1826, but still exists in almost all bargains made between landlord and tenant, and also universally pervades the common parlance of society in Ireland: "Irish lineal measure, then, was to English lineal measure in the ratio of fourteen to eleven, that is to say, eleven fourteen English miles or fourteen EngIrish miles, or eleven Irish perches, equal lish perches in length, but land or acres being measured both in length and in breadth, this ratio and difference enters both the one way and the other into the computation, and Irish acres are to English as the product of fourteen multiplied by fourteen is to the product of eleven multiplied by eleven, that is as 196 to 121, or 121 acres of plantation measure as used in Ireland equal 196 acres of statute measures as used in England. Again, any given sum in Irish currency was to the same nominal sum in English currency in the ratio of twelve to thirteen; that is to say, L. 13 Irish equal only L. 12 English-hence if a farmer in England pay 28s. rent and 12s. poor rates, making together L.2 a-year for an acre of land, and a farmer in Ireland who pays no poor rates, be charged L.2 ayear rent for an acre of land, then, in order to find the annual sum paid for a given space of land in Ireland, as compared with that paid for the same space of land in England, we must diminish the rent of the Irish farmer in a ratio compounded of the ratios of 196 to 121, and of 13 to 12, which, expressed in its lowest terms is as 637 to 363; therefore the Irishman's payment, instead of being equal to the Englishman's, as it seemed at first, turns out to be in reality only three hundred and sixty-three six hundred and thirty sevenths, or little more than one-half." Other and important considerations enter into a comparison of the productive powers and consequent value of these equal superficies. The soil of Ireland, taking acre for acre, is greatly more fertile than that of Eng land. The author thinks himself jus tified by the best information he could collect, in stating, that a given quan tity of average land in Ireland is capable of producing, with an equal expenditure of labour and capital, onetenth more than an equal quantity of average land in England. The climate, too, is greatly more favourable to the farmer. In England, not only is it necessary to devote a considerable portion of his farm to green crops for winter-feeding, but he must likewise provide houses for his cattle and his corn; and in the southern counties, even for his hay, to secure it against the frost and snow. In Ireland, the necessity for such precautions does not exist. Snow rarely lies on the ground many hours; frosts are neither There is no ochouses for cattle, at least except as a lasting nor intense. casion for either green crops or storespeculation to fatten them for market, and a little hay brings them well through the severest of their ordinary winters. Our author has a happy knack of illustrating all his positions by inte resting facts: He "In the year 1822 our neighbour, Mr C-, purchased a small estate in Corkshire. As we did not then enjoy great quietness, lands sold considerably under even their usual low rate with us. paid exactly eighteen years' purchase on the then rent of thirty shillings the Irish acre. What between the natural expiring of leases, the non-payment of rent and. other causes, he found that about a thou-, sand acres of average land would devolve. into his own hands to reset and model as he pleased, but which however was already occupied by a very numerous, tenantry,, whom it would have been a harsh and unfeeling thing to turn adrift. A diligent, inquiry was instituted, and all those who had no natural claim upon the land, such as long residence, meritorious conduct, or the expenditure of capital in permanent improvement, were dispossessed entirely-eleemosynary aid being afforded to such as required it, and all being assisted in every way that could be devised to mitigate the necessary evil. "Still there remained on the thousand acres forty families, whom he was unwilling to put off the lands, and though he would greatly have preferred dividing it into not more than three farms or four, he determined for their sakes to retain them all. Four hundred acres he divided amongst ten whom he deemed most deserving, in farms of from thirty to fifty acres,-the rest had twenty acres each; but he made this condition in every agreement-that he himself was to lay out L.3 an acre in draining, fencing, and manuring the land, to bring it into excellent condition, and that they were to pay L.2 an acre permanent rent, instead of 30s. as before; and further, that each was to keep at least a third of his farm in grass land, unless he obtained a special provision to break up more. Mr C likewise put their cabins into thorough repair. The plan succeeded to his wish, and if adding L.3 an acre expended to the L.27 originally paid, we make the purchase money the 1.30 an acre, and call the rent L.2 an acre, which it is, instead of 30s. which it was, he has now an admirable estate at fifteen years' purchase, and the rents regularly paid. "The present condition and mode of proceeding of his lowest class of tenantry above mentioned is generally as follows: -the twenty acres of land are subdivided thus-nine acres in grass, one in oats, four in wheat, four in potatoes, half an acre in flax, half an acre set by the tenant himself as potatoe garden, to a man whose additional labour he requires in spring and autumn, and one acre left fallow; others have four acres of wheat, four of oats, four of potatoes, and eight of pasture and meadow; and some, who bave leave to break a greater proportion of their ground, have four equal divisions of wheat, oats, potatoes, and grass land. It is to be observed, that potatoes are always looked on as the crop which puts the ground in heart, as it is called, because for it, and for it only, the ground is manured, and it is considered equally beneficial for the soil to manure and take a crop of potatoes, as to let the ground lie fallow without manure; after the potatoes comes wheat, and the third year a crop of oats-the reason of requiring a certain portion to be kept in grass, is that it is a security against the tenant exhaust ing his farm by extreme tillage, and then running away or requiring an abatement of rent. Each of the occupiers of those farms has four cows, all of them one and some two horses, from three to seven pigs, and poultry in abundance. The wheat alone"pays the rent; the grass, hay, and oats feed the four cows and two horses; the potatoes more than supply the bipeds and the pigs; and the surplus, together with the butter, a most important item, and skim-milk cheese, which a Scotch steward has introduced the fashion of making, suffices to pay tithe and other land charges, purchase and repair implements, shoe the horse, clothe the family, bay soap and candle, and pay the priest. Four good hogs give more than a thousand weight of bacon, so that the family may have three pounds a-day of this besides sweet and sour milk and eggs, and each man is allowed a right of turfary on Mr C's bog, to supply his own house with fuel." It is obvious that such a system as this would answer well only where the landlord makes the expensive improvements himself, and throws the burden on the tenant in the shape of increased rent. In so poor a country al way; at least, wherever the landas Ireland, this seems the most rationtion to his estate to prevent the tenant lord is intent to pay sufficient attenfrom wasting his land. "But you will ask, is it possible that the mode of living I have just described is a fair specimen of the general condition of the agricultural population of the country? Would to God I could answer yes. The truth however is, that the general condition is nothing nearly so comfortable, but there is no earthly reason why it should not be quite as much so. If the landed proprietors had only the common sense and common prudence of Christian men, to reside, were it but a month or two in summer, on their own estates, and make themselves thoroughly well acquainted with their own tenantry, and be a terror to evil doers, especially those who do evil to themselves, though it be themselves only, and a praise to them that do well. Of all nations whom I have known, the lower orders in Ireland most require the stimulant of praise, when deserved, and most profit by it when judiciously given; they are certainly a sensitive people, and they love and appreciate justice to a degree that exceeds belief. I do not so much mean justice dealt out for money in a court of law, though they have a hankering after that too, as equity in the breast of a landlord or an employer. The man, who, living amongst them, fails not to show, were it but in kind words, his sense of the patient continuing in well-doing of the good, and who exercises harshness only towards those who deserve it at his hands, may be certain of being not only respected, but beloved by them even in the moment of his chiding; and all those who will become, like Homer's heroes, the shepherds of their people, may rest assured they will equally with them be honoured by their people like a god." We are sorry to be obliged to stop short, as the pamphlet contains much more valuable and curious matter, and we had a few things to say ourselves; but other opportunities will occur of saying them, and we leave the above extracts to the reflection of our read ers. BONG OP ENIGRATION. THERE was heard a song on the chiming se}, But ever and anon A murmur of farewell That from woman's lip it fell. - This was the free and the joyful strain“ There are clearer skies than ours afar, We will shape our course by a brighter star; There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press'il, And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest." “ But alas! that we should go," Sang the farewell voices then, By the brook and in the glen.” “ But woe for that sweet shade of the flowering orchard trees, Midst the birds and honey becs !" ( “ But oh! the grey church tower, And the sound of the Sabbath bell, We have bid them all farewell!" “ We will give the names of our fearless race “ But who will teach the flowers, Which our children loved, to dwell -Home, home, and friends, farewell !" F. II. CHAPTERS ON CHURCHYARDS. CHAP. X. Broad Summerford. In the churchyard of Broad Summerford-But why should I affect to describe, as from my own recollection, a place with which I am utterly unacquainted except by report? For verily, gentle reader, I never set foot in the said churchyard-neither in the quiet rectory adjoining thereuntoneither in the pretty village wherein they are situated. And yet each and all of those localities are as familiar to my mind's eye-not only as if I had seen them with the bodily organs, but as if I had long sojourned in the parish where they lie. And no wonderfor all those places were described to me at that season of life when imagination, like a cloudless mirror, reflects back every object presented before it with the faithfulness of truth, and the tablets of memory receive those proofimpressions, compared with which, the most perfect struck off in later years are faint and spiritless. Be sides, the describer was one rich in old tales, and family legends, and all sorts of traditionary lore-one whom I could interrupt and question, with all the confidence of perfect familiarity, and the impetuous curiosity of youthful eagerness-and many a firelight hour have I sat on the low footstool at her feet, listening to stories of past times and departed generations, and scenes and places associated there with, so graphically combined, that the illusion was perfect; and often, in after life, I have caught myself speaking to others of those places, persons, and circumstances, as if I had been contemporaneous with the former, and familiar with the latter, from personal observation and experience. Delightful season! delicious hours! ineffaceable recollections! never to be superseded among the heart's most precious records, by any after enjoyment, however exquisite! Far other scenes have I mingled in since thenfar other interests have excited-far other feelings have engrosssed me. But in weal and in woe-in cloud and in sunshine-in tumult and in silence -in crowds and in solitude-often, often have I looked back with a sickening heart, a yearning tenderness, a VOL. XXII. bitter joy, to those quiet hours, when my all of earthly good-my world of felicity-was comprised in such little space-within the walls of that oldfashioned parlour, where the fire-light flashed broad and bright on the warm damask curtains, and I sat on that low footstool by the hearth, at the feet of one who never tired of telling those tales of other days, which I was never weary of listening to. Hers was the true graphic art of story-telling. Her portraits lived and breathed; and while I hung upon her words with mute attention, the long procession of generations gone passed before me→→ not shadowy phantoms, but substantial forms-defined realities—distinguished, each from each, by every nice modification of characteristic peculiarity-uncles, aunts, and cousins, (a bewigged and brocaded host,) of whom most had been gathered before my birth to the sepulchre of their fathers, and the remaining few had lived to bestow a patriarchal blessing on their infant descendant. All these, recalled to earth by the enchanted wand, were made to re-act their former parts on the great stage for my especial pleasure; and I became as familiar with the names, characters, and persons of those departed worthies as she who really remembered their times, and had been herself the youthful darling of their latter days. Among those she best loved to speak of, was a kind and gentle pair-an old bachelor and his twin maiden sister, of the name of Scale, relations of my grandmother, who lived out together their long and blameless lives, The world forgetting, by the world for got," in an obscure quiet village of Somersetshire, called Broad Summerford, of which parish Mr Seale was the revered and faithful pastor for the space of more than half a century. "They were the best people in the world," said my dear chronicler; "and some of the happiest days of my early youth were spent at the pleasant rectory of Broad Summerford. Our good relations had heard that my parents E were suffering considerable anxiety on my account, my health having become so delicate as to indicate symptoms of decline, and that change of air and scene had been medically prescribed for me. The kind souls knew that my father and mother could not remove from the small country town, where circumstances had fixed their residence, without very serious inconvenience, and, in the benevolence of their hearts, they forthwith dispatched an epistle, requesting that their dear cousins would intrust the precious child to their safe keeping, and to the pure air and rural change of their pastoral habitation, for as long a time as they could spare her from the paternal roof, or till her health should be perfectly re-established, which they almost pledged themselves (with God's blessing) it would be in their salubrious village. Such an invitation, from such inviters, was most gladly and gratefully accepted. My father accompanied me half-way to Broad Summerford, when he consigned me to the care of a grave, respectable-looking person, Mr Seale's confidential servant, who was sent with his master's equipage, (a darkgreen calash, drawn by a steady, powerful old mare, whose sleek coat and broad back might have vied with those perfections of a London drayhorse,) to receive and escort me to the rectory. John Somers himself was clad in a suit of sober pepper-and-salt, the decent and becoming livery of his reverend master, in whose service he had grown grey, and been advanced, by long-tried worth and affection, something beyond the station of a mere domestic. The kind and considerate creature did his best to beguile me of my natural grief at parting with my father for the first time in my short life of fourteen years. He pointed out to me all the most remarkable objects on our road-all the hamlets, noblemen's and gentlemen's seats; and as he had been born and bred in the county, his topographical information was enriched with store of anecdotes respecting the owners of all those goodly mansions. But as we approach ed Broad Summerford, all his descriptive zeal merged in that favoured spot; and ever and anon it was, Now, Miss! you're only four miles from the rectory'-and then, that's Squire R.'s house, misa-a special friend of master's'-and, 'now you're' only two miles from the rectory-and there's the mill where our wheat is ground-sweet home-made bread you'll taste at Broad Summerford, miss! and now it's only one milehalf a one-There's master's upper glebe-land-and there's our folks and horses getting in the hay-Ay, old Joan and I should hardly have been spared just now for anything but to fetch you, miss-but you're come to Broad Summerford in a pleasant time. Now we're a'top of the last hill-And there! there! look down to your right, miss-Don't you see that great stack of old chimneys all over ivy, and those two grey gables?-That's the rectory, God bless it And there's the dovecot, and the homecroft, that old Joan has all to herself-a lazy jade-and now we shall be round at the front gate in half a minute.' And as John Somers said, a short sweep brought us within that time in front of the rectory, at the fore-court gate of which stood its venerable master, in hospitable readiness to receive and welcome his expected guest. He was indeed a man of most venerable aspect, -of tall and large stature, but something bowed by years, with a pale, placid, almost unwrinkled counte nance, though the dim and faded lustre of his mild blue eyes betokened his advanced age, even more than the perfectly white hair, which, encircling his bald crown, descended even to his shoulders in still redundant waves of silky softness. The old man was standing, with both hands crossed before him on the top of a thick knotted staff, and the attitude happily combining with his orthodox attire, the short cassock and apron became him with a sort of apostolic dignity. As the calash drew up to the gate, Mr Seale laid aside his staff, and coming forward, welcomed me with a look and voice of almost paternal kindness, and though faithful John was already by the side of the vehicle to help me down, his master chose to perform that first hospitable office, and lifting me out in his feeble arms, (I was a small delicate girl-quite a child in appearance,) said, "Welcome to Broad Summerford, my dear little cousin. May God bless this meeting to us all!' And with that affectionate and pious greeting, he half led, half carried me to the house door, where, |