The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1842-09-27 00:00:00

" Giants enchanters and chimaeras dire ;"

and we hail with pleasure their collection in a casket worthy,
indeed, of pearls so inestimable.

We have now before us parts 2 and 3 of this splendid pub-
lication, and we know not which most to praise—the judge-
ment and taste displayed by the compiler, Mr. Hall, or the
beauty of the typography and illustrations. To each ballad
is prefixed two pages of explanatory and antiquarian matter,
furnished by Mr. Hall ; and upon each page containing the
ballad itself is a wood-cut illustration, beautifully executed
ty the best artists which Great Britain can produce. Some
of these excel infinitely many of the most finished steel en-
gravings, and are admirably designed. The work is printed
entire upon plate paper, and the typography is not excelled
by that of any publication which we have seen.
No. 2 contains the continuation of " The Nut Brown
Maid," " Kempion," " The Child of Elle," " The Twa
Brothers," and a part of " The Blind Beggar;" and No. 3
the remainder of " The Blind Beggar," " Robin Good-
fellow," " Sir Patrick Spens," " Gil Morice," " Sir Aldin-
gar," and " Sir Lancelot Du Lake." Amongst the artists
employed are—Creswick, Scott, Landells, Vizitelli, Kenny
Meadows, E. Corbould, and others of leading talent. Each
ballad is to be illustrated by one artist, in order, we pre-
sume, to insure uniformity of design and execution.
As a matter of course, nothing except a very extensive
sale can remunerate the spirited publishers for the vast out-
lay required in the production of such a work ; and for the
credit of British art, taste, and we may add national feeling,
we trust that their expectations will not be disappointed.

Ireland; its Scenery, Character, dl-c. By Mr. and Mrs
S. C. Hall. Part 21. London : How and Parsons.

This delightful work progresses beautiful as ever in illus-
tration and description ; and we are ever and anon tempted
to exclaim when perusing it—" Fortunate is the land and
the people whose beauties and character are delineated by an
author and authoress in every way so peculiarly fitted for the
task !" The illustrations in the present part are equal to
those of any former part ; and that is ample praise. We
give, as a specimen of the work itself, the following beautiful
sketch, illustrative of the popular Irish superstition of the
" Banshee," or Death Fetch :

The only daughter of parents of sufficient distinction, in
the estimation of the people, to have an attendant spirit, was
loved by, and returned the attachment of a youth, her infe-
rior both in birth and fortune. She was one of those quickly
susceptible and gently yielding creatures who, although gifted
with warm affection, have probably not the strength to sus-
tain it

" Through grief and through danger, through sorrow and shame."
While he was by her side, she felt as though she could have
died sooner than have forgotten him ; so she said and thought;
and they used to meet stealthily in the moonlight, and before
the lark had poised her dewy wings in the morning sun, and
exchange vows of everlasting constancy ; believing all they
uttered to be the pure and unalterable truth. The girl, at
this time, had not been sixteen years in the world, but the
young man was four-and-twenty. Irishmen have the repu-
tation of being qulck at love, and quick at forgetting : it was
not so with him. His nature was firm as it was fervent; he
would have loved her had she been the poorest girl who
watched the sheep upon his native mountain. " I will not
wed you against your father's will," he said, "but I will win
you and wed you. I will go abroad, Mary ; I will gain a
name and come back to you with fame and honour-1 will
do this, by God's great grace ; I will be your faithful bus.
band in the eyes of heaven, whose stars shine brightly on us
now, if you will swear here, kneeling by my side, to wait,
free from all other love, till 1 return." The girl sank on her
knees and did as he desired; placing her finger against his
finger, she slipped on to his a ring, esteemed by her family
as one of rare virtue, making him in return promise that if
he died or became indifferent to her, or married another, lie
should return her the pledge. `This he readily agreed to do,
and the lovers parted ; Mary exclaiming in the wild anguish
of her first sorrow, " Surely, sorely, if he had loved me as
I loved him, he would never have proposed this parting.
Well, well, he knew I would have flown with him to the
world's end." And he did know it ; but her weak and
childish nature was unable to appreciate the virtue of the
sacrifice he made by tearing himself from the only thing he
valued on earth : no taint of selfishness sullied the brightness
of his devotion ; he would not submit her to the pangs of
self-reproach for having deserted her aged parents ; he would
give up all, sooner than subject her to the privations which
the bride of a soldier of fortune must have endured. Years
rolled on ; six or seven passed away, and no tidings arrived
of the absent lover; as they did pass, the first suspicion that
had disturbed her mind gained strength,—" If he had loved
me as 1 loved him, he would never have proposed this part-
ing." It might be she referred to this feeling as an excuse
for the fickleness of her own heart ; for the arguments and
entreaties of her family induced her, at lenzth, to listen to
the addresses of a wealthy suitor, and, after some reluctance,
to agree to espouse him: it is but justice to Mary to state,
that this was not until a long time after she had waited, and
waited, with the sickness of asorrowing heart, for the hoped-
for return of her lover; there were plenty willing and ready
to work upon her doubts of
his fidelity, and stories came
_
from the " foreign parts ' the Irish
delight to talk of—whis-
pering that the absent one was untrue to the vows of his
early love.
said one of the gossiping old neighbours to
And so,"
another—" And so Mary. O'Neil,N afther
,ibse 's high ••
going to
years
marry the hardest manin
rtehpelyco,hti,ne,t_ihfr.yhieo,slhaalrld,
" Och sure,'' was the
's nei-
therago, when
and set one against the other,
ssheewilasbseewveenl off ; she
-Yedasto meet her on the up-Ahill side,
as young nor as putty
lie that 's over the seas used
or by the silent rock,
• what a dale
they 'd haveu°'' if
or under the rowan-tree.
to tell
trees and rocks could spake,
of the falsity of man and the folly onfnakle-ossmeyno,uagcroaulr:
Mary's."
" There was no falsity there,
change falsity," replied the croned
" butanhda ol ewohtihs epre.r" ;
only knows how it 'ill end—the Lord above a
the Lord above
" What! " exclaimed the first speak_
anything,
" you do not mean tha. —have ye heard
dear ? " The two tattered crones drew morentclnofsehlyertopgipee-
ther, and the questioned knocked the ashes o
to reply.
" You know the family has a follower, dearie Banshee
the rale ould sort; and that's never forgot.
that does be afther them is not as strong as she us.ed
reof
to be
long ever ago, though she's strong enough to give the
death-
warning ; it 's as good as six years since Miss Mary's first
sweetheart met her for the last time, and I was coming up
Vie glen, the same night, from ould Marky Roone's wake ;
and I came upon them unawares; and then I kept still. not
to disturb them, for she was crying like a new-born babby
that had lost its mother; but his words without tears would
pierce through stone walls. Well, I saw them put finger to
finger, and slip a ring ; and as thy!, did, and as sure as there s
but one star of the thousands looking on us now, the cry
came through the air soft and sorrowful—not the wail for
present death, but for what would end that way."
" Maybe," suggested her companion, " it was for him !
" Fur him !" repeated the narrator, in a tone of deep in-
dignation. "Why, then, I'm ashamed of your ignorance,
ye poor craythur ! is it doting ye are woman alive ? What
right would the like of him have to the cry of a Banshee ?
Graliagh ! indeed—for him
" Well, asy, Nelly, there's enough about it; sure I'm not
as long in the place as yerself—did ye ever hear it since,
agra? "
A little softened by this ready acknowledgment of superi-
ority, the reader of mysterious sounds declared that the

evenin' Misther O'Neil and the priest, end the hard man,'
and her mother, and all, persuaded bliss Mary to plight a
troth—she had no right to plight—that same night the cry
was heard more than once about the place, sharper and clearer
than before. Who heard it besides she could not tell ; she
only knew she heard it, and would swear she did, to her
dying hour.

" And it was nearer, you say ?"
" Nearer and sharper—too near, as some will find ; it
can't be for her mother, and if it was for her father, I can't
see the sense of its houldinz on when its she that's acting.
The first time I heard it, it wound through the air like a.
misty cloud creeping up a mountain—it was a suit, sor-
rowful wail; the second time, it was bitter and angry."
" And the third time, avourneen; what was it like the
third time?" '

" I've not heard it the third time—yet," answered Neily
solemnly ; " and I don't care if I'm longer so—that's all.
The fine ould families are fading out of the counthry intirely
—going away like chaff—and such spirits will have no call to
the new people. My father, God rest his soul ! used to ,
that, from what he knew, he was sure they would sour: quit
the counthry. Maybe so ; but anyhow, we'll be lonesome
when they go, for it's hard wanting the knowledge that
we're cared for by something besides the bare flesh and
blood !"
" And when will the wedding be, Nelly ; sure a wedding's
a God-send these hard times; it's hard if we don't get full
and plenty at the bridal of the heiress !"
"Ah !" said the other. " To-morrow week, agra! and
there'll be heaps of quality in it; besides lashins of people
from far and near ; and all the ancient customs kep' up—
all ! so it will be worth the going to, these hard times."
Although the bride could not be said to give any symptoms
of repenting her new betrothment, she took little seeming
interest in the proceedings perhaps she had been taunted
with the vulgar reproach of old-maidenhood—led to believe
it would be wrong for the last of her line to go down unmated
to the grave; and this, added to the doubts that had gained
strength with years, and the unaccountable fact of her having
received no tidings of her former lover, conspired to seal her
destiny.
It was not the custom at the period to which we refer for
the bride and bridegroom to absent themselves immediately
after their marriage ; and the wedding was solemnised after
the usual Irish fashion—the bride remaining to do the
honours and receive the guests ; as was also the practice, at
that time, the window-curtains were allowed to remain
undrawn, so that the crowd without could feast their eyes on
the crowd within, whose movements they observed and com-
mented on ; and when anything particular pleased them, they
testified their sympathy by a wild " hooroo."
The two women whose observations we have recorded were
also there; their withered faces pressed occasionally against
the glass, the more perfectly to observe what was going on ;
occasionally they abused those who pressed too closely on
them from behind, arid vented their spleen in bitter words
and curses. Suddenly, Nelly, whose reputation for fore-
knowledge had gained her anything but a pleasant popularity,
crushed her bony fingers round her ' crony's' arm—' Whist,
did ye hear nothin' ? '
" Nothin', dear, but the boys hoorooing, because the bride
is making her ' curtshey' to another stranger."
" Ye'r a deaf fool! " exclaimed Nelly, throwing the arm
from her.
The bride had risen to meet a strange guest who, unknown
and unannounced, had entered the large parlour where the
feast went forward ; without returning her salutation, lie
asked her for a drink. She proceeded to do the duties of
Irish hospitality, and with her own hands presented to him
a goblet of wine ; this lie refused to touch, requesting her to
exchange it for water, which, he declared, was his only be-
verage. She then presented him with the water, which he
drank ; but she observed that as he returned the vessel, lie
dropped something into it : before she could ascertain what
it was, he had disappeared amid the crowd. Ere she replaced
the goblet, however, she took from it her own ring ; she
knew it well, and instantly ;—it was the same she had given
her betrothed, at their parting. No doubt remained on her
mind as to her having seen her former lover. She was
greatly moved by the circumstance, and yet had sufficient
presence of mind to keep it to herself, and the feast went on.
After the lapse of about an hour, a woman rushed into the
room to seek the priest ; terror was impressed upon her
countenance. She said that a stranger who had asked for
shelter beneath her roof, and who seemed labouring under
strong emotion, had dropped—she feared dead, upon her
hearth and that she had come for " the clergy," and advice
as to what she was to do.

The truth now burst upon the bride. He did, indeed,
really and truly love her. Forgetting her ill-advised mar-
riage, and clinging to the hope that he was yet alive, slit
proceeded to the woman's dwelling. As she crossed the
threshold of her father's door, although the night was cairn
and mild, a fierce and mighty wind rushed round the house;
all paused and trembled at the cry—the well-known wail of
the Banshee, so full, and then so agonising in its dying fall.
" That 's music for false footsteps," muttered Nelly.
" Yet, be he dead or living, that wail is not for him."
But the bride flew on—the only one of the terror-stricken
revellers who did not pause or pray. She flung herself on
her knees beside him—pressed her hand on his heart—there
was no motion. She called,Jiim by his name—there was no
reply ; stooping down, she kissed his lips—there was no
return ; then well she knew that he was dead. In the pre-
sence of her kindred and her husband, she tore the silver
riband from her hair, and burst forth into a wild death-cry
of her land and name—a mournful keen over the dead body
of her lover.

The impetuous feelings of her girlhood seemed to have
returned with tenfold strength ; and as she uttered the last
line, she fell dead upon the body of him who had loved her
even unto death. " Her heart," to use the figurative lan-
guage of her people, " was split asunder." In death was
fulfilled the pledge of love. They were laid side by side—
the wedding feast furnishing the funeral. Once more, and
in a few weeks after this lovers' tragedy, the Banshee cried
again : it was for the father of Mary O'Neil—the last of his
line in that part of the country, where two trees are still
shown as heading the grave of those who " in death were not
divided."