Roach that she was not an Irishwoman) with her head reclined on her lily hand (her heroine can sleep in no other attitude), while the other grasps some part of her drapery.

It would have been well for me had I had the clinophobia of those ladies. I should have escaped a great fright, which was not the less real for being a ludicrous one. I had enjoyed, for about an hour, the blessings of slumber, when I was awaked by a noise more tremendous than thunder; to my terrified imagination it seemed like the roaring of the fiercest lion. I started up, and struck my head against something that felt rough and warm, and extending my arms (in an agony of fear, I must confess), got hold of the ears of what I supposed a ferocious animal. It is inconceivable the ideas of horror that rushed through my mind. I thought it was a mad dog, which had some way or other found its way to the bed; the bellowing, however, which was in an instant repeated, made me change my opinion, and I took it for a wild bull, which had broke loose, and would devour me, as the red cow did Tom Thumb. I jumped out of bed, and endeavoured to escape by the door, but could not find it; I called loudly for light and assistance—the bellowing continued, though it did not seem to quit the spot where I first had heard it; between us we made a noise that might have broken any sleep, except that which the last trump, it is said, shall waken us from. My host at length made his appearance, followed by his wife, bearing a candle; he was in his shirt and red night-cap, like a Turkish turban; the fair torchbearer was in her chemise, though assuredly it was not une chemise blanche.” The husband thrust the

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muzzle of a fowling-piece (which he carried cocked) into the room, before he entered himself; so that between the mad bull in my rear, and the orange party in front, I thought myself in a perilous situation. When I had explained the nature of my alarm, we advanced in a body to the bed to discover the cause. The roaring, which was incessant, proceeded from the mouth of a red cow, with horns as long as a deer's, but the head only was visible; how it came there, or where the body was, was to me totally unintelligible: my host, after rolling on the bed some instants in a hearty fit of laughter, explained it to me. With the carelessness that marked all his domestic arrangements, a cow was sometimes turned into the chamber that communicated with mine, to save the trouble of taking her to the stable. One he had purchased a few days before at a neighbouring fair had been confined there ever since as she was probably not much accustomed to live in a parlour, it was not wonderful she wished to make her escape out of it; by dint of perseverance, she forced a passage for her head through the partition of lath and plaster which separated her from the side of my bed. Unable to draw her body forwards, or her head backwards, she stuck fast in this pillory of her own creation, and broke out into the noise I have just been mentioning. By enlarging the orifice, we set the prisoner at liberty, and released her from her disagreeable situation. The lights were withdrawn, and I was once more left in solitude; I endeavoured to sleep, but it was impossible--the red cow had "murdered sleep."

The moment the first rays of the morning were visible from my windows, I got up, dressed myself,

and sallied forth. I opened the door gently, lest my host should awake and attempt to detain me till after breakfast. There was no mistaking the road, as it ran quite close to the house; but had it been as difficult as the labyrinth of Crete, I should have ventured on it without a clue to direct me; so heartily sick was I of the sign of the red cow. Getting up at the dawn of day is what I have seldom practised; for a few moments, I yawned and stretched myself without ceasing; every feeling of lassitude, however, was soon absorbed in the contemplation of the sublime spectacle before me. Light and darkness still struggled for mastery: the former was on the top of the hills, the latter rolled its grey mist like a troubled ocean over the valleys. It gradually receded. Chaos gave place to creation: the features of the landscape became more distinct; the rays of the sun gilded the sides of the mountains-a few moments afterwards, he shot up into view like a pyramid of fire-all nature felt his influence: the dew-drops bespangled the trees, the hawthorn perfumed the air, innumerable birds poured forth their gratitude from their little throats-it was the incense of sacrifice from the earth, to the being who gave it birth. It was the sleep of the tomb bursting into the resurrection of life.

"The saffron morn, with early blushes spread,
Now rose refulgent from Tithonus' bed;
With new-born day, to gladden mortal sight,
And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light."

CHAPTER XVIII.

Cross-roads-Presbyterian landlady-Emma-vale-Conversation with a Catholic servant-Aughnacloy-Balligawly—Reflections on pathos in writing and acting-The widow and her son.

Omagh.

I WALKED upwards of five hours without stopping, or meeting any person. I was considering that breakfast would be no unacceptable occurrence, when I came to a little village of four or five houses. It is called Cross-roads, probably because it is situated where several roads meet: the appearance of the public-house, though humble, was neat, and I resolved to enter and have some refreshment. I was now in the north, and knew I could have whiskey and sweet milk, oaten cake, and fresh butter in abundance. I asked the good dame, who came curtsying to meet me, if she could let me have some breakfast. "To be sure I can, sir," said she, bustling before me into a little room off the kitchen: "what would you choose, tea or coffee ?" My fears now all subsided. I found I had a choice, when I expected neither: to make amends, therefore, I ordered both; there was no necessity to mention eggs, they always come in as a matter of course; a breakfast without them would be thought as preposterous as a dance without a fiddle, or a dinner without potatoes. I was delighted with my little apartment; not only from the gratification that cleanliness always gives, but from the satisfaction I felt at finding English neatness and little pastoral orna

ments transplanted to the bleak mountains of the North of Ireland. Pots of geranium were in the window; the bed in the corner was nicely made up, and covered with its many-coloured garment.

"The broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,

Ranged o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row."

The weather was now warm, and the hearth beneath was (to make use of the words of the same charming poet) with aspin boughs, with flowers and fennel gay." I turned over some books that were on a table, in the Latin, Greek, and Irish languages. In the latter were several rituals of the Romish worship. I asked Mrs. A if they belonged to her. She laughed, and said, "no; she had something else to do than to mind reading: I declare to my God," said the good dame, unpinning her flowered cotton gown, and smoothing it over her pea-green petticoat, "except a chapter or two in the Testament, one of Blair's Sermons, or a look into Hervey's Meditations, I don't open a book from one week's end to the other." I had no occasion to question her about her religion : I knew now very well what she was. I had supped with a member of the established church the evening before; I was breakfasting in the house of a Presbyterian. "I thought you might have been a Catholic,” I said, "by the books I saw there." "No; she was a Presbyterian," she said, " and so were all her forebearers. The books belonged to the priest of the parish, who lodged in the house: he gave her thirty good pounds a year for diet and lodging; and, what with his fast-days, when he would eat nothing, and feast-days, when he dined abroad, she seemed to think