Such was she in “the flesh;” would that I could say, she was more fascinating in the “spirit!” but alas, truth, from which I never may depart in these “my confessions,” constrains me to acknowledge the reverse.  Most persons in this miserable world of ours, have some prevailing, predominating characteristic, which usually gives the tone and colour to all their thoughts and actions, forming what we denominate temperament; this we see actuating them, now more, now less; but rarely, however, is this great spring of action without its moments of repose.  Not so with her of whom I have been speaking.  She had but one passion —­but, like Aaron’s rod, it had a most consuming tendency—­and that was to scold, and abuse, all whom hard fate had brought within the unfortunate limits of her tyranny.  The English language, comprehensive as it is, afforded not epithets strong enough for her wrath, and she sought among the more classic beauties of her native Irish, such additional ones as served her need, and with this holy alliance of tongues, she had been for years long, the dread and terror of the entire village.

“The dawning of morn, the day-light sinking,” ay, and even the “night’s dull hours,” it was said, too, found her labouring in her congenial occupation; and while thus she continued to “scold and grow fat,” her inn, once a popular and frequented one, became gradually less and less frequented, and the dragon of the Rhine-fells did not more effectually lay waste the territory about him, than did the evil influence of her tongue spread desolation and ruin around her.  Her inn, at the time of my visit, had not been troubled with even a passing traveller for many months; and, indeed, if I had any, even the least foreknowledge of the character of my hostess, its privacy should have still remained uninvaded for some time longer.

I had not been many hours installed, when I got a specimen of her powers; and before the first week was over, so constant and unremitting were her labours in this way, that I have upon the occasion of a slight lull in the storm, occasioned by her falling asleep, actually left my room to inquire if anything had gone wrong, in the same was as the miller is said to awake, if the mill stops.  I trust I have said enough, to move the reader’s pity and compassion for my situation—­one more miserable it is difficult to conceive.  It may be though that much might be done by management, and that a slight exercise of the favourite Whig plan of concilliation, might avail.  Nothing of the kind.  She was proof against all such arts; and what was still worse, there was no subject, no possible circumstance, no matter, past, present, or to come, that she could not wind by her diabolical ingenuity, into some cause of offence; and then came the quick transition to instant punishment.  Thus, my apparently harmless inquiry as to the society of the neighbourhood, suggested to her—­a wish on my part to make acquaintance—­therefore to dine out—­therefore not to dine at home—­consequently to escape paying half-a-crown and devouring a chicken—­therefore to defraud her, and behave, as she would herself observe, “like a beggarly scullion, with his four shillings a day, setting up for a gentleman,” &c.