succeeded to the archbishopric of Dublin,* he appointed my lamented friend his vicar-general.

Meanwhile the Provincial and another priest remained in custody, and I need hardly tell you that I spared no effort to obtain their enlargement. My exertions were finally crowned with success, for on representing the matter to the princes O'Neill and Mac Mahon, they willingly exchanged two English prisoners of war, then in their hands, for my two reverend confrères.

Elated by this favourable turn in our affairs, I assembled as many of our friars as had survived such a sad series of calamities, and exhorted them to join me in re-establishing ourselves in Multifernan. They one and all adopted my views, and owing to our untiring efforts, we contrived to erect, before the festival of the Nativity (1601), a small dwelling-house within the ruins of our burnt monastery. In the following year, however, Father Nehemias Gray, our guardian, resolved to repair, as far as he could, the church and the monastery, and he therefore procured a large quantity of timber from Delvin-ni-Cochlain† in order to roof one of the chapels and a portion of the ancient dwelling-house. The undertaking prospered beyond our expectations, but scarcely were the partial restorations completed when a body of English troops, commanded by Francis Rochfort, came suddenly upon us, and mercilessly burnt down every inch of the work on which we had expended so much toil. As for the friars, some saved themselves by flight, and others were carried off to Dublin, where they were thrown into prison. The bishop of Kilmore was among those whom Rochfort arrested on that occasion, but as he was decrepit and unable to walk or stand, they flung him into a brake of briars, and there left him, as they thought, dead. Notwithstanding this second demolition of our poor house, the friars returned to Multifernan as soon as they were released from prison, and even now, despite unrelenting persecution, we have there a community of eighteen, including lay brothers, who reside in cabins which they raised within our ancient precincts.

"Lest, however, their names or memories should be forgotten, I would have you know, that of all our enemies, none were more cruel than Sir Dudley Loftus,§ son of the queen's archbishop of Dublin, Sir Richard Grear, Patrick Fox, high sheriff of Westmeath, and Sir Oliver Lambert, formerly president of Connaught. As for Loftus, he came accompanied by the said Grear to Multifernan,

* A native of Segovia in Spain, and appointed archbishop of Dublin in 1600. Owing to the persecution during Elizabeth's reign, the see of Dublin had been vacant for the previous thirty-six years.

†The barony of Garrycastle in the King's Co, east of the Shannon.

The reader will bear in mind that Father Mooney furnished these particulars in 1617.

§ This extraordinary man, for an account of whose numerous works, vide "Ware's Writers of Ireland," was born in the castle of Rathfarnham, and in after life earned an unenviable notoriety by his reckless profligacy. Some one said of him that "he never knew so much learning in the keeping of a fool."

and carried off five of our brethren to Dublin, where after being detained in custody eighteen months, they were ultimately released, on pledging themselves to appear whenever it pleased the authorities to summon them. This occurred, as well as I remember, in 1607. In 1613, Fox came stealthily on our poor friars, and arrested, among others, Father Bernard Gray, who, after a year's confinement, was suffered to seek refuge in France, where he died of disease contracted in the fetid dungeon of Dublin Castle. In the following year Sir Oliver Lambert came with a company of soldiers to Multifernan, seized the few friars he found there, and committed them prisoners to the jail of Mullingar. Nevertheless, as I said before, Multifernan has never lacked a community of Franciscans, for whose maintenance we are mainly indebted to the illustrious house of Nugent, and the unfailing charity of the Catholics residing in the neighbourhood and throughout Westmeath.

"But as these reminiscences of Multifernan would be imperfect without some notice of the most distinguished members of our order, whose society and friendship it was my happiness to enjoy there, I will now furnish you with a few particulars which I think deserve to be recorded. Let me, therefore, begin with Richard Brady, bishop of Kilmore, whose virtues and sufferings should never be forgotten by the future historian of our calamitous times.

That illustrious individual sprang from the noble house of his name, which for many an age ruled with princely sway in Brefney-O'Reilly. At a very early period of his life he distinguished himself as a jurist, for indeed he was profoundly versed in the canon and civil law. Family influence and talents such as his would, doubtless, have raised him to eminence had he chosen a secular career; but caring little for the fame or fortune which he might have won so easily in the senate or in the forum, he renounced the world, and took our poor habit in the convent of Cavan. His piety, learning, and prudence were the theme of every tongue; and although he never left Ireland or sought for himself any dignity, the supreme Pontiff promoted him to the bishopric of Ardagh, on the 23rd of January 1576. Resigning that diocese, he was translated to the see of Kilmore, and held the office of Vice-primate after the death of Raymond O'Gallagher, Bishop of Derry, who was slain by the English in 1601. It may not be superfluous to inform you, that during the vacancy of the see of Armagh, or the absence of its metropolitan, the office of Vice-Primate has, according to immemorial custom, devolved on the senior suffragan of the province. Thus, O'Gallagher succeeded to that dignity when Edmund Mac Gauran fell in an action** fought by M'Guire, Prince of Fermanagh, against the troops com

manded by Bingham, president of Connaught; and when the Bishop of Kilmore departed this life, Cornelius O'Deveny, the martyred Bishop of Down and Connor, filled the vacant place. I have deemed it necessary to make these remarks lest such a venerable usage should ever be forgotten. Now let me resume my narrative of our bishop's life. He dwelt constantly in Multifernan, and never left it except on the business of his diocese, when he always preferred such accommodation as he could find in some house of our Order to the comforts and hospitality which he might have received from the Catholic nobility and gentry. During his residence among us he invariably wore the habit, partook of such fare as our poor refectory afforded, and never dined apart from the common table of the friars, except when strangers were entertained in the guest-house. His entire retinue consisted of his confessor, chaplain, and two boys, who attended him when saying Mass. I had frequent opportunities of witnessing the austerities he practised, and can avouch that Franciscan never lived who took greater delight in obeying the rigid ordinances of our holy founder. Even when broken down by old age and infirmities, he could not be induced to wear a coarse linen shirt, and despite all remonstrances of our friars, he rejected any little luxuries we could procure for him, graciously thanking those who offered them, and saying, at the same time, that he had chosen a life of mortification, and would die as he had lived. He, as I have already told you, was arrested three times by the English authorities, who on two occasions set him at large on payment of a heavy fine; but on the last they tore the habit off his aged person, and left him for dead in a thicket. Towards the close of his days he resigned the see of Kilmore, and finally departed this life, September 1607. In compliance with his wishes we interred him in the usual burial-place of the friars, that is to say, in the cloister, and right under the door leading to the church.

"Another remarkable personage who entered our community of Multifernan about the time of the bishop's decease was Andrew Nugent, a member of the illustrious house to whom we owe so much. This gentleman was for a long time anxious to take our poor habit, but as he was married, he could not be received till his wife died. On her decease, however, he entered as a lay brother, and during the five or six years he survived, he was an exemplar of every virtue that might be expected from a sincere follower of St. Francis. Having completed his seventieth year, he died in 1614, and was buried with his brethren.

"A few of my old confrères are still living, after having passed through the fiery ordeal of persecution. Among them is Father James Hayn, who, when a very young man, was sent by Gregory XIII. with a consecrated banner to James Fitzmauricet when he entered

Executed in Dublin, 1612, and buried in St. James's churchyard.

† See O'Daly's Geraldines, and Haverty's Hist. of Ireland, p. 410.

on that campaign in which he laid down his life for his religion and country. This reverend father, now in his ninetieth year, was among those arrested by Shaue at the first burning of Multifernan. At a subsequent period when Rochfort invaded our precincts, Father Hayn received three severe wounds, and was committed to a dark cell in the castle of Dublin. Owing to the humanity of a fellow-prisoner, he recovered, and was finally set at large; he is now living at Multifernan. Father John Gray, whom I mentioned before, was again arrested in 1608, together with the baron of Delvin, on a charge of having aided the flight of the princes O'Neill and O'Donnell. As soon, however, as the baron cleared himself of complicity in that transaction, Father Gray was dismissed, and suffered to pass the remainder of his days in the neighbourhood of Multifernan.

"Two others are still in prison, namely, Father Charles Crassan and Father Didacus Conry, who were arrested by Daniel, the king's archbishop of Tuam in 1617, when questing alms for their brethren of Multifernau. I have now detailed to you all that I know of that venerable monastery, where persecution waged ruthless war against us, and where our brethren comported themselves with a heroic fidelity that should never be forgotten. Let me add that Father Maurice Ultan, is at present guardian of the community."

The tomb erected by James Nugent still exists in the church, bearing the following inscription: "Sumptibus Jacobi Nugent. F. Richardi Nugent de Donower qui obiit, 18 Feb. A.D. 1615; where there is also a monument to a descendant of William Delamer, the original founder. There can be little doubt that the venerable edifice was considerably restored in 1644-5, when Richard Nugent, Lord Delvin, sat in the upper, and Piers Nugent of Ballynecurr, in the lower house of the great Catholic Confederation at Kilkenny. Sir Percy Nugent, of Donore, the actual chief of his distinguished house, has always proved himself a generous patron to the Franciscans of Multifernan, nor should we omit to say that the Rev. Mr. Conway, who was guardian in 1828, took great pains to preserve the monastery, to which, doubtless, Father Mooney's narrative will impart additional interest. It is almost superfluous to observe that the Annales entitled de "Monte Fernando,” were not written in Multifernan, as is clearly proved by Dr. Aquilla Smith in his learned Introduction (ad Annal. de M. F.), published in the Archæological Tracts relating to Ireland. Sir Henry Piers, in his "Description of Westmeath," states that the rebellion of 1641 was concocted within the walls of Multifernan, and that the convent was, at that period, a flourishing establishment. Little reliance, however, should be placed in the baronet's assertions; and although we were to accept his statements as critically accurate, we should not forget that Multifernan was visited in 1642 by Tichbourne, governor of Drogheda, who after burning, as he himself informs "all the corn and houses in the neighbourhood," was us, not likely to spare the monastery, if it had been then restored.

MRS. PUCKER.

A TRANSMARINE SKETCH. BY B. PHILIP WEST.

I.

"ALLOW me to say one word, Mrs. Pucker.” "Not a word. Nonsense, Jack! See with your own eyes-hear with your own ears. Think-if it be in the nature of a hussar to think. Jane Williams, I tell you, is the only girl I have ever looked upon, since I was myself in my teens, sure to make a good wifeno matter what her husband may be-rich or poor-a wise man or a fool."

Such were the words unexpectedly heard by me a few weeks ago, whilst descending a rocky and precipitous path, leading from the steep heights that overhang the white velvet sands of Varech, a small bathing-place on the coast of France.

The words that had been spoken in the sharp decisive tones of a positive woman, did not at the time make any very profound impression upon my mind; for my attention was altogether absorbed by the voice in which they were uttered.

I had heard that voice before; and every one of its disagreeably distinct modulations was familiar to me.

How many years had passed away since I had listened to it ?-most unwillingly listened to it-hour after hour -week after week-month following month! And now I again heard it, as lively, as fresh, as bruyante, as vigorous as ever.

In the year 1835, I became, as a student at the Westminister Hospital, for the first time a settled inhabitant of London. I then lived in Bouverie Street, in one of the houses, I believe, that of late years form a part of the large printing establishment of Messrs Bradbury and Evans; and my place of study-the back drawingroom-was separated by a very few feet from a range of houses then let out in separate apartments to the working classes.

From one of those back apartments-nearly on a level with my own room-I heard the incessant clatter of that tongue, which I now recognized in 1858, amid the cliffs of Varech.

In the winter as the summer of the year 1835, was that untiring tongue, and that unbroken voice ever, ever talking; ever, ever sounding in my ears. The voice was that of a woman-of a woman who seemed to be always working-and urging others to follow her example.

I had never seen the talker, for she never appeared at the window looking into the shred of a yard that separated the backs of the houses in the two streets from each other. The talker was to me "a voice and nothing else." For a long time I had desired to behold her, in order that I might be able to embody in my thoughts an image of the substantiality that was so detestable to me that pestered, and worried, and persecuted me from six in the morning until eight at night, on the week days.

Time and patience modified my sentiments: they at

tuned my ear to the everlasting polysyllabic sound; and, finally, I began to take an interest in my unseen neighbour; because it was plain, from the fragments of her conversation which I could not avoid comprehending, that the talker was a hard-working woman-maintaining a family either wholly, or in part, by her own exertions, what her occupation might be I never could guess, only this was certain-it was one that knew no pause, no rest, no truce, no holiday from Monday morning until Saturday night. It was also manifest that the household over which the voice presided was one systematically regulated. The clock did not strike more punctually than were sure to be heard the jingling of delph, the rattling of knives, the arranging of plates for breakfast, dinner, and supper, ever recurring at the same moment each day.

The voice that I had so long listened to in Bouverie street, I was destined to hear again in Varech.

It was the voice of Mrs. Pucker!

From the first hour of my arrival in Varech I had heard no other name mentioned. No matter what might be the denomination of the ruling power over the French in France-" a king,'-" a republic"-" a president," or an emperor," there could be no doubt that over the English in Varech, the supreme mistress-the autocrat-the imperial government, was this self-same redoubtable Mrs. Pucker.

The voice of by-gone days had returned; the accents were in my ear, and the personage by whom utterance was given to them, was at last visibly present to my eyes.

There was Mrs. Pucker before me !

Twenty-three years from the time I had been a deafened medical student in Bouverie street, I travelled to Varech a charming little French marine village, one of the many attractions of which I was informed was its best villas being occupied by-what is sometimes very difficult to be found on the continent-a small but select English society.

I brought with me to Varech four letters of introduction; but I was somewhat surprised, upon presenting them, being asked the same question by each of my new acquaintances-" Had I a letter of introduction to Mrs. Pucker?" and upon my answering in the negative, the self-same remark being made: "that it was very unfortunate that I ought not to have come to Varech without a letter of introduction to Mrs. Pucker—that Mrs. Pucker was very particular, that Mrs. Pucker could not endure and would not tolerate in Varech any one of whom she herself did not know something-and that, in short there would be no use in stopping, or trying to stop in Varech, if Mrs. Pucker did not visé my passport."

"And who," I asked one of my new acquaintances, "is this Mrs. Pucker? How comes she to be the ruling spirit of the place?"

The same reply, almost in the same words, was given by all. "Mrs. Pucker is the richest woman in this department; Mrs. Pucker has the largest house, and

gives the nicest parties in Varech. If you are not countenanced by Mrs. Pucker, no one will wish to know you if you are discountenanced by Mrs. Pucker, no one will venture to speak to you!”

At the very moment that I was thinking of Mrs. Pucker, and wishing that some lucky chance might make me speedily and agreeably known to her, there she stood before me—an old acquaintance !—until now unseen and therefore incapable of being recognized.

There was Mrs. Pucker! an active, lively, little old woman with her snow-white hair, white as the white silk that lined her black, poking, coal-scuttle bonnet— with high, fair, unwrinkled forehead, bushy black eyebrows, a straight well-formed nose, thin lips, good sound teeth, a sharp perky chin, cheeks still bearing a tinge of red, and large dazzling eyes, that shone with all the fire and vivacity of youth. Such was my old acquaintance, arrayed in plain black silk, and without a single ornament to indicate she was the possessor and distributor of that fortune, which French as well as English alike described with the same word, when they said it was "enormous."

There was the greatest woman in Varech! There was she whose word was law-who governed every body-took care of every body-looked after every body-managed every body-controlled every body.

A very remarkable woman I found Mrs. Pucker to be. She had now lived five years in Varech, and had produced quite a revolution in the place. The maire was her man of all work, the curé an agile aid-de-camp, whilst the gendarmerie obeyed her orders as implicitly as if they had issued from the Minister of the Interior at Paris. The solitary street of Varech had been repaired the pigs were no longer permitted to perambulate its pathways-yelping curs were muzzled or drowned -the heaps of manure which formerly festered around the door-ways were removed out of sight-the little gardens were filled with flowers, as if Varech was an English village-the children of the poor were at school -some in nursery-schools-in the day time; and all were to be seen in the evening, playing, with neatly patched or new good dresses upon them. Varech was metamorphosed. It had become one of the neatest, cleanest, happiest-looking of villages in France. The eye of Mrs. Pucker had seen its defects; the mind of Mrs. Pucker had shewn how they could be remedied; and the purse of Mrs. Pucker had supplied the means for carrying out the reforms she desired.

II.

Mrs. Pucker's unceasing activity in action, and her untiring eloquence in language, soon rendered her a noted personage in a small village. She was not long there until the idea got possession of her mind, that in some way or another-very probably in a manner inexplicable to herself-she was the representative of England in Varech, and that it, therefore, became her duty to see that no one should be in the place over which she presided, who was likely to bring discredit upon that lady-like sovereign, who pays her bills punc

tually, and has always been a pattern of propriety and morality.

The superintendence of Mrs. Pucker has been attended with very unpleasant consequences to more than one of the objects of her watchful supervision.

For instance, in the early part of the last summer, the solitary hotel of Varech was filled with the family and servants of an individual, who described himself as Baron Balrothery, in the Irish peerage, with splendid estates in Munster and Connaught. The baron was a remarkably fine, tall, handsome man, with black moustachios and beard, that might be envied by an officer in the cuirassiers. His fingers glittered with rings, and his shirt was blazing with diamond studs. But fine, and tall, handsome and grand as the baron appeared to be, he was a shabby pigmy, when compared to her ladyship-the Baroness Balrothery-a gigantic middle-aged woman, with a skin as bright as chalk, and cheeks as red as vermilion, and requiring for her sole accommodation one side of the huge chariot that conveyed her and his lordship to Varech. The baron came with a whole retinue of servants, all dressed in his own livery of green and gold. His lordship had not been forty-eight hours in the town, until he, his wife, his chariot, and his domestics, had been to every shop in the place and neighbourhood, and distributed their patronage in the most impartial manner to each and all, in the shape of profuse orders for every description of articles that could by any possibility be required for the fitting up, in the most magnificent style, a large chateau in the vicinity, of which the baron declared he had become a tenant for three years.

The hotel-keeper was in ecstacies! He never before had received such fine customers! The baron and the baroness fared most sumptuously every day, and in the French style of living too. They had the most expensive wines both at breakfast and dinner. Their repasts were absolutely luxurious. As to that indescribable class of loungers and mendicants, who live on the door-steps of hotels, and gather tribute from carriages and diligences, they were in raptures, for the baron never appeared abroad without scattering sous by handsful, with which he was according to his orders-abundantly supplied in the hotel.

For six and ninety hours the town was in a state of commotion, and nothing was talked of but "the great English lord," and "the grand English peeress," and then -the enthusiasm come to a sudden stop! A cold chill, all in a moment, pervaded the breast and thrilled through the marrow of every jubilant customer of the noble and illustrious foreigners; for it was whispered about that Lord and Lady Balrothery had called on Mrs. Pucker, and that she had positively refused to see them. Such was the first rumour-but then followed fast another that was as terrific as it was inexplicable. It was to this effect :-that when Lord and Lady Balrothery sent in their cards to Mrs. Pucker, that crosstempered old woman had returned them with certain words written in pencil upon each-mysterious English words which no one could understand-for on his lord

ship's card was pencilled down:" Pat Moriarty, private, 11th Hussars ;" whilst her ladyship's card bore this inscription : "Maryanne Molloy, spinster, 24, Whitefriars'-lane, Fleet-street." This rumour was followed by the positive declaration, that on reading these incomprehensible words, his lordship had turned as red as scarlet, and her ladyship as white as a sheet, and then, in addition to these rumours, came the positive and indisputable fact, viz. that driving back from Mrs. Pucker's house to the hotel, the baron and baroness had ordered all their trunks to be packed up, as they were, they said, going out of town for a few days; and then, it was added, they left in such a hurry that his lordship gave the hotel-keeper an English note for £100, and never waited to receive the change,—thus acting consistently with all that grandeur and generosity of reckless expenditure, which he had exhibited from the first moment of his appearance in Varech.

The fact as to the sudden departure of Lord and Lady Balrothery, was ascertained by their customers to be unquestionable. The £100 note with which his lordship had paid his hotel bill, was declared by Mrs. Pucker not to be worth the paper on which it was printed. It was a note, not of the bank of England, but of "the bank of fashion!" If it had been given in mistake by his lordship for a genuine note, the error had never been discovered by him. Certain it is, that the last time the baron and baroness were seen in Varech was in returning from their first visit to Mrs. Pucker.

III.

In another remarkable case, which was the subject of conversation for an entire month amongst all the inhabitants of Varech and its vicinity, the vigilance of Mrs. Pucker was exhibited in a very extraordinary way.

Amongst the settled English residents was an exceedingly pious young gentleman-the owner of considerable property in Oxfordshire-the eldest son of a baronet, and, like his father, a clergyman of the Church of England. The Rev. Augustus Barton was a favourite with all classes. His gentleness of disposition, his simplicity of manners, and his edifying conduct, won for him the love and esteem of every one who became acquainted with him. He had, at his own expense, fitted up a little chapel for the benefit of the English residents, and there he gratuitously went through the church service every Sunday. He was soon a complete pet with Mrs. Pucker; for he submitted without a murmur or the slightest remonstrance to all her criticism upon his sermons. She declared that though he had not the wit of a Fuller, nor the genius of a Taylor, yet she was quite sure he was fitter to be an Archbishop of Canterbury than old Doctor Sumner, whose "dry style,” as she described it, "good young Mr. Barton too much affected, and too slavishly imitated."

Nothing could possibly prosper better than "the English chapel" of the Rev. Augustus Barton did for a time. It was, in truth, a model of propriety for months;

VOL. II.

but, an incident one day occurred which marred its harmony, and completely shattered its innocent and unsuspecting preacher's peace of mind.

Two strangers had been added to the congregation. These strangers were ladies: an old and a young lady. Both were dressed in deep mourning; both wore thick, black veils-so black and so thick, it was impossible. to distinguish the features of either-but still, the veil of the younger was not so absolutely impenetrable as to prevent one from perceiving that she had a very brilliant complexion, and that a profusion of light-coloured hair glittered with all the brilliancy of gold beneath the jetty net-work that in vain sought to conceal its richness and beauty.

For many Sundays the conduct of the two strangers was not only becoming and solemn, but that of the younger might be described as "edifyingly devout !" The responses were made by her with an unction that seemed to thrill through the very heart of the pious pastor, as her words, slightly tinged with a foreign accent, sonnded sweetly aud sanctimoniously upon his enraptured sense of hearing.

The conduct of the strangers outside the church was in perfect accordance with their behaviour within its wall. All that was ascertained-all that was known -all that Mrs. Pucker herself, with strict and diligent research, could learn respecting them-was calculated to win for them universal sympathy and respect.

The substance of the information thus collected could be told in a very few words. The ladies had come direct from London. The old lady was the widow of an Indian officer-many years deceased-a Colonel M'Sly a Scotchman. The young lady was her daughter, who had been born and educated in Italy. Both were plunged in grief-absolutely overwhelmed with affliction the old lady by the death of her brother, the young lady by the death of her uncle, who had hitherto acted as her guardian, and with whom mother and daughter had lately lived for a few years; the old lady was travelling for the benefit of her health, which was very precarious; and the daughter had devoted herself to the care of her mother. The determination of both was the same: to shrink from observation, to eschew society, and to consecrate themselves to a life of religion. Hence, they never stirred abroad, but to go to church: hence, they sought for no one's acquaintance: hence they covered their faces with their veils, so as to escape, if possible, being noticed by a wicked world which the old lady was tired of, and the young lady wished never to know.

This was the substance of the information collected respecting them; but Mrs. Pucker was soon in a position to add two very important particulars. First, she had ascertained that the two strangers did not go in debt; that they paid on the instant for every thing with which they were supplied. Secondly, that the young lady who was never seen abroad without a thick black veil, was declared by the woman in whose house she lodged to be one of the most wonderfully beautiful young ladies that ever was looked at,

M