erly love," to the
far distant and far different land of the O'Malleys, the
Macnamaras,[1] and the Blakes.

An Irishman is, in my humble opinion, rather unlike a prophet, for
this reason, he is in one sense only, to be honored in his own
country--transplant him; and though he may be unimpaired, perhaps, in
vigor of body; though he may make an excellent fabricator of
rail-roads and canals, yet it has always appeared to me he loses his
native _raciness_, except under very peculiar circumstances; he grows
_different_; in a word, he gradually becomes--_like the rest of the
world_!

[Footnote 1: Let me assure my readers that this word is pronounced
Macnam_ah_ra.]

Is it the absence of the unique fragrancy of his native turf smoke,
which at home he so freely inhaled, or is it the substitution of beef
and pudding for his former scanty meals of the never-failing root of
plenty? Let us leave these _vexatae questiones_ to those whom they may
concern, but on one point let us give our decided opinion. Our readers
may say, "O, now you all are changed! since your Father Mathew has
made five millions of you _teetotallers_, your country is not worth
the living in! No more doth the invigorating, all-inspiring, thrice
concentrated juice of the 'barley grain' push you forward to glorious
deeds of heroic daring--of skull-breaking, dancing, or of
story-telling; so that for all intents and purposes you have nothing
left worth chronicling--_you are getting like the rest of the world_!"
"Aisy a bit," say I, "the fiddle and the bagpipes have just the same
charms to 'put the capers in our heels' as in whisky's balmiest days;
and as for story-telling, _that_ we can do equally well over a good
cup of fine hot coffee. No, no; while the same fresh and _free_
breezes shall continue to be wafted across the Atlantic to us; while
we have our own green fields and wild, lofty mountains to behold,
Irishmen we shall be in all our better qualities; and though Father
Mathew may have been influential enough in cooling our heads, (we
admit,) yet our _hearts_ are as warm as ever!

Irish cabins, which you all have heard of, would not be such bad
concerns after all, and we should get

on very well indeed, if we were only a _leetle_ better treated. On all
hands it is admitted that we are pretty nearly able (and take my word
for it we are willing enough) to eat and to drink all that a bounteous
Providence causes to be brought forth from the most fruitful of s