In the country parts of Ireland, beggars are treated with great tenderness and pious hospitality. Many of them are recognised as descended from ancient and powerful septs, which decayed in the revolutions of property and influence. During many years after the invasion of King Henry, the houses of hospitality (so amply described in Sir John Davis's Tracts) which were established by the Chiefs for their poor relations and the traveller, were still kept open; and to this hour, some gentry and farmers provide the itinerant beggars with a bed as well as food. The alms are generally given in meal, flax, wool, milk, or potatoes, but seldom in money, except in cities or towns. After receiving a night's lodging or alms, long and devout prayers are distinctly uttered at the door of the benefactor. Like the players in Hamlet, they are the brief chronicles of the times, and their praises of the good frequently contribute to matrimonial connections. In some parts of the country the beggars have a particular day in the week for appearing abroad, when they are plentifully supplied for the remaining six; and those who, from loss of limbs, or other infirmity, are unable to walk, are seated upon barrows, and carried or wheeled from door to door, by the servants of each house or the casual passenger, an act of piety which is not unfrequently performed by members of respectable families. The beggars are seen in crowds near places of Catholic worship, or pilgrimage, and many of them are distinguished for great piety and temperance. The English traveller is sometimes surprised at seeing a venerable figure, clothed in a hair-cloth shirt or tunic, repeating his orisons on the side of a road, with naked shivering limbs, and a beard which for years has been unconscious of a razor. Yet in Ireland, as in other places, there are pretended objects, and beggars who misapply the benefactions of the charitable. They receive no interruption from the police, except in Dublin, where a large close cart frequently returns to the workhouse full of discontented mendicants, who have an extraordinary aversion to restraint upon their freedom, or compulsion to attend the established worship, which is generally different from their own. This class of the Irish are by no means unacquainted with the use of wit and waggery. The celebrated Dr O'Leary used to entertain his friends with some instances of their ingenuity. As he was riding to Maynooth College, a beggar accosted him for alms, declaring that he had not received a farthing for three days. The good Doctor gave him some silver, and being accosted on his return, in the evening, with a similar story, he upbraided the petitioner with his falsehood, telling him that he was Dr O'Leary. "Oh, long life to your reverence," said the beggar, "who would I tell my lies to, except my clargy?"