increased." Railways have rounded off the
sharp angles of national dislikes, by
promoting social attrition. The locomotive engine
is the steam-plough which tears up local
prejudices by the roots.

Thus the Rose and the Thistle are vindicated,
but the tiny shamrock still droops its
green leaf in the atmosphere of public
estimation. In judging of Irish character, a very
useful distinction drawn in the days of good
Queen Bess is overlooked. It divided the
nation into "the Irish, the wild Irish, and
the extreme wild Irish." In justice, these
distinctions ought to be preserved; for the
"Irish" of the present day are, upon the
whole, pretty much like other well-bred,
well-educated members of the civilised
world; eating, drinking, sleeping, dressing,
and living much as their neighbours do.
But it must be owned that the lower orders,
—the "wild Irish" of the towns, and the
"extreme wild Irish" of the bogs and
mountains,—present some striking and
picturesque peculiarities to justify the
conventional Irishman of the old novel: the most
prominent being that mingled love of fun
and fighting, which would make one believe
that the atmosphere of the four fair
provinces is compounded in equal portions of
inflammable and laughing gas.

Very deplorable, indeed, must be the state
of an Irishman—he must "be gone to the bad
entirely," when he can neither smile nor
quarrel; and often even "under the ribs of
death" is "an appetite created" for these
excitements. He loves fun; but fighting is
his pride and his glory. For fighting he
forswears name and wealth. You may call
him by all the uncomplimentary names in the
vocabulary of censure, and he hears you
meekly; but cast an imputation on his
courage or his prowess, and—"Hah! Whoo!"
—you will feel his shillelagh whizzing around
your ears like a fire-work in a state of
explosion.

An illustration of this peculiarity, of the
ease with which a "wild Irishman" will
forego every prudent consideration in
preference to the disgrace of having been beaten
in battle occurred, but a short while since.
In a Union workhouse in the south, some of
the able-bodied paupers came into rather
forcible collision with the officials. The cause
of dispute was the supply of "stirabout,"
which being deemed insufficient by a few stout
fellows, they marched into the kitchen, seized
ladles and bowls, and proceeded to help
themselves. An alarm of this lawless incursion
being given, in rushed to the rescue the
master and his myrmidons. Fast and furious
were the blows dealt by both parties, but the
strong hand of the law at length prevailed,
the well-fed officers triumphed over their
famine-weakened foes, and the stalwart master
counted his victory by the number of broken
heads prostrated by the huge ladle which he
wielded. The proprietors of the damaged
craniums were subsequently conveyed to the
surgeon's room, and severally bandaged and
plaistered as their cases required. Most of
the hurts were found to be trifling, but one
poor fellow had received a severe contusion.
With the dislike which many of his
countrymen feel, to submit to the prescription
of qualified practitioners, Tim Murphy, in a
day or two, asked for his discharge, threw off
the well-fixed bandages, and betook himself to
the squalid shelter of a cabin belonging to an
"uncle's son," nearly as poor as himself, an
unqualified "docther," whose unprofessional
practice it was to prescribe charms and
philtres in place of physic. This reckless
proceeding was followed by its natural result.
The hurt which, with common care, would
have readily healed, became inflamed, fever
ensued, and the man died. This melancholy
finale to the workhouse row caused much
excitement, and an investigation of the whole
business was instituted by the magistrates.
On the day when it took place, the hall of
the workhouse was crowded, and although it
was shown that the master was justified in
using force to protect the kitchen stores from
the paupers, and it was also proved that
under proper surgical treatment the patient
would, in all human probability, have
recovered, yet the point to be decided was,
whether John Minahan, the master, had used
unnecessary violence in the discharge of his
duty. The principal witness against him, was
a man who appeared with evident "tokens
of a foughten field" on his forehead, and who
indeed had been the only recipient, besides
Tim Murphy, of any serious injury. The
examination proceeded nearly as follows:—

After having deposed readily and clearly to
the fact of the combat, and of John Minahan
having rushed to the rescue of the porridge-
pots, he was asked:

"Did you see the master strike any one in
particular?"

"Not he, indeed; he was no ways
particular; but he murdhered and killed every one
that came in his way."

"Did he strike you?"

"Did he strike me, is it? Why, then, if he
did, I paid it back to him handsomely."

"Answer distinctly. Whom did you see
him strike?"

"Ah, then, little matter 'twould be who
he'd strike, if the boys had his feeding, and
he had theirs to depend on for one month.
It's little good the son of ould Thady Minahan,
the tinker, would do, if he was living on Ingy
male and water."

"Come, come," said the magistrate,
impatiently, "give me a plain answer to a
plain question. Did Minahan knock you
down?"

"Is it the likes of him to knock me down?
I'd like to see him try it. He didn't, nor
couldn't, your Honour's glory."

Up started the accused, and cried; "I did
knock you down, and bate you well, too. Your