“It is certain, that the habit of confirming every assertion with an oath, is as prevalent among the Irish as it _was_ among the ancient, and _is_ among the modern Greeks. And it is remarkable, that even at this day, in both countries, the nature and form of their adjurations and oaths are perfectly similar: a Greek will still swear by his parents, or his children; an Irishman frequently swears ‘by my father, who is no more!’ ‘by my mother in the grave!’ Virgil makes his pious Æneas swear by his head. The Irish constantly swear ‘by my hand,’--‘by this hand,’--or, ‘by the hand of my gossip!’ * There is one who has just sworn by _the Cross_; another by the blessed stick he holds in his hand. In short, no intercourse passes between them where confidence is required, in which oaths are not called in to confirm the transaction.” * The mention of this oath recalls to my mind an * anecdote of the bard Carolan, as related by Mr. Walker, in his inimitable Memoir of the Irish Bards. “He (Carolan) went once on a pilgrimage to St. Patrick’s Purgatory, a cave in an island in Lough Dergh, (county of Donegal) of which more wonders are told than even the Cave of Triphonius. On his return to shore, he found several pilgrims waiting the arrival of the boat, which had conveyed him to the object of his devotion. In assisting some of those devout travellers to get on board, he chanced to take a lady’s hand, and instantly exclaimed ‘dar lamh mo Chardais Criost, [i. e. by the hand of my gossip] this is the hand of Bridget Cruise.’ His sense of feeling did not deceive him--it was the hand of her who he once adored.” ***** I am at this moment returned from my _Vengolf,_ after having declared the necessity of my absence for some time, leaving the term, however, indefinite; so that in this instance, I can be governed by my inclination and convenience, without any violation of promise. The good old Prince looked as much amazed at my determination, as though he expected I were never to depart; and I really believe, in the old fashioned hospitality of his Irish heart, he would be better satisfied I never should. He said many kind and cordial things in his own curious way; and concluded by pressing my speedy return, and declaring that my presence had created a little jubilee among them. The priest was absent; and Glorvina, who sat at her little wheel by her father’s side, snapped her thread, and drooped her head close to her work, until I casually observed, that I had already passed above three weeks at the castle--then she shook back the golden tresses from her brow, and raised her eyes to mine with a look that seemed to say, “can that be possible!” Not even by a glance did I reply to the flattering question; but I felt it not the less.