LIFE IN IRELAND 3 



trot in the prosaic way. Real Life in Ireland is 

 confined to no particular rule, rank, or station ; so 

 in descanting upon it, we shall range at will the various 

 changes of prose, poetry, or blank verse, just as it 

 suits our purpose, and may (as we hope) please the 

 ears of our readers. Regularity is not to be expected 

 in following through life two of the most irregular and 

 eccentric Beings that ever 



' Prank'd the sod in frolic mood.' 



In truth, all the amusement which is to be hoped for 

 must spring from their wheelings to the right or left ; 

 a straightforward course would be as dull and mono- 

 tonous as a journey up the banks of the River Dodder 

 from Ringsend to Irish Town, after winding the mazes 

 of the circular road, and enjoying the rich beauties of 

 Beggar's Bush. 



In Ireland, gentle reader, parents are remarkably fond 

 of giving to their children ancient names, rendered 

 sacred by 'deeds of renown.' I knew several in- 

 stances of this in the North. An old farmer, who 

 distilled his grain upon the mountains of Morne, had 

 his son christened Muckaweezen Thady O'Flanagan, 

 merely because the priest told him he had read in 

 history of a Thady Muckaweezen, who was a stable- 

 boy to the great Earl of Tyrone, and had his weasand 

 cut for rebellious practices. 



The love of ancestry is a commendable thing; it 

 incites to heroic deeds ; and whether in search of 

 death on the field of -battle, or in quest of Life in 

 Dublin^ it adds a stimulus to the soul, and gives a 

 zest to the appetite, to vulgar souls unknown. 



