contact with the water of the bog, merited the epithet of “Slappersallagh,” bestowed on their wearers by Terence O’Brien.  Their habit-shirts, chitterlings, and cravats, though trimmed with Trawlee lace, seemed by their colour to evince that yellow starch, put out of fashion by the ruff of the murderous Mrs. Turner in England, was still to be had in Ireland.  Their large, broad silver watches, pendant from their girdle by massy steel chains, showed that their owners took as little account of time as time had taken of them.  “Worn for show, not use,” they were still without those hands, which it had been in the contemplation of the Miss Mac Taafs to have replaced by the first opportunity, for the last five years.  High-crowned black-beaver hats, with two stiff, upright, black feathers, that seemed to bridle like their wearers, and a large buckle and band, completed the costume of these venerable specimens of human architecture:  the tout ensemble recalling to the nephew the very figures and dresses which had struck him with admiration and awe when first brought in from the Isles of Arran by his foster mother, to pay his duty to his aunts, and ask their blessing, eighteen years before.  The Miss Mac Taafs, in their sixty-first year, (for they were twins,) might have sunk with safety ten or twelve years of their age.  Their minds and persons were composed of that fibre which constitutes nature’s veriest huckaback.  Impressions fell lightly on both; and years and feelings alike left them unworn and uninjured.—­The O’Briens, and the O’Flahertys, by Lady Morgan.

* * * * *

AUTUMN.

BY JOHN CLARE.

  Me it delights, in mellow Autumn tide,
    To mark the pleasaunce that mine eye surrounds: 
  The forest-trees like coloured posies pied: 
    The upland’s mealy grey, and russet grounds;
  Seeking for joy, where joyaunce most abounds;
    Not found, I ween, in courts and halls of pride,
  Where folly feeds, or flattery’s sighs and sounds,
    And with sick heart, but seemeth to be merry: 
  True pleasaunce is with humble food supplied;
    Like shepherd swain, who plucks the brambleberry. 
  With savoury appetite, from hedge-row briars,
    Then drops content on molehills’ sunny side;
  Proving, thereby, low joys and small desires
    Are easiest fed, and soonest satisfied.
                              The Amulet.

* * * * *

THE GATHERER.

    “I am but a Gatherer and disposer of other men’s
    stuff,”—­Wotton.

* * * * *

HOLY WATER.