every kind of agricultural produce, potatoes are only once mentioned, and that in 1676, when they were sold at the high rate of 1s. 8d. per bushel. This must refer to the north of Ireland; and Mr. M'Skimin speaks of the same district, when he remarks, "very old people informed me, that few potatoes were formerly used after harvest, except a small quantity preserved as a treat for their Halloween supper, which were eaten with butter. It, however, does appear that they were coming into general circulation before their time."

The south of Ireland, there can be no doubt, was the cradle of the potato. In the "Irish Hudibras" (1689), numerous passages occur to prove that this root was extensively cultivated, and commonly used. Thus, we are told of—

"That monstrous giant, Finn MacHeuyle,
Whose carcass, buried in the meadows,

Took up nine acres of pottadoes."

And, in "Hesperi-neso-graphia," swine are described as good as e'er

"turned the earth of garden, where

Beloved potatoes growing were."

Again, in the "Irish Hudibras," the hero is represented as having

"No cannons, nor wide-mouth'd granadoes;

Nees's fire-balls were boiled pottados."

And the arrival of King William III. does not allow him

"To enjoy his land, or any part,

His banniclabber* and pottadoes,

Without these French and Dutch granadoes."

Among the amusements of the Irish at this period, it is mentioned that some of a party

"played at blindman's buff,

Some roast pottados, some grind snuff.”

That potatoes were ordinary food in the south of Ireland before the time of the Commonwealth, is shewn by "An Account of an Irish Quarter," printed in 1654, in a volume entitled "Songs and Poems of Love and Drollery, by T. W." The writer and his friend, two cavaliers, visit Coolfin, in the county of Waterford, the seat of Mr. Poer, or Power, the high-sheriff, where their entertainment is thus described::

"And now for supper, the round board being spred;

The van a dish of coddled onions led ;

I' th' body was a salted tail of salmon,

And in the rear some rank potatoes came on."

Buttermilk.

THE LAND OF POTATOES, O!

To the honour of Ireland must it be stated, that the potato, that "admirable vegetable," experienced a very different reception there as a stranger, than in other nations; of which treatment more hereafter. "The Irish," observes Cuvier, "seem to have taken advantage of this root first, for, at an early period, we find the plant distinguished by the name of Irish potato." However, long before this event-for so may the introduction of the potato be styled-the hospitality of Ireland to strangers was proverbial. An anecdote, for example, is told as the origin of the name of Sullivan, that is, the one-eyed,*—

"Who gave his bright eye as a proverb to shine."

So great was the reputation of this old gentleman for hospitality, that it was asserted he would refuse to his guest no request, however unreasonable. This was tested by a stranger whom he entertained, asking his host to put out his eye, into which he immediately thrust his finger; and, from thenceforward, was distinguished as O'Sullivan, while the fame of the act passed into the proverb of

"Nulla manus,
Tam liberalis,
Atque generalis,

Atque universalis,

Quam Sullivanis!"

The subsequent song, in which the hospitality of the land of potatoes has been commended, is ascribed to

* "Sul means the 'sun;' hence suil, the 'eye,' because it is the light of the body."-O'BRIEN.

Mr. Owenson, the father of Lady Morgan; who is also said to have been "the author of various lyrical compositions, which were sung on the Dublin stage, and are remarkable for broad wit and genuine humour."

"Mr. Owenson, by an imprudent connexion with a once beautiful and celebrated actress, was, early in life, infected with the theatrical mania, and, on his marriage afterwards with a respectable English woman, he purchased a share in one of the Dublin theatres, and became jointproprietor with the celebrated Mr. Ryder. On Mr. Daly obtaining an exclusive patent for a metropolitan theatre, Mr. Owenson resigned. He afterwards embarked in mercantile concerns, became a wine-merchant, and built some provincial theatres; among others, that beautiful edifice at Kilkenny."

Sir Jonah Barrington, in the " Personal Sketches of his own Times," thus describes Mr. Owenson :—

"He was," says Sir Jonah, "highly celebrated in the line of Irish characters; and never did an actor exist so perfectly calculated, in my opinion, to personify that singular class of people. Considerably above six feet in height, remarkably handsome and brave-looking, vigorous, and well-shaped, he was not vulgar enough to disgust, nor was he genteel enough to be out of character; never did I see an actor so entirely identify himself with the peculiarities of those parts he assumed. In the higher class of Irish characters (old officers, &c.) he looked well, but did not exhibit sufficient dignity; and, in the lowest, his humour was scarcely quaint and original enough but in what might be termed the middle class of Paddies, no man ever combined the look and the manner

with such felicity as Owenson. Scientific singing is not an Irish quality; and he sang well enough. I have heard Jack Johnstone warble so very skilfully, and act some parts so very like a man of first-rate education, that I almost forgot the nation he was mimicking: that was not the case with Owenson; he acted as if he had not received too much schooling, and sang like a man whom nobody instructed. He was, like most of his profession, careless of his concerns, and grew old without growing rich. His last friend was old Fontaine, a very celebrated Irish dancing - master, many years domiciliated and highly esteemed in Dublin. He aided Owenson and his family whilst he had the means to do so; and they both died nearly at the same time, instances of talent and improvidence."

Tune

"Morgan Rattler."

Had I in the clear

But five hundred a-year,

'Tis myself would not fear,

Though not adding one farthing to 't.

Faith, if such was my lot,

Little Ireland's the spot

Where I'd build a snug cot,

With a bit of a garden to 't.

As for Italy's dales,

With their Alps and high vales,
Where with fine squalling gales,

Their seignoras so treat us, O!

I'd ne'er unto them come,

Nor abroad ever roam,

But enjoy my sweet home

In the land of potatoes, O!