Moyle! be the Roar of thy Water," a in common with similar publications of song whose political meaning the quick-late years, it omits any attempt at uniting witted peasant is not slow to discover. Orange and Green. When the Young The other melodies of Moore in this little collection are" Before the Battle," "Oh, where's the Slave so lowly," "Go where Glory waits thee," "It is not the Tear at this Moment shed," "Avenging and bright fall the swift Sword of Erin," " Through Grief and through Danger thy Smile hath cheer'd my Way," and "Sublime was the Warning which Liberty spoke." Mingled with these are songs but little known to literary men in England, such as Rory of the Hills," by Charles Kickham, and "The Flag of Ireland," by J. Downey; "On Hearing the Harp," "I Love my Land," and "They Died for Erin's Glory," by anonymous writers. There also are songs such as "The Eve of Benburb," recalling episodes in Irish history that the long-memoried people cherish.

Those who could afford to spend more than a halfpenny on a collection of poetry, were seen carrying away "The Harp of Tara Song-Book." This extends to sixtyfour closely printed pages, with a colored cover showing a venerable minstrel striking the harp in the presence of an Irish king and the ladies and chiefs of the olden time, the picture being evidently drawn by an artist who had studied the details as to the costumes and social habits of the past. This little volume cost threepence. Here again the opening song is one of Moore's, "The Harp that once through Tara's Halls." Apart from Moore's, how few of the one hundred and six songs in this book have been seen by the ordinary English student of political literature !

And yet it has an immense sale. There is not a parish in Ireland in which some of its songs are not heard. This threepenny book differs from the shilling volumes of James Duffy's "Irish Library," started in the last generation by Thomas Davis and Gavan Duffy, mainly in its far more extensive circulation. There is an. other difference between it and the Young Ireland literature: it is not printed and published with the object of instructing and guiding the reading public. It is produced as a commercial speculation to suit the taste of the readers. Hence those who desire to know what the vast mass of the Irish reading public care to read, what verses they sing, in what literary atmosphere the Irish child is reared, would do well to glance through the pages of "The Harp of Tara Song-Book."

In the first place it will be noticed that,

Irelanders of thirty years ago republished Colonel Blacker's "Battle of the Boyne," and Dr. Starkey's "Ballad on the Death of Schomberg," and when Davis himself sang "Orange and Green will carry the Day". all this was done to try to teach the people something they utterly repudi ated, something that was a kind of historic survival of dead Whiggery. O'Connell had also made a similar effort and with a like result. But in this little volume, which is racy of the soil, no such hypoc risy is to be found. The publisher has discovered what sells, and he prints accordingly. What does he print? Turning over the pages is seen a ballad entitled Rising of the Young Men of Connaught, A.D. 1248." This ballad is prefaced by a few lines from an Irish his tory describing a defeat sustained by the English of the Pale six hundred years ago when they were driven out of the Western Province by Hugh O'Connor. After a score of verses describing the call to arms and the victory, the ballad ends thus:

Bonfires light the Coirrslieve mountains
Bonfires light Roscommon's plains;
From the Gap to steep Slieve Boughta,
Nought but merry-making reigns.

For the Sassenach is routed,

And his iron reign is past,
And the rightful lords of Connaught
Have their long-lost right at last.

On another page is a ballad called "The Christmas of the Past." This is stated to be an incident of the sixteenth century. The scene is laid as described by the author, "In a peasant's cottage: a young wife addresses her husband on returning from battle, A.D. 1599." The verses refer to a victory of Hugh O'Neill over Queen Elizabeth's troops.

On the preceding page is a song in praise of Owen Roe O'Neill, the success. ful Irish general of the time of Charles the First. Further on is a ballad, "The Blacksmith of Limerick," in which Sarsfield's defeat, in 1690, of "The Dutchman's Murdering Crew" is described. The same ever-popular theme is also found in a song called "God bless our Irish Girls," in which the repulse of William's assault on the walls of Limerick is referred to. A ballad on the Irish Bards" goes farther back than the days of the Stuarts:

But those grand old homes where the good
saints prayed

By the hand of the spoiler were prostrate laid,
And the martyrs found homes in heaven.
And their goods and their lands from the poor
withdrawn

Were settled by law on the saints in lawn.
Similar memories are revived in the
poem called "Remembered :".

On sculptured cross with rime of ages hoary, In the sequestered wells her saints have blest,

He saw revealings of the distant glory,

When she, the sanctuary of the West, Shone like a star.

From the first line in this volume,

The harp that once through Tara's halls,

With faith in the Almighty Giver;
And may blessed repose
Be the guerdon of those
Who fell at Antietam and James River;
By the Rappahannock and Chickahominy;
Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine !

May their souls on the Judgment Day arise,
Et lux perpetua luceat eis!

Similar publications, but better printed and costing sixpence or sevenpence each, are now constantly met with: "The Exile of Ireland Song-Book," "The Green Flag Song-Book," "Irish Poems and Legends by T. C. Irwin, "John K. Casey's Poems," "Poems of Richard Dalton Williams," and the three octavo volumes called "Penny Readings for the Irish People."

His

The poems of Williams (well known as "Shamrock" of the Nation) are seen in every bookshop, and duplicate copies in the National League reading-rooms; some of his poems are patriotic, some humorous, some intensely religious. national verses are mainly historic: "The Battle of Clontarf," "The Munster War Song," "The Patriot Brave," "The Pass of Plumes." One of his Young Ireland songs is often recited, the song beginning Steady! host of freedom, steady! Ponder, gather, watch, mature.

Following his "Lament for Thomas to the last verses, called "The Spirit of Davis" (the gifted Protestant leader of the Times," there is, in fact, that sort of the Young Ireland party) comes the epitome of Irish history which, long be-"Hymn of St. Brigid,' fore such books could be seen in cottages, was handed down by tradition from father

to son.

16

Hymn of St. Brigid," "Stabat Mater," "Before the Blessed Sacrament," and "Kyrie Eleeison."

But perhaps the favorite of the readingrooms, whether the National League reading-rooms of the rural parishes, or the Catholic Young Men's Societies' readingrooms in the towns, is a book called Penny Readings for the Irish People." This compilation has now reached three small octavo volumes of about three hundred pages each. The first volume opens with an essay on the poetry and music of Ireland. The author, Mr. Henry Giles, thus introduces his subject:

But though mainly historic, these pages have several references to the present day. Mr. T. D. Sullivan's "God save Ireland," and the two anonymous poems, "The Martyred Three," and the "Mar-" tyrs' Day," refer to the executions at Manchester in 1867. They own but a Tenth of the Land" tells its own tale. But none of the references to the land question, in this or any other Irish popular publication, favors Mr. George's plan. Other verses, "The Meeting of the ExIreland is a land of poetry. It is a country of iles,' 'Join together hand in hand," deal tradition, of meditation, and of great idealism. A Monuments of war, princedom, and religion cover the surface of the land. The meanest man lingers under the shadow of piles which tell him that his fathers were not slaves. toils in the field with structures before him through which echoes the voice of centuriesto his heart the voice of soldiers, of scholars,

99 66

with scenes in the United States.

Requiem for the Irish Brigade" shows that a second Irish Brigade has got into the national mind, and shares in popu larity with the ever-popular songs of Davis: "Fontenoy," "The Death of Sarsfield," and "Clare's Dragoons." The first verses of the requiem describe the mass for the dead; the last lines are:

Ye widowed and stricken,
Your trustfulness quicken,

and of saints.

He

Who are the scholars whose writings are to be found in these volumes? Of course Thomas Davis, Sir Charles Gavan

read by Mr. McNamara on the the Life and Writings of Clarence Mangan.'

About the same time that this reference was made to the reading of Clarence Mangan's poems to the Irish in Birkenhead, the Bishop of Clonfert wrote to the secre

Duffy, Sir Samuel Ferguson, Denis Florence MacCarthy, and other well-known writers of the Young Ireland party, are there. But these Penny Readings bring other Irish scholars to the fireside of the Irish peasant, Jonathan Swift, Edmund Burke, Oliver Goldsmith, and Sher-tary of the Southwark Junior Irish Litidan. The extracts from Swift and Burke uphold the general principles of human freedom and the particular doctrine of Irish legislative independence. Though mostly written in England, it is only in Ireland that any part of the political writings of Swift and Burke are now read as popular literature. Extracts from the writings of Irish scholars of a different class are also found in those "Penny Child's Irish Song-Book,' compiled by Readings," Eugene O'Curry on "Ancient the Club, one penny.' "Irish parents in Irish Learning;" Dr. Petrie on "Early Southwark are earnestly requested to Irish Churches;" Dr. Sigerson on "The send their children to the Club to be Habits and Social Condition of the An- trained in a knowledge and love of Irecient Irish." In those pages are also land.” In thanking the children for the stories by Banim, Carleton, Gerald Griffin, money they sent to the poor people in his and Charles Lever. Specimens of Irish diocese, the bishop thus wrote of "The oratory are likewise provided for recita- Child's Irish Song-Book: " "I need not tion classes from the speeches of Burke, say how fully I appreciate the force of the Grattan, Curran, T. F. Meagher and influence such songs exercise in keeping O'Connell. alive, in the minds of the exiled children of Ireland, the memory of the past."

erary Club, acknowledging a contribution. of 77. 10s. for the poor in the west of Ireland, which had been collected at a recitation of national songs given by the Irish children of the Club. The bishop was made acquainted with the rules: "The subscription for each child is one penny'per month." "Tickets for recitation classes threepence each."

Such are the books read by the Irish to-day. Nor is it in Ireland only that such books are read by the Irish.

Last year some Irish bishops happened to meet at Harrogate with a pious English Catholic who was deploring the influence on the rising generation of the National League, when one of the prelates remarked, "You know as little about what the boys read in the League rooms as you do of the Brehon laws!" He added, "The Irish national literature that has found its way across the Channel, and into the religious and social life of the poor, is some small antidote to the printed poison sold in the great towns here. What did a friend of mine see in Birkenhead early last May? A trashy and immoral Music Hall Song-Book' sent from Liverpool, and some illustrated publications from London the Boy Burglars,' the Police News, and the Freethinker, all selling to young English artisans, whilst the Irish dock laborers and their children were crowding into the Irish National League Hall in Watson Street to listen to a paper

6

"The

An English member of Parliament, who has little or nothing in the shape of such popular national literature of his own to speculate about, may ask, Do the Irish read no newspapers? No doubt they do; and the proprietors of the Freeman's Journal, the Nation, United Ireland, and other popular newspapers, have very sub. stantial reasons for knowing that the Irish reading public is a large and increasing one. But the humblest "gentleman of the press " must feel some interest in seeing what the Catholic bishop calls "the memory of the past kept alive by a national literature more truly popular than any literature of the kind in Europe. The literary man may remember what Samuel Johnson said about Ireland having been the early home of religion and learning, and he may be interested in seeing how the Irish peasant knows this and is proud of it. In other respects, also, it may have an interest for the literary man. But has it any interest for the politician? That is a question for the politician to decide.

J. POPE HENNESSY.

The corn-field offers many opportunities for rural flirtations; the rustic swain can often melt a fair one's heart by sharing peasants, and the tolling bell which ing her task; a draught of fresh water offered to parched lips earns grateful smiles; and while bending together over an obstreperous sheaf which cannot be fastened without assistance, many a bond for life is tied as well.

Wolska, who owned the village and all the | twenty-two she had toiled as a governess,

land about there, had ordered that the wages of the cutters should be raised five kreuzers a head, besides directing that a glassful of spirits should be served out to each one twice during the day's work; but even this did not avail to dispel the general gloom.

It was with a gloomy brow that old Michael, the overseer, counted over the ricks by cutting notch after notch on a hazel twig, the usual fashion of reckoning in those parts; even young Danelo, the wildest as well as the handsomest lad in the village, subdued by the general melancholy, never approached the girls or at tempted a jest; he seemed even to have forgotten how to whistle.

eating the bread of servitude, which to her was sometimes very bitter; so that when the rich Wolski had asked her to share his wealth, she had accepted him unhesitatingly, without caring to ask any superfluous questions of her heart. Stefan Wolski had been a vulgar and purseproud man, whose passage to woman's hearts must infallibly have been barred by his large red nose, had he not possessed a golden key, which opens this like other doors; and though her accession to fortune was envied by many, Sophie did not find her lot as his wife to be altogether a bed of roses. The position of sick-nurse and general souffre-douleur to a querulous and disagreeable old man is hardly to be Whence had sprung up this foul spectre, taxed higher than that of a paid goverwhich bad turned all their songs to weep-ness. However, luckily for her, this secing, all their joy to woe? Wise people shook their heads, and doctors talked of marsh effluvia and miasma from the lake, partly dried up from the excess of the beat; but the peasants knew better, and said that the Almighty God had sent it as a punishment to the inhabitants, who had tasted of the fruits of the field before they had been blest in church. Several could attest to having seen the godless young Danelo with his pockets full of green apples long before the Feast of the Assumption, after which day only, as every orthodox Christian knows, it is allowable to taste of apples and pears.

ond martyrdom was but of short duration. Her naturally sweet temper and a certain stolidity of nature helped her to endure her fate during something more than three years, and then she reaped the benefit of her prudence and patience, for the obnoxious Wolski died; and, more to spite some distant relations than out of any particular attachment for Sophie, he left the whole of his very considerable fortune to her unlimited disposal. Thus it came about that the former penniless orphan, hard-worked governess, and tormented wife, found herself at twenty-six an unfettered widow and the richest proprietress in the neighborhood.

Up there on the verandah of the great house sat Madame Wolska herself, reclin- That was why this stifling August aftering in an easy-chair, with a book in her noon still found Sophie Wolska uncomhand, and her work-basket beside her. promisingly attired in heavy mourning She was reading, but occasionally casting|robes of crape and cashmere. a glance at the scene below.

It was now more than a year since the

The house, a large and roomy one- unprepossessing Wolski had been laid to storied building, constructed in the style of most Polish country-houses, stood on a slightly rising ground half-way between the village below and the beech forest

above.

Despite the stifling heat of the August afternoon, Madame Wolska was attired in heavy robes of some black woollen stuff. She was both young and handsome, her skin of a milky whiteness, her hair of a glossy brown, her eyes blue and placid, the mouth calm and self-reliant, the figure full and round, - these were the charms which four years previously had kindled the passion of Stefan Wolski, a man of no particular family, but who late in life had achieved a gigantic fortune by the opportune discovery of some naphthasprings. Sophie Bienkowska had been a penniless orphan, and from seventeen to

rest, therefore the young widow might well have allowed herself some slight modification of her weeds. A year is a very long time to mourn for a disagreeable man, avaricious and querulous, and old enough to have been one's grandfather. But a year is a very short time indeed to honor the donor of those broad lands and heavy money-bags; more than a year must be due to the memory of the magician who had transformed the penniless girl into the richest woman in the country.

And so thought Sophie Wolska, who had always had a great regard for the proprieties of life, as well as an endless fund of waiting patience. Not one whit would she lighten her mourning, visit would she receive until the correct time since her bereavement was elapsed.

not one