority, was written by Sir Walter Scott, proceed in the following terms: "In viewing these specimens of an art, of the power of which we had formed no adequate conception, the following facts and circumstances particularly struck us, respecting the single and detached trees. We will, therefore, concisely state them, as worthy the notice of the Society. "First, the singular beauty and symmetry of the trees; the uncommon girth of their stems in proportion to their height; and the complete formation of their branches, and spreading tops. In fact, they appear instead of stripling plants, (as Gilpin would have called them,) to be fine Lawn Trees in miniature, and not young saplings, in their progress to that state of perfection. The peculiar and parklike appearance which these give to the lawn (so different from what we have observed in other instances of Removed Wood) must of course in some degree proceed from a judicious selection in the planter. But we learned on inquiry, that Sir Henry considers it as mainly owing to a course of previous training in pretty open exposures, or in what he appropriately calls his Transplanting Nurseries,' or otherwise, in plantations thinned out for the purpose, to wide distances. "The second thing we shall mention, is the surpri sing health and vigour of the trees, considering the exposures in which they are placed, and the complete and perfect preservation of their branches, notwithstanding the operation of removal. In all, or most other specimens of transplanting, whether in this country or in England, it has been the uniform practice of planters to lop and lighten the tops, to prune off the side boughs, and often to pollard or decapitate the trees altogether. But according to Sir Henry's improved and skilful method of managing the process, the necessity of this unsightly mutilation is completely obviated; as in his trees sel. dom a twig or a branch appears to decay in consequence of the operation. Thus, the peculiar formation and character of each tree are preserved, but it is obvious that by pollarding, or even severe lopping, both would be wholly destroyed. The above remarkable fact was clearly proved to us, by viewing trees of various sorts, in every stage of their progress, from the first year to the tenth and upwards. It would be difficult to discover that the trees had not grown from the seed, in the situations which they occupy, were it not for the ring of dug ground, which we observed round many of them, making a space, which is usually kept with the hoe for three or four years, in order to promote their growth; and that labour is continued until they begin to shoot with freedom. "The third circumstance which we shall state, and which seemed still more surprising to most of us, who had ourselves attempted the art, than either of the two above-mentioned, is, that no prop or support of any kind is ever used at this place, to trees newly planted. So firmly are they placed, and so perfectly do they seem prepared to resist the elements, that in very few cases was any inclination observable, from the west and southwest, which are well known to be the most stormy quarters. This due balance of the Transplanted Tree is much aided by Sir Henry's practice, (contrary to the rule generally observed,) of reversing the position of the tree in its transplanted state, and turning to the south. west, or stormy point, that side where the branches had been longest and most luxuriant in the original position, precisely because they had shot more towards the north-east, or sheltered aspect. It does not appear that the growth of the tree is in the least degree retarded by this change, which otherwise produces the effect of balancing the tree against the storm, and, by bringing its branches to a regular shape, adds to its symmetry. "The time of our survey not being the planting season, we have to regret that no account of this phenomenon, (the absence of props,) so clear as we could have wished, was obtained by us. From Sir Henry's explanations, however, we gathered, that the firmness or steadiness produced was chiefly owing to the selection of such subjects as had a certain weight and strength of stem; and more especially to a new and peculiar method of disposing and securing the roots under ground at the time of removal, attended with such advantage in giving stability to the tree, that, when it is placed in its new situation, and before any earth has been laid on the roots, a very considerable force may be applied, without throwing it down or displacing it. But Sir Henry further informed us, that roots of great number and length (sometimes to the extent of twelve and fourteen feet of a side,) were also employed to secure the larger trees, when set out single in exposed situations."-P.51517. If a statement of this sort, coming from so high a quarter, does not appear conclusive, we can only farther recommend a perusal of the work itself, and a personal inspection of the grounds at Allanton. To the numerous notes and illustrations, and separate disquisitions affixed to the volume, it is in our power only barely to allude. Unlike notes in general, they contain much that is valuable; and, unlike notes also, will not fail to be read by all embued with a proper interest in the important subject of which they treat. We perused, in particular, with much pleasure, the very able exposure of the fallacy of Withers's animadversions on the treatment of the Royal Forests, animadversions which had puzzled and perplexed his Majesty's Commissioners, but which Sir Henry Steuart clearly proves to have been grounded on the erroneous belief that the bulk of the marketable article, or the quantity of timber, and the shortness of the time within which it can be produced, were the only circumstances to be taken into consideration; whereas, the solidity and durability of timber, which are, in many respects, incompatible with bulk and shortness of time in the production, are still more important requisites. We make no apology for having dwelt thus long on a work like " The Planter's Guide." It is a work which appeals to our interests, to our enjoyments, and to our patriotism. Landed proprietors know well that good trees are the same as good guineas; every lover of nature knows well, that a finely-wooded lawn or park presents one of the most pleasing objects over which the eye can wander; and every Scotchman knows well, that the green and pastoral districts of his native land, or the wild glens among his Highland mountains, cling more fondly to his heart, because the ash and the elm, the beech and the oak, flourish quietly there by Yarrow and by Tweed; or the " evergreen pine" flings its dark shadow across the stream that dances down the hill. Dr Johnson, being as blind as those people commonly are who will not see, discovered no trees in Scotland. It is a pity that the historian of the "Happy Valley" cannot now visit Allanton. It might surprise him to learn that there was not a man to be found in all England, with science and experience onough to controvert the fallacious opinions of a Norfolk attorney, regarding arboriculture, till a SCOTCHMAN stood forth to vindicate the truth, and to rear up for Great Britain a new science, which may yet be the means of increasing her national resources, of adding fresh loveliness to her " stately homes," and of launching on the deep, meet another foe," a yet mightier and more triumphant navy. Others may feel surprised that a Scotchman should have done this; but his countrymen will feel proud, and add his name, with gratitude and delight, to the long list of which they can already boast, of those who i have taken the lead in so many of the departments of science and intellect. "to Legends of the Lakes; or Sayings and Doings at KilLarney. By T. Crofton Croker. London. John Ebers and Co. 1829. 2 vols. WE consider Mr Crofton Croker an excellent specimen of one of those clever young men who are at present so exceedingly plentiful. He writes in a lively, off-hand, agreeable manner, takes a thing easily up, as the schoolmasters say, and catches the " Cynthias of the minute" with considerable dexterity and success. But we fear Mr Crofton Croker's powers go no farther. He seems to possess little variety of useful knowledge; he is sharp, but not intellectual; playful, but not imaginative; showy, but not solid or profound. "Oh, bad luck to you! Is it of me you're spaking?" Mr Croker may very possibly exclaim; and with that rich but suppressed smile of quiet humour and secret triumph, which is never to be seen on any physiognomy but an Irishman's, may request to be informed whether we make it a rule to limit our approbation to those mountains of learning, which occasionally rear their stupendous brows far up into the blue sky of y of literature, and cast all the plains and valleys into shade? We answer, "No;" nor are we to be driven from our proposition by a sophism. Cleverness to any extent is very desirable; but it is so common now, that its possessor will soon find it does not carry him one-half so far as he had anticipated. The truth is, cleverness, which a certain liveliness of fancy, has mainly depends upon been found to be a very easy substitute for more valuable qualities, because, for a time, it may contrive to pass current in general society, not for what it really is, but for what it pretends to be. A clever man looks upon all labour with contempt; he "draws upon his own resources," as he phrases it, which, in other words, merely means, that, having never cultivated his mind, he makes the most he can of it on the spur of the moment. What resources, we should like to know, has any one to draw upon, independent of those which long study has enabled him to lay up? Does the clever man come into the world with an intuitive knowledge of science, history, and philosophy? There are many per. "He who seem to think does. As soon as an unfortunate boy is discovered to be clever, it is all over with him. "Why plague him with Latin, Greek, or mathematics, when he is so clever?" "Well, well, he pays his college fees, and does not attend the lectures; but it is of no consequence, he is so clever." "Did you read that article of his in the Magazine ?It was very bitter, to be sure, rather personal, and not a little inaccurate; but then it was so clever." paid his addresses, I am told, to Miss A, and then jilted her for Miss B, that was positively very bad; but Miss A, you know, is a perfect ninny, and he is so clever." We are sick to death of clever superficiality, _ it is a mere cloak, that covers a multitude of sins. Profound erudition we cannot, of course, always meet with; but a moderate extent of sound information is within every man's reach; and unless where the deep feelings and emotions of a heart, bending beneath a weight of sensibility and genius, appear to remove it from the common concerns of life, we infinitely prefer the man of sound information to the most conceited jack daw that ever decked himself out in the false feathers of cleverness. Heartily do we wish that cleverness had never risen from the rank it held in the days of Dr Johnson. "Clever," says that author, " is a low word, scarcely ever used but in burlesque or conversation, and applied to any thing a man likes, without a settled meaning." " I read Dyer's letter," says Addison, sneeringly, " more for the style than the news; the man has a clever pen, it must be confessed." This is exactly the proper distinction; the "clever" man is read, not for his "news" or information, but for his "style," that flashy succession of periods, that labouring after effect, that ransacking and conglomeration of all possible things, that "twinkle, twinkle, little star," species of composition, which plays about the imagination like a Will-o'-the-Wisp, and at length, after leading the reader a dance over bogs and quagmires, lands him at the very spot from which he set out. Let us hear less of these clever men, unless to cleverness be added industry, and to industry enthusiasm, and to enthusiasm judgment, and to judgment knowledge, and to knowledge wisdom. We confess we have lost sight of Mr Croker; nor do we, by any means, intend that the anathema we have just pronounced should all light upon his shoulders. Mr Croker does add something to cleverness, though not enough. What he adds is a considerable acquaintance with Irish character, and a tolerably successful manner of delineating its peculiarities. In his "Fairy Legends," however, there was a good deal of dull stuff, and we think the book was puffed, in certain quarters, beyond its merits. The fact is, Mr Crofton Croker is, we understand, a very engaging person, with a pretty extensive circle of acquaintance, both literary and others, to all of whom he has contrived to make himself agree able; and it is amazing what a little private friendship may do for a man in this way in these degenerate days. We have known more instances than one in which the public have been taken by surprise, and have actually been made for months to bow the knee before a false god. We could name the names of some of these wooden and stucco images that have been set up for worship, but it is unnecessary at present. An influential Editor puffs his friend, and the chance is, that ninety-nine out of a hundred will puff him also. Nay, there are even means of leading Editors themselves by the nose, if the secrets of the prison-house might be revealed. The "Legends of the Lakes, or Sayings and Doings at Killarney," profess to be little more than a guidebook of a more lively and characteristic description than is generally to be met with; and in this view we doubt not the work will be found very useful and agreeable reading by all who visit this fairy corner of green Erin. We are rather, however, of opinion, that Mr Croker visited Killarney too much with the intention of making a book, as, indeed, he himself avows. Now, though the ingenious Messrs Weld and Wright have both written large tomes on the subject, we happen to be of opinion, that there is not matter enougli sufficient for a book, such as the general scholar would wish to read, to be picked up about Killarney. Mr Croker has actually given us two volumes; and to make up these two volumes, he has crammed in all manner of things, legends, anecdotes, verses, descriptions, sketches, caricatures, music, and many other items too numerous to mention. We should not quarrel with this were they all good or even interesting; but they are not. Many of the legends are stupid; many of the anecdotes want point; most of the verses are mediocre; many of the descriptions are confused; the sketches and caricatures are meagre, and the music is only so so. Not unfrequently, however, Mr Croker is lively and amusing, and in his better moods he tells an Irish story excellently. One or two of these stories we shall lay before our readers for their edification and entertainment. The first is somewhat of a grave cast, and shall be en titled THE FRIAR AND THE LITTLE BIRD. "Advancing through a pretty plantation, we soon reached Cloughna Cuddy, a large stone with two capsular hollows in it, which were half filled with water. A few stunted trees and bushes grew around it, upon one of which several rags were bung, as is usual in İreland, near places that are considered holy. Whilst I was engaged in noting the shape of the stone, on the back of a letter, an old woman, whom I had not before perceived, peeping over my shoulder, exclaimed: ""Oh, there isn't it the very mortal image of the blessed stone itself! and there are the two holes put down in it to be sure, where the holy friar knelt at his devotions.' And here she began to scatter some crumbs upon the gound, to which the little birds, from the neighbouring brushes, immediately flew, with all the fearlessness of conscious security. "Ah, then,' said their feeder, ' ye're a blessed race, and 'tis good right ye have to know this place, and it would be a mortal sin to hurt or to harm ye; but what are ye to the little bird that sang to the holy friar for as good as two hundred years?' ""That, indeed, was a wonderful bird,' said I; 'and, my good woman, if you have no objection, I should like very much to hear all about it.' "No objection in life, your honour. Well, then, many years ago there was a very religious and holy man, one of the monks of a convent hereabout; and he was one day kneeling at his prayers in the garden of his monastery, when he heard a little bird singing in one of the rose trees of the garden, and there never was any thing that he had heard in the world so sweet as the song of that little bird. And the holy man rose up from his knees, where he had been kneeling at his prayers, to listen to its song, for he thought he never in all his life heard any thing so heavenly. ""And the little bird, after singing for some time longer in the rose-tree, flew away to a grove at some distance from the monastery, and the holy man followed it, to listen to its singing; for he felt as if he never could be tired of listening to the sweet song which it was singing, out of its little throat. And the little bird after that went away to another distant tree, and sung there for awhile, and then again to another tree, and so on in the same manner, but ever farther and farther away from the monastery, and the holy man still following it farther, and farther, and farther, still listening delighted to its enchanting song. But at last he was obliged to give up, as it was growing late in the day; and he returned to the convent; and as he approached it in the evening, the sun was setting in the west with all the most heavenly colours that were ever seen in all this world, and when he came into the convent it was night-fall. And he was quite surprised at every thing he saw; for they were all strange faces about him in the monastery, that he had never seen before, and the very place itself, and every thing about it, seemed entirely different from what it was when he left it in the morning; and the garden was not like the garden where he had been kneeling at his devotions when he first heard the singing of the little bird; and while he was wondering at all that he saw, one of the monks of the convent came up to him, and the holy man questioned him Brother, what is the cause of all these strange changes that have taken place here since the morning?" And the monk that he spoke to seemed to wonder greatly at his question, and asked him what he meant by the changes since morning, for sure there was no change, that all was just as before; and then he said, Brother, why do you ask these strange questions, and what is your name? for you wear the habit of our order, though we have never seen you before. So, upon this, the holy man told his name, and that he had been at mass in the chapel in the morning, before he had wandered away from the garden, listening to the song of a little bird that was singing among the rose-trees, near where he was kneeling at his prayers. And the Brother, while he was speaking, gazed at him very earnestly, and then told him that there was in the convent a tradition of a Brother of his name, who had left it two hundred years before, but that what had become of him was never known. And while he was speaking, the holy man said, My hour of death is come; blessed be the name of the Lord, for all his mercies to me, through the merits of his only begotten Son!' And he kneeled down that very moment, and said, Brother, take my confession, and give me absolution, for my soul is departing.' And he made his confession, and received his absolution, and was anointed, and before midnight he died. "" The little bird, you see, was an angel, one of the cherubim or seraphim; and that was the way the Almighty was pleased in his mercy to take to himself the soul of that holy man. And there before you is the stone where he knelt all the time of his sleep, or his enchantment, or whatever it was; and there are the prints of that holy man's knees in the stone, that your honour has drawn out so completely."-Vol. I. p. 19-24. Most of our readers, we suppose, have heard, that if it rains on St Swithin's Day, it is certain to rain for forty days afterwards. If they will peruse the following legend, they will find out the cause of this very remarkable fact: THE DEATH OF ST SWITHIN. "St Swithin was a priest, and a very holy man, so holy that he went by no other name than that of the blessed priest. He was not like the priests now-a-days, who ride about on fine horses, with spectacles stuck upon their noses, and horsewhips in their hands, and polished boots on their legs, that fit them as nate as a Limerick glove, (God forgive me for spaking ill of the clargy, but some of them have no more conscience than a pig in a p'ratie garden ;) Saint Swithin was not that kind of priest, no such thing; for he did nothing but pray from morning till night, so that he brought a blessing on the whole country round; and could cure all sorts of diseases, and was so charitable that he'd give away the shirt off his back. Then, whenever he went out, it was quite plain and sober, on a rough little mountainy garran, and he thought himself grand entirely if his big ould-fashioned boots got a rub of the grase. It was no wonder he should be called the blessed priest, and that the people far and near should flock to him to mass and confession, or that they thought it a blessed thing to have him lay his hand on their heads. It's a pity the likes of hinı should ever die, but there's no help for death; and sure if he wasn't so good entirely, he'd have been left, and not be taken away as he was; for 'tis them that are most wanted are the first to go. The news of his death flew about like lightning; and there was nothing but ullagoning through all the country, and they had no less than right, for they lost a good friend the day he died. However, from ullagoning they soon came to fighting about where he was to be buried. His own parish wouldn't part with him if they got half Ireland, and sure they had the best right to him; but the next parish wanted to get him by the lauve laider, (strong hand,) for they thought it would bring a blessing on them to have his bones among them; so his own parishioners at last took and buried him by night, without the others knowing any thing about it. When the others heard it, they were tearing mad, and raised a large faction, thinking to take him up and carry him away in spite of his parishioners; so they had a great battle upon it; but those who had the best right to him were beat out and out, and the others were just going to take him up, when there came, all at once, such rain as was never seen before or since; it was so heavy that they were obliged to run away half drounded, and give it up as a bad job. They thought, how ever, that it wouldn't last long, and that they could come again; but they were out in that, for it never stopped raining in that manner for forty days, so they were obliged to give it up entirely; and ever since that time there's always more or less rain on St Swithin's day, and for forty days after." _Vol. I. p. 100-3. We have room for only one more story, but it shall be a good one. That "St Patrick was a gentleman," we trust, is a part of the moral belief of every sincere Christian; and should the least shadow of doubt regarding this momentous point remain on the mind of any one, let him peruse, with the deepest attention, the following historical tradition : THE LAST OF THE SARPINTS. "The serpent, is it? said Picket in reply. Sure, every body has heard tell of the blessed Saint Patrick, and how he druve the sarpints, and all manner of venomous things, out of Ireland how he bothered all the varmint entirely; but for all that there was one ould sarpint left, who was too cunning to be talked out of the country, and made to drown himself. Saint Patrick didn't well know how to manage this fellow, who was doing great havoc; till at long last he bethought himself, and got a strong iron chest made with nine boults upon it. "So, one fine morning he takes a walk to where the sarpint used to keep; and the sarpint, who didn't like the Saint in the least, and small blame to him for that, began to hiss and show his teeth at him like any thing. - Oh,' says St Patrick, says he, 'where's the use of making such a piece of work about a gentleman like myself coming to see you-'Tis a nice house I have got made for you agin the winter, for I am going to civilize the whole country, man and beast,' says he, 'and you can come and look at it whenever you please, and 'tis myself will be glad to see you.' "The sarpint, hearing such smooth words, thought, that though St Patrick had druve all the rest of the sarpints into the sea, he meant no harm to himself; so the sarpint walks fair and easy up to see him, and the house he was speaking about. But when the sarpint saw the nine great boults upon the chest, he thought he was sould, (betrayed,) and was for making off with himself as fast as ever he could. ""'Tis a nice warm house, you see,' says Saint Patrick, ' and 'tis a good friend I am to you.' ""I thank you kindly, Saint Patrick, for your civility,' says the sarpint, but I think it's too small it is for me,' - meaning it for an excuse, and away he was going. "Too small!' says Saint Patrick, stop, if you please,' says he; 'you're out in that, my boy, any how - I am sure 'twill fit you completely; and, I'll tell you what,' says he, I'll bet you a gallon of porter,' says he, 'that if you'll only try and get in, there'll be plenty of room for you.' "The sarpint was as thirsty as could be with his walk, and 'twas great joy to him the thoughts of doing Saint Patrick out of the gallon of porter; so, swelling himself up as big as he could, in he got to the chest, all but a little bit of his tail. There now,' says he, 'I've won the gallon, for you see the house is too small for me, for I can't get in my tail. When, what does Saint Patrick do, but he comes behind the great heavy lid of the chest, and, putting his two hands to it, down he slaps it with a bang like thunder. When the rogue of a sarpint saw the lid coming down, in went his tail like a shot, for fear of being whipped off him, and Saint Patrick began at once to boult the nine iron boults. ""Oh! murder! Won't you let me out, Saint Patrick?' says the sarpint- I've lost the bet fairly, and I'll pay you the gallon like a man.' ""Let you out, my darling?' says Saint Patrick, 'to be sure I will, by all manner of means; but, you see, I haven't time now, so you must wait till to-morrow.' And so he took the iron chest, with the sarpint in it, and pitches it into the lake here, where it is to this hour, for certain; and 'tis the sarpint struggling down at the bottom that makes the waves upon it. Many is the living man, continued Picket, besides myself, has hard the sarpint crying out, from within the chest under the water, Is it to-morrow yet? - Is it to-morrow yet?' which, to be sure, it never can be: And that's the way Saint Patrick settled the last of the sarpints, sir." Vol. I. p. 180-3. In conclusion, we have only to say, that we wish Mr Croker had been a little more careful in his selection of materials, and that if he will take pains, we think his next book is much more likely to contain more of the pure ore than any he has yet given to the world. |