Thus far I wrote before I retired that night to rest, and the next morning at an early hour we took our leave of these courteous and hospitable Milesians; having faithfully promised on the preceding night to repeat our visit on our return from the north. We are now at a sorry little inn, within a mile or two of the nobleman’s seat to whom the priest is come, and on whom he waits to-morrow, having just learned that his lordship passed by here to-day on his way to a gentleman’s house in the neighbourhood where he dines. The little postboy at this moment rides up to the door; I shall drop this in his bag, and begin a new journal on a fresh sheet. Adieu, H. M. LETTER XXVII. TO J. D. ESQ., M. P. The priest is gone on his embassy. The rain which batters against the casement of my little hotel prevents me enjoying a ramble. I have nothing to read, and I must write or yawn myself to death. Yesterday, as we passed the imaginary line which divides the province of Connaught from that of Ulster, the priest said, “As we now advance northward, we shall gradually lose sight of the genuine Irish character, and those ancient manners, modes, customs, and language with which it is inseparably connected. Not long after the chiefs of Ireland had declared James the First universal monarch of their country, a sham plot was pretended, consonant to the usual ingratitude of the House of Stuart, by which six entire counties of the north became forfeited, which James with a liberal hand bestowed on his favorites; * so that this part of Ireland may in some respects be considered as a Scottish colony; and in fact, Scotch dialect, Scotch manners, Scotch modes, and the Scotch character almost universally prevail. Here the ardour of the Irish constitution seems abated if not chilled. Here the _ceadmile falta_ of Irish cordiality seldom lends its welcome home to a stranger’s heart. The bright beams which illumine the gay images of Milesian fancy are extinguished; the convivial pleasures, dear to the Milesian heart, scared at the prudential maxims of calculating interest, take flight to the warmer regions of the south; and the endearing socialities of the soul, lost and neglected amidst the cold concerns of the counting-house and the _bleach-green_, droop and expire in the deficiency of the nutritive warmth on which their tender existence depends.