Old Times in Ireland. By Lieutenant-Colonel the Ron. C. S.
Vereker, M.A., F.G.S. (Chapman and Hall.)—The only reasonable way in which the production of such a book as Old Times in Ireland' is to be accounted for, is on the supposition that it is intended for am elaborate satire upon novels which profess to represent Irish life,. written by persons who know nothing whatever about it, in any of its grades or conditions. The jest would indeed be as sorry as elaborate, for the fashion of such books has happily died out, but it would be a plausible explanation of what is otherwise unaccountable. It is impossible to treat this book seriously, for it is inconceivably dull, the veriest burlesque of novel-writing, even in its crudest form. It is composed of a jumble of old stories from which the humour has been evaporated by some process peculiar to the writer, and social impossi- bilities devoid of either humour or common-sense. In the story of an abduction, "Peelers " are introduced long before that force existed ; and all the people are made to talk in a dialect which has nearly as much resemblance to the language of the Cherokee as to any tongue spoken in the sister island. The characters are dull caricatures, and there is no attempt at local colouring. To any reader who has ever heard the Irish peasant in any of the four provinces speak, the following extract will suffice to show what a notion the author has of representing Irish pronunciation, while the absurdity of putting such language into the mouth of a man who even in " old times in Ireland" was possessed of landed estate, kept three men- servants, and entertained a "Juke" and a "Lady Elizabeth," will probably prepare him for what he may expect if he reads beyond the excerpt,—about the cook with delirium tremens, the dogs which fight for the dinner, and the attendants who pull off the ladies' wigs:— " 'Dan, I'm thinking we'll ask the Juke to dine,' exclaimed Mrs. O'Rafferty, as she and her worthy spouse sat over their whiskey-punch after dinner, beside a round table in front of a blazing fire of turf and beech-logs on a winter night, with their feet on the fender and a kettle of boiling water hissing on the hob.—' I'm quite agreeable, my dear,' 'replied Mr. O'Rafferty, ' and we'll invite the Lord Liftenant and the Royal Family to mate him.'—' Stuff and nonsense she pettishly ejaculated, ' you are always turning me into ridicule.'—' Did you hear what Gineral O'Flanker said the other dee,' interposed O'Rafferty, when a puppy threatened to call him out unless he mead an apologee about 1301118 disagraimont between them? No ? Well, the Gineral told the fellow he might call him out as much as he plated, but not one step would he go. Noo, my dear, the Juke will see the seem. You roes axe him, if you plaze, but he will pros to be excused, like the guests bidden to the faist in the parable.
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