But when Prout did the thing, he did it respectably: this was no ordinary occasion-"pot luck" would not do here. And though he bitterly deplored the untoward coincidence of the fast-day on the arrival of Sir Walter, and was heard to mutter something from Horace very like an imprecation, viz. "Ille et nefasto te posuit die, quicumque," &c. &c.; still it would ill become the author of an Apology for Lent" to despair of getting up a good fish dinner."

In this emergency he summoned Terry Callaghan, a genius infinitely superior even to the man-of-all-work at Ravensworth Castle, the never-to-be-forgotten Caleb Balderstone. Terry Callaghan (of whom we suspect we shall have, on many a future occasion, much to recount, ere the star of Father Prout shall eclipse itself in the firmament of REGINA), Terry Callaghan is a character well known in the Arcadian neighbourhood of Watergrasshill, the life and soul of the village itself, where he officiates to this day as "poundkeeper," "grave-digger," "notary public," and "parish piper." In addition to these situations of trust and emolument, he occasionally stands as deputy at the turnpike on the mail-coach road, where he was last seen with a short pipe in his mouth, and a huge black crape round his "caubeen," being in mourning for the subject of these memoirs. He also is employed on Sundays at the chapel-door to collect the coppers of the faithful, and, like the dragon of the Hesperides, keeps watch over the "box" with untameable fierceness, never having allowed a rap to be subtracted for the O'Connell tribute, or any other humbug, to the great pecuniary detriment of the Derrynane dynasty. In the palace at Iveragh, where a geographical chart is displayed on the wall, shewing at a glance the topography of the "rint," and exhibiting all those districts, from Dan to Beersheba, where the copper-mines are most productive, the parish of Watergrasshill is marked "all barren;" Terry very properly considering that, if there was any surplus in the poor-box, it could be better placed, without going out of the precincts of that wild and impoverished tract, in the palm of squalid misery, than in the all-absorbing Charybdis, the breeches-pocket of our glorious Dan.

Such was the "Mercury new-lighted on a heaven-kissing hil," to whom Prout delivered his provisional orders for the

market of Cork; and early, with a hamper on his back, at the dawn of that important day which settled into so glorious an evening of fun and conviviality, Terry set off to lay the foundation of the whole affair at the fish-stall kept by that celebrated dame de la halle, the widow Desmond. Pursuant to directions, he bought a turbot, two lobsters, a salmon, and a hake, with a hundred of Cork-harbour oysters; and considering, prudently, that a corps de reserve might be wanted in the course of the repast, he added to the aforesaid matters, which Prout had himself specified, a hors d'œuvre of his own selection, viz. a keg of cod-sounds; he having observed that on all state occasions, when Prout entertained his bishop, he had always, to suit his lordship's taste, a plat obligé of cod-sounds, "by particular desire."

At the same time he was commissioned to deliver sundry notes of invitation to certain choice spirits, who try to keep in wholesome agitation, by the buoyancy of their wit and hilarity, the otherwise stagnant pond of Corkonian society; citizens of varied humour and diversified accomplishments, but of whom the highest praise and the most comprehensive eulogy cannot convey more to the British public than the simple intimation of their having been " the friends of Father Prout:" for while Job's Arabian "friends" will be remembered only as objects of abhorrence, Prout's associates will be cherished by the latest posterity. These were, Jack Bellew, Dan Corbet, Dick Dowden, Bob Olden, and Friar O'Meara.

Among these illustrious names, to be henceforth embalmed in the choicest perfume of classic recollection, you will find on inquiry, O Queen! men of all parties and religious persuasions, men of every way of thinking in politics and polemics, but who merged all their individual feelings in the broad expanse of one common philanthropy; for at Prout's table the serene horizon of the festive board was never clouded by the suffusion of controversy's gloomy vapours, or the mephitic feuds of party condition. And, Omost peace-loving REGINA! should it ever suit your fancy to go on a trip to Ireland, be on your guard against the foul and troublesome nuisance of speech-makers and political oracles, of whatever class, who infest that otherwise happy island: betake thyself to the hospitable home of Dan Corbet, or

some such good and rational circle of Irish society, where never will a single drop of acrimony be found to mingle in the disembosomings of feeling and the perennial flow of soul

"Sic tibi cùm fluctus præterlabere Sicanos,

Doris amara suam non intermisceat undam!"

But, in describing Prout's guests, rank and precedency belong of right to that great modern ruler of mankind, "the Press;" and therefore do we first apply ourselves to the delineation of the merits of Jack Bellew, its significant representative-he being the wondrous editor of that most accomplished newspaper. the "Cork Chronicle."

Jack Montesquieu Bellew1(quem honoris causá nomino) was— I say was, for, alas! he too is no more: Prout's death was too much for him 'twas a blow from which he never recovered; and since then he was visibly so heart-broken at the loss of his friend, that he did nothing but droop, and soon died of what the doctor said was a decline ;)-Jack was the very image of his own Chronicle," and, vice versa, the "Chronicle " was the faithful mirror (erdwλov, or alter ego) of Jack: both one and the other were the queerest concerns in the south of Ireland. The post of editor to a country newspaper is one, generally speaking, attended with sundry troubles and tribulations; for even the simple department of "deaths, births, and marriages," would require a host of talent and a superhuman tact to satisfy the vanity of the subscribers, without making them ridiculous to their next neighbours. Now Bellew didn't care a jot who came into the world or who left it; and thus he made no enemies by a too niggardly panegyric of their kindred and deceased relations. There was an exception, however, in favour of an old subscriber to the "paper," whose death was usually

1 How the surname of the illustrious author of the Esprit de Lois, came to be used by the Bellews in Ireland has puzzled the Heralds' College. Indeed, many other Irish names offer a wide field for genealogical inquiry: e. g. Sir Hercules Langhrish, Cæsar Otway, Eneas MacDonnell, Hannibal Plunkett, Ebenezer Jacob, Jonah Barrington (this last looks very like a whale). That the Bellews dealt largely in spirits, appears to be capable of proof: at any rate, there was never any propensity for l'esprit des lois, whatever might be the penchant for unlawful spirit, at the family mansion Knock an isqueiu—Anglicè Mount Whisky, Gallicè Montesquieu.

commemorated by a rim of mourning at the edges of the "Chronicle:" and it was particularly when the subscription had not been paid (which, indeed, was generally the case) that the emblems of sorrow were conspicuous-so much so, that you could easily guess at the amount of the arrears actually due, from the proportionate breadth of the black border, which in some instances was prodigious. But Jack's attention was principally turned to the affairs of the Continent, and he kept an eye on Russia, an eye of vigilant observation, which considerably annoyed the czar. In vain did Pozzo di Borgo endeavour to silence, or purchase, or intimidate Bellew; he was to the last an uncompromising opponent of the "miscreant of the North." The opening of the trade to China was a favourite measure with our editor; for he often complained of the bad tea sold at the sign of the "Elephant," on the Parade. He took part with Don Pedro against the Serene Infanta Don Miguel; but that was attributed to a sort of Platonic he felt for the fascinating Donna Maria da Gloria. As to the great question of repale, he was too sharp not to see the full absurdity of that brazen imposture. He endeavoured, however, to suggest a "juste millieu," a "medius terminus," between the politicians of the Chamber of Commerce and the common-sense portion of the Cork community; and his plan was,-to hold an imperial parlia ment for the three kingdoms on the Isle of Man! But he failed in procuring the adoption of his conciliatory sentiments. Most Irish provincial papers keep a London "private correspondent "-some poor devil, who writes from a blind alley in St. Giles's, with the most graphic minuteness, and a truly laughable hatred of mystery, all about matters occurring at the cabinet meetings of Downing Street, or in the most impenetrable circles of diplomacy. Jack despised such fudge, became his own" London private correspondent," and addressed to himself long communications dated from Whitehall. The most useful intelligence was generally found in this epistolary form of soliloquy. But in the "fashionable world," and "News from the beau monde," the "Chronicle" was unrivalled. The latest and most recherché modes, the newest Parisian fashions, were carefully described; notwithstanding which, Jack himself, like Diogenes or Sir Charles Wetherell, went about in a most ragged habiliment.

To speak with Shakspeare, though not well dressed himself, he was the cause of dress in others. His finances, alas! were always miserably low; no fitting retribution was ever the result of his literary labours; and of him might be said what we read in a splendid fragment of Petronius Arbiter,

"Sola pruinosis horret facundia pannis,

Atque inopi linguâ disertas invocat artes!"

Such was Bellew; and next to him of political importance in public estimation was the celebrated Dick Dowden, the great inventor of the "pyroligneous acid for curing bacon." He was at one time the deservedly popular librarian of the Royal Cork Institution; but since then he has risen to eminence as the greatest soda-water manufacturer in the south of Ireland, and has been unanimously chosen by the sober and reflecting portion of his fellow-citizens to be the perpetual president of the "Cork Temperance Society." He is a Presbyterian—but I believe I have already said he was concerned in vinegar.* He is a great admirer of Dr. Bowring, and of the Rajah Rammohun Roy; and some think him inclined to favour the new Utilitarian philosophy. But why do I spend my time in depicting a man so well known as Dick Dowden? Who has not heard of Dick Dowden ? I pity the wretch to whom his name and merits are unknown; for he argues himself a dunce that knows not Dowden, and deserves the anathema pronounced by Goldsmith against his enemies,

"To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor!"

Talking of razors, the transition to our third guest, Bob Olden is most smooth and natural-Olden, the great inventor of the wonderful shaving-lather, called by the Greeks EUKEIROGENEION (EUZEIрoyevεIOV) !-Olden, the reproducer of an Athenian cosmetic, and the grand discoverer of the patent Trotter-oil," for the growth of the human hair; a citizen of infinite worth and practical usefulness; a high churchman eke was he, and a Tory; but his "conservative" excellence was chiefly applicable to the epidermis of the chin, which he effectually preserved by the incomparable lather of

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"A Quaker, sly; a Presbyterian, sour."-POPE