LETTER III.

COUNTY WEXFORD.

July.

GREAT and varied have been the enjoyments of one short week, the first of my sojourn here, and, I grieve to say, the last. For a long track lies before me, even to the opposite corner of Donegal, and Wexford with all its enchanting beauties, its thrilling recollections, and its endearing hospitality, must be left. You have often smilingly asked me to define Irish hospitality-I cannot. It would be like painting a sunbeam on canvass for one who never felt its influence. In an Irish house you are emphatically AT HOME. Its inmates do not put themselves out of their way, or tease you with attentions and arrangements that make you feel you are supernumerary, however welcome. Here the guest is at once installed in all the immunities of a settled resident: the good folks having the tact to impress you with the conviction that you make no other difference in their establish

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ment than is occasioned by the increase of social enjoyment. In reality, every soul is plotting for your comfort and gratification all day long; but they do it so cunningly, and make all their propositions of agreeable parties with such an easy offhand air of every-day custom, that it seems merely accidental that every thing you could best like happens to be done while you happen to be with them. In spite of your secret misgivings, they make you believe that your departure will occasion a serious blank, where no blank existed before you dropped in, a perfect stranger: and the vagrant propensity must be strong indeed that could enable a person, without a painful struggle, to disengage himself from all the ties that have imperceptibly entangled him during even a very short sojourn in an Irish house. This is all the definition you will get from me: I am too happy to be able to sit down and analyse my enjoyments.

I have just been feasting on that most cheering of all spectacles, a scriptural school. The history of this may furnish a specimen of what might be done, if Protestants would act up to their obligations, in regard to the children of their poor neighbours. Some years ago, the boy's school here was built and established on Erasmus Smith's foundation; and Mr. E. anxious to extend the blessing, at his own private cost added to the

building one for girls. The support that he might naturally have looked for in such an undertaking, was not given; and with the exception of eight pounds a year afforded for the mistress's salary by the London Ladies Hibernian School Society, and a small allowance paid by the Dublin Foundling Hospital, 1 for each foundling admitted, the whole burden of expence falls on the clergyman, who has not for years received a shilling of tithe from those whom he is thus benefitting. The trifle granted to the mistress, of course, will scarcely find her in clothing, and she is maintained at the glebe. A very large proportion of the children in both schools are Romanists. They have frequently been forbidden to attend, and for a time prevented; but so fully alive are the poor of this country to the value of education, that in every case they have returned to their teachers. Opposition in some form is invariably offered to the good work: but its adversaries cannot prevail. He who when on earth said, "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not," has power to enforce his own command. If we be willing, he will open a door for us which no man can shut.

But what a humbling spectacle is this to us! We are living at ease, and enjoying a thousand

This is one of the noble Protestant Institutions lately crushed by the liberal system.

superfluities, while the public purse amply provides for general education, and wealthy societies unite in supplying spiritual aid. Here is a clergyman, the incumbent of a large parish, defrauded by an unprincipled conspiracy of the income assigned to him by the laws of the land; himself the father of a numerous family, thrown entirely on his private resources for their support and education; and maintaining that ungrudging hospitality which Scripture and his own benevolent mind alike direct him to use: yet voluntarily adding to all other burdens the heavy expences of a school, established almost exclusively for the advantage of children whose parents are taught to regard him with animosity, to harass, annoy, and if they may, to injure him. Such an instance of patient continuance in well doing, in returning good for evil, and blessing, yea multiplying blessings where the "curse causeless" perpetually assails him, speaks eloquently. Would that it might speak effectively, and bring forward some who can not only commend his work but substantially aid in it. Eight pounds a year towards such an outlay, in such a place, and for such a purpose, is all that England can give, and that too by the hand of private beneficence. If Mr. E. would apply to the Board, admit the priest, banish the Bible, lay the 'Extracts' on a shelf, and put into the chil

dren's hands the legends, the catechisms, the inflammatory denunciations of Rome, he might command any measure of government patronage: but no, Mr. E. is a Protestant clergyman, he desires to feed the poor lambs of his flock with the sincere milk of the word; and so he may, provided he does it at his own cost, and that of his own family.

The spectacle was indeed most interesting, of the poor children assembled in their respective rooms, and diligently engaged in learning from anxious teachers. The situation of the schoolhouse is quite a contrast to the flaunting publicity of those under the Board.' The latter are sure to stare you in the face by the road-side, in naked newness of stone and mortar, man's work all. This is shaded by trees, which also overshadow the approach to the church, the hallowed fold of a small and scattered flock, standing in the rustic grave-yard, with a fringe of trees, and an occasional yew or hawthorn marking some endeared restingplace of mortality. Roses and other sweet climbers embower the modest school-house; and for a back ground the noble mountains rise in dark magnificence. A little garden parts it from the narrow, rugged road, which separates both it and the church from the glebe. There is something very touching in the retired loneliness of the place;