over a little child with his snout; and I have a sad impression that the juvenine was whipped for interfering with the royal progress. Frank solemnly declared that he saw one, as pourtrayed with his back against the lintail of his home, and smoking his evening pipe.

I receive this statement cum grano salis (always appropriate to bacon), as I do Phil Purcel's, that "there was in Ireland an old breed of swine, which is now nearly extinct, except in some

remote parts of the country, where they are still useful in the hunting season, if dogs happen to be scarce;" and (with all deference to the lady), Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall's, "an acquaintance of ours taught one to point, and the animal found game as correctly as a pointer. He gave tongue, too, after his own fashion, by grunting in a sonorous tone, and understood when he was to take the field as well as any dog." But, however this may be, everything in the Claddagh is done to "please the pigs;"

"Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,

You see them, lords of all around, pass by;"

and Og reigneth once more in Basan. He is precious and he has his privileges. "I think" (said Phil from the hob) “that nobody has a better right to the run of the house, whedher up stairs or down stairs, than him that pays the rint." Such is the great destiny of the Irish pig. He is not associated in the prospective contemplations of his owner with low views of pork and sausages; for Paddy says, with Launcelot, "if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money," and

*Carleton's "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry."

In their pleasant volume, "The West and Connamara."

"As for eating a rasher of what they take pride in,

They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fryed in "*

but he represents the generous friend and benefactor, who is about to render an important service at considerable personal discomfort.

It was washing-day at one of the cabins, and a great variety of wearing apparel was hung out to dry. We could not discover a single article which at all resembled anything known to us, or which a schoolboy would have accepted for any part of his Faux.

Nevertheless, one likes the people of the Claddagh; they seem to be honest, industrious, and good-tempered, and they have, at least, one great virtue-like Lady Godiva, they are "clothed on with chastity." Sir Francis Head, who had the best means of getting information from the police, and used them with his exhaustive energy, could not hear that there had ever been an illegitimate child born in the Claddagh. They never intermarry with strangers, and "their marriages are generally preceded by an elopement" (vide the article on "Galway," in the Encyclopædia Britannica, which one is surprised to find discoursing on such festive pleasantries), "and followed by a boisterous merry-making.”

* Goldsmith's "Letter to Lord Clare."

CHAPTER V.

THE FAMINE.

As schoolboys, to whom "next half" begins to-morrowsailors on the eve of a voyage-invalids, expecting a physician, who, they know, will prescribe an unwelcome diet-yea, even as criminals before execution,-amplify their meals, and, from their dreary expectations, educe a keener relish,—so we, awfully anticipating the cuisine of Connamara, made a mighty dinner at Galway. It was brought to us, moreover, by a dear old waiter, who evidently had a proud delight in feeding us, as though he were some affectionate sparrow, and we his callow young, taking off the covers with a triumphant air, like a conjuror sure of his trick, and pouring out our Drogheda ale, with quite as much respect and care as Ganymede could have shown for the Gods. "Was the salmon caught this morning, waiter?”

"It was, sir. Faith, it's not two hours since that fish was walking round his estates, wid his hands in his pockets, never draming what a pretty invitashun he'd have to jine you gintlemen at dinner."

This was followed by a small saddle of "Arran mutton, y'r onner;" and "what can mortals wish for more," except a soupçon of cheese?

Ah, but we felt almost ashamed of being so full and comfortable, when our conversational attendant began to talk to us about the Great Famine. "That's right, good gintlemen," he said, “niver forget, when ye've had yer males, to thank the Lord as sends them. May ye niver know what it is to crave for food, and may ye niver see what I have seen, here in the town o' Galway. I mind the time when I lived yonder" (and he pointed to Kilroy's Hotel), "and the poor craturs come crawling in from the country with their faces swollen, and grane, and yaller, along of the arbs they'd been ating. We gave them bits and scraps, good gintlemen, and did what we could (the Lord be praised!), but they was mostly too far gone out o' life to want more than the priest and pity. I've gone out of a morning, gintlemen," (his lip quivered as he spake), “and seen them lying dead in the square, with the green grass in their mouths." And he turned away, (God bless his kind heart!), to hide the tears, which did him so much honour.