LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF IRISH LIFE.

THE second and third volumes of this publication consist of a collection of Mrs. HALL'S charming and characteristic tales of Irish life, many of which have already appeared on various occa. sions. The first volume contains the "Groves of Blarney ;" which is the only story of sufficient length, purpose, or novelty, to require more criticism than is implied in a general recom- mendation.

The title of the "Groves of Blarney" is derived from the site of the scene,—the castle of Blarney having no further relation to the story, than its vaults being the spot where some of the more serious incidents occur. The drift of the work, if we read it rightly, is to inculcate the morals, that a love of alcohol is one of

the banes of Ireland, and that one of the main defects of the Irish

popular character is a want of stability, springing from an incapa- city to see forward, or rapidly to seize upon probable results, whence "the finest peasantry" are very easily duped by those who will stoop, for their own evil objects, to excite them to rash actions by artful flattery and by playing upon their credulous generosity.

The leading characters by which these doctrines are inculcated, are Margaret Lee, a young widow—the orphan child of an English estate-bailiff, who married an " auld Robin Gray" to support her mother and sister ; and her former lover Connor O'Gorman, the beau

ideal of a young Irish farmer, fond of whisky, fond of a faction- light, and the very creature of impulse. After Margaret's year of

widowhood is expired, O'Gorman dares to breathe his suit ; and is

put upon a year's probation, during which lie is neither to touch whisky, nor, harder still to the head of the O'Gormans, the shil- lelagh. The interest of the earlier part of the tale rests upon the sacrifice of Margaret, the death of her husband, and the suit of her second love : that of the latter part springs from the vindictive

endeavours of a sort of Irish Meg Murdockson, and a rival of doubt-

ful character prompted by her arts and influence, to break off the match by operating upon the national characteristics in the way we have described, as well as by crimes of violence equally Irish. There is also the love-tale of a younger sister of Margaret's, and the episode of a Cockney tourist's absurdities and dilemmas; both subordinate to the main interest, and connected with it, though the portrait of the tourist is a gross caricature.

Except in an occasional disposition to thrust the opinions of the writer unnecessarily upon the reader, and of a tendency to spin

her matter to too great tenuity, we are not prepared to point out any obvious faults. Once or twice it struck us, indeed, that the story was somewhat of the longest in proportion to its inci- dents; and (which is nearly the same thing) that the actors, and the motive power that prompts them, were rather of too slight or humble a character to evnte sufficient interist e foire whole volume: but we admit that this is contrary to the eritical dictum of the age, which has found out, that a clown is, for the purposes of fiction, as good as a king. It may also be allege that national vices spring from blood and circumstances; one of which must be modified, and the other altered, before an • change can be effected in the people. It is, however, always advan- tageous to know the truth, although its knowledge does not arm us with a direct and immediate remedy for evil.

Of the characteristic execution, an extract or two will beet speak.

THE DEATHBED OF GOODMAN LEE.

But it pleased God to call the gentle, kind old man to himself before his boy was two years old; and " well-knowing," to use his own words, data, warnings were for death," after he had received the extreme unction enjoined by his religion, he desired that Margaret might remain with him alone ; sed, taking her soft hand within his horny and withered palms, be said: "Shad back the curtain, Peggy bawn, for my eyes are dim ; there, now I Can see yes

face, just the same as ever, G i

od bless t ! My will is made, gra! you haves hundred good acres at a nominal riot, and not an acre of bouch-lawns on the whole, thanks to you for that and everything; two cows and the horse, beside, the mare—for your life, and to your own blessed child afther—at your disposes till then, my Peggy ' • and the long acre fields, as good as twinty acres, at yore disposal for ever. But it isn't about that I wanted to spake. itrysoul is node; and but for the panting of my heart, like an ould eagle struggling with the chain, I'd be bravely still ; 'tis about yerb,lf, Margaret ; you'll be the flower of Blarney again in yer widow's cap—just three-and. twenty—and the sun nor the storm never dare look in yer face since I had ye, did they, Peg?"

But Peg, as he loved to call her, could not answer for her tears.

" Crying for the ould man ? " he continued, as she bent to kiss hire; "bias you, darling, bless you! it's the first time the sight of yer tears ever did toy heart good. I'm glad you can shed a tear for the ould goollman Lee; for I've seen yer tears before, Peggy, when ye didn't think I did; and they scalded my heart, for I knew what they were idled for; there was no sin in theni, darlint; no sin, only sorrow ; that the May-meadow sweet, and the ould winter ivy, should twist on the one stem; but reach me a drink ; thank and blessyou, honey dear. Now, as to yerself ; there's Click O'Sullivan Click Rhu, and faith (Gull forgive me for swearing) his head is not redder then his hand, ins had an opportunity : have nothing to say to him, Margaret. I've got my pee. perity by minding the laws; and, if report speaks true, he's got his by breaking them. He'll want you to marry him, I know he will ; but shun him, for tht sake of yourself and our child, Margaret dear ; shun them all, all but one—I needn't name him ; I don't say, Peggy, that while you were a wedded wife you thought of him ; no, no ! he might cross your memory sometimes as a shadow

crosses the sky; but when I am in my grave, it is only natural that a young thing like you should take another husband. Connor O'Gorman, dear, loved you ; I don't think he loved you as well as I did—I don't think, but I don't know—even now, when the thickness of death is over my eyes, I look at you, and the blessed Virgin, (bleksed saints forgive me if I spoke sin !) she coal hardly could be more beautiful or pure than yourself. You were too good for me; and I think you far, far too good for him; and yet, if you love him, you ought to have some reward for spending the flower of your youth with an ould man."

IRISH DESCRIPTION OF LUCK.

"it's a pour case," said one of the fellows to the other, " to be here doing nothing ; we made a bad hand of the job last night; and troth ! I'd ratherbs with the Whiteboys, or light boys, or any boys that would show U9 fun; or at the Cove of Cork, or anywhere. Do you know, Davy, it's meself thinks there's no luck with the 0'Sullivans, at all, at all. What a quue thing luck is ! "

" So it is," observed the other, who was lazily hammering some rusty ntils on a piece of something that served as an anvil; " luck's mighty quire in. tirely, and a thing there's no turning either for good or bad ; take my word for it, Click's luck is turned." " So it is ; for sure the little thing last night was as nately planned many thing liver breed tell of. When Murphy Donohue ran off with Ally Gruel- ing, he did it and her mother and two sisters in the screetches, it wasn't (to all appearance) half as certain as this; only I wonder it never came into Click's head before—" 44 'Teresa% his luck."

"Did you ever think," said Davy, lowering his voice, "that Cat's-claws had an evil eye ? because, it's mighty quare, I never knew her gather much to a house that didn't grow uncomfortable iu itself afther a time." " 'Twas their luck turned, maybe."

44 Maybe so. See what a purty slip of a girl Gracey Conway was till she got 90 thick with Mabel; and now the sun never 6hines on the path she walks."

44 She's grown bitther-hearted, as most girls do whin they meet a misfortune; but 'twas her luck." " No doubt ; but, take my word for it, the grass is all the greener and the butter the more plenty where her shadow niver comes. I don't over much like

knowing women—somehow they're not like women ; see Shawn Gov, how he's done up, out of the counthry ; and they say it was she could the passim him."

44 Well, 'twas his luck, and that's all about it."