tone of religion at Naples. It is a pity that it has not some influence also upon its morality. The Neapolitans believe the crater to be an outlet or communication with the place of torment; the priests encourage this idea, and make an unsparing use of their doctrine of purgatory. If a corner is to be prevented from being defiled, if extraordinary reverence is to be paid to any particular crucifix or picture of the Madona, if any chapel or privileged altar requires that the number of its devotees should be increased, in all cases the same remedy is resorted to by exposing paintings of naked men and women up to the waist in fire. Outside one of the churches between Naples and Vesuvius are a number of flesh-coloured dolls, huddled into a group, and half immersed in a red lake, supposed to represent lava or liquid fire. To increase the sale of those little amulets, which the Neapolitans wear round their necks, the priests exhibit pictures of the Virgin reaching one of them to a soul in torment, as an alleviation of his sufferings. At Naples," Il Rè di Vesuvio—the king of Vesuvius," means to say "the devil." Having heard that there were symptoms of an approaching erruption, I asked a fellow in the neighbourhood when he thought it would happen. The answer was, "When the devil gives a ball." Another man to whom I put the same question replied in a much better style," Iddio è padrone-it is in the hands of God." A man cursing a person who was displeasing to him said, "May she go al diavolo, al fuoco, al Vesuvio-to the devil, to the fire, to Vesuvius."

D.

TO M

ON GIVING HER THE AIR CALLED O TRANQUILLO SOGGIORNO."

If thou, in future years, may'st chance to play
That plaintive air "Tranquillo Soggiorno,"
Cast one short momentary thought away--
When I am numbered with the dead, adorn, oh!
Adorn my cold sepulchre with a tear-

A tear of friendship on thy lover's bier!

What pleasure rests upon the thought! Farewell,
Ye visions of the world's enchanted ore,

Which flit around us, imperceptible,

Chaining the soul.-I'll own your sway no more!
Oh, in this hope I would resign my breath,
To dwell one moment in thy memory;
That would disarm of all its terrors death,
And render it a happiness to die!

ZAGARO VOUNI.

THE BAWN VONE; OR THE WHITE WOMAN.

WITHOUT being a positive antiquarian, I must confess that I recur with a peculiar satisfaction to that period which is expressed by the "good old times." In domestic phraseology it is connected with the early recollections of our immediate progenitors. It refers to a happy youth spent under the eye of pleasant old age. It is connected with a cheerful fire-side, a hospitable home, a friendly neighbourhood. Then may we not share in the sigh which memory offers to the good old times?

It would indeed be an idle controversy to enter into the question whether the world is advancing or retrograding in the science of that happiness which is founded upon innocent emjoyment. The old think that manners were more simple in their day. Perhaps such might have been the case; and yet such an opinion may only be one of those prejudices which are really honourable to our nature. Youth lives for the future. Age indulges in the past; and both may be allowed to share in an illusion which confers happiness without the compromise of one honest principle.

There are, it must be confessed, many of those ornaments of their sex whose every hour is a chronicle of good, women who seem to live not for themselves, who are attendants on the sick, servants of the poor, comforters of the criminal, mothers to the orphan, teachers of the neglected child. I know of such. Fame may yet be busy with their names. Whether or not, their reward is in their own bosoms here in an eternity of happiness hereafter. Yet from such do we turn a moment to think of the Lady Bountifuls of the past. A story of female heroism-I mean of that moral courage which arises from the magnanimous suppression of fear to the call of simple benevolence-recurs to my memory. It is of an unusual character, and is connected with the history of a somewhat eccentric being, whose active goodness caused her to be honoured by one of those expressive titles with which the Irish language so abounds, namely, Bawn Vone, or, as it may simply be translated, The White Woman.

Mrs. H. was a descendant of one of those families who, flying from persecution for conscience' sake, seem to have left all their animosities with their enemies, and to have brought with them the best charities of life to the hospitable land in whose green fields they were to find a present shelter and a future home. Never was a national hospitality better expended, never was national kindness more amply repaid. There are many points of resemblance between the French and Irish character; at all events, the latter believe such to be the case. that as it may, those Huguenots who settled in Ireland after the revocation of the Edict of Nantz met with the most friendly reception; and so grateful have they proved themselves that a name, a wealthy name, with a Gallic termination, is necessarily connected with charity and benevolence. Without mentioning the exact locality of Mrs. H.'s residence, it may just be said that she dwelt among a people whose

Be

situation was so little central that they had scarcely any intercourse with those of neighbouring counties, a people of warm and hospitable manners, attached to their superiors, and untainted by crime. This was, however, before -98. From that time much distrust was engendered amongst all classes in a place which was the chief scene of that national calamity. Long however before this period occurred, the incident I am about to relate-first let me pause upon some legendary recollections. In fact, let me have my own way. A story is not the better because it proceeds in a right line; a literary feast is to be approached like a dinner: you do not run in breathless haste to ascertain what is laid upon the table. Oh no! If you be an epicure of the right sort, you jog on briskly, not hastily; not by a barren road or a short cut, but through a mazy green lane; not lazily, but indulgingly. So, let me pick up my fruit as I may, 'tis a simple banquet, yet redolent with nature and with truth.

The house in which dwelt Mrs. H. and her children to the third generation, for she was a grandmother, was one of those old-fashioned domiciles to which you have some difficulty in according a proper qualification. With too much pretension for a farm house, it was yet not sufficiently imposing in its architecture to be called a castle or a seat. To use a modern phrase for getting rid of a dilemma, truth might lie between. It was originally, perhaps, the residence of some farmer, from whom it was purchased, either in the necessity of the moment or from the desirableness of its situation. Additions might then have been made according to the necessity of the case, and time, which reconciles all things, mellowed a union which at first might have looked but ill assorted to the eye. But what gave an imposing air to the whole, what hallowed the connection, was an ample dower of elm and beech, from which a cloud of crows occasionally winged their flight, or rendered musical, for there is no discord in nature, giving an air of hospitality to the place, as it were, by the utterance of their own security.

At the end of an avenue to which cannot, even for the purposes of the picturesque, be accorded a gate-for a happy carelessness was a characteristic of the time-might daily from morning to "dewy eve," be seen the various groups, all waiting for, or chatting with, or leaving their grievances before the Bawn Vone. Never did Bethsaida present so motley a group, for the "halt, the lame, and the blind" were but as a portion of the crowd; for such was the exercise of her benevolence that it was deemed boundless in its capacity, and often must the good lady have smiled at the infallibility of power of which she was made the mistress.

Yet let it not be supposed that she was one of those pliant creatures whose merit arose from a mere easiness of temper, a foolish habit of giving for the vanity of temporary respect, or a desire to be rid of importunity. She was the contrary of all that. Hasty, irritable, positive, and proud, she moved more like a queen among her subjects than a gentle benefactress. Her very port and gait were indicative of her temper. Although approaching the climax of threescore and ten, there was not an inclination in her tall figure, her eye shone with an eagle brilliancy, her bold and prominent features were all expressive of authority, but of a command which was not tyrannical.

In fact, her determined countenance expressed a nobleness of purpose; its darkened shades meant only a preparation against imposture, and yet she was imposed upon; thanks however to the really virtuous people by whom she was surrounded, rather than to the exercise of her own penetration, charity was seldom sickened by triumphant fraud. At this time religion resulted so little from opinion, was so much a strengthened habit, was so seldom the subject of controversy, that an active and cheerful piety existed amongst all classes; there were neither persecutors nor persecuted. This was before -98. The few cases of outraged hospitality principally occurred from strangers, some strolling mendicant who, not having where to lay his head, was inducted into a clean sheaf in the barn, who when he walked away in the morning took up his bed, with all he could lay hands on. But as such a person could not have been much regarded when he had no home of his own, how could he respect that of another? Accordingly the neighbourhood was not chargeable with his ingratitude.

I said she was like a queen-never had queen such a levee. "Tis true she bestowed not garters, nor stars, nor crosses; yet many a knee was bent-not for a knighthood, not for a sounding name or an empty honour, but for garments from the winter's cold. Her aid de camps were some two or three grandchildren-golden-haired, blue-eyed, sunny little beings. I rather describe the effect of their general appearance than disclose their different traits of feature or of character, And never had royal attendants more active duties.

Jenny Murphy's daughter, wedded a year ago to daicent Mickey Brien, has just had twins. Mother, son, and daughter doing well." Away flies Alice, Maria, Jane.

Medicines, flannels, caps, dresses-all, all for Jenny Murphy's daughter.

Jenny goes away, is called back, some other little useful matter remembered; and last of all, and greatest of all, the Bawn Vone will be at the christening. Can I describe Jenny's gratitude? Ashamed of receiving-borne down-" nothing loth "oh my! oh shame! oh dear!"" may Heaven bless and reward you."“Oh, what will Mary say to this? and when I tell Mickey-"

Then Darby Brady is "in throuble."

"Let Darby Brady get out of it. I have interfered over and over again for the idle quarrelsome jackanapes."

"Musha, Ma'am, this time. If Master Ned will only bring a line from your ladyship's honour and glory, poor Darby will be bailed a 'tany rate."

"What has he been doing now?"

"Throth nothin worth spaking of; only licked a whelp from this Kilkenny side, for talkin ill of the yellow boys."

"I'll see the lad myself."

"Och, Musha-"

"Never mind, do you be off with yourself. I want to talk with the poor woman here."

Ashamed of her repeated messages to the house for sundry matters of presents, this excellent woman, at her time of life too, has often returned of a cold evening stripped of her inner garments. What wonder then that each tongue cried, "God bless her," as she passed.

Before dismissing her attendants satisfied, and locating sundry others for the night, then finding ample employment for a poor child about the house, she had often a duty to perform to those who perhaps ought not to have placed themselves in the situation to require it. Friar Flannery was always a welcome visitor; his good humour, sly tact, and eccentric pleasantry, made him ambassador extraordinary from the neighbouring convent. Mounted upon an ass, his low burly fat figure accorded so well with the appearance of his quadruped that he looked a kind of assinine centaur.

"Why then is it Mrs. H., the Bawn Vone, that is leaving one this away, and I having to give her Father Finnerty's compliments, who will be always glad to see her at the Conwent."

"Mr. Flannery, I hope you are very well. Indeed I did not see you. I cannot expect to have my sight as sharp as it was thirty years ago."

"Doant be fishin for compliments now, my dear Mrs. H. Why it is going backwards that you are, like the crabs, getting young again. If you be talking of thirty years back you will be perswadin myself that its ould I'm gettin."

"In truth, Mr. Flannery, we are neither of us getting young; but that is neither here nor there. Come, dismount, you must not pass my door without something for the house above.”

"Musha, the light of glory to your sowl!"

Friar Flannery is brought into the barn, but not until he has had himself well rested after his labour, having been carried a mile or two upon his patient ass, which animal in the mean time is regaling himself.

The friar and the Bawn Vone going into the barn was always a subject of special interest with the young folk. The children enjoyed his mirth, and with the quick wittedness of children saw into the motives of his extravagant blessings, and liked him the better for it all. The ample sack is displayed, the friar keeping open its capacious mouth.

Again.

sowls!"

"Oh! may every shovel of wheat be a shovel of glory to your sowls, I pray, sweet Virgin."

Another, another, and another. As the sack fills the prayers redouble. Then the sack is shaken, in order to make room for more and more-the friar, although not learned, knew the principle of gravitation as well as Newton himself-till shaking the sack, and puffing and blowing, and "the light of glory, and Father Finnerty will be glad to see you at the Conwent," the friar is dismissed to his heart's content. And, taking leave of him, we must for the present forget the Bawn Vone.

There are two characters which are always to be found in an Irish town-an idler and an idiot. The former character is in some degree disappearing; the latter, it is to be hoped, will soon cease