around the country, however, even for many miles, the bonfires were
blazing, and shone at immense distances from every hill-top. We have
said before that Lindsay was both a popular landlord and a popular
magistrate; and, on this account alone the disposition to do honor
to any member of his family was recognized by the people as an act of
gratitude and duty.

The town of Rathfillan presented a scene of which we who live in the
present day can form but a faint conception. Yet, sooth to say, we
ourselves have, about forty years ago, witnessed in remote glens and
mountain fastnesses little clumps of cabins, whose inhabitants stood
still in the midst even of the snail's progress which civilization
had made in the rustic parts of Ireland; and who, upon examination,
presented almost the same rude personal habits, antiquated social
usages, agricultural ignorance, and ineradicable superstition as their
ancestors did in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Lindsay, knowing
how unpopular his wife was, not only among their own tenantry, but
throughout the country at large, and feeling, besides, how well that
unpopularity was merited, very properly left her and Maria to his son
Charles, knowing that as the two last named shared in the good-will
which the people bore him, their mother would be treated with
forbearance and respect so long as she was in their company. He wished,
besides, that Harry should seem to partake of the honor and gratitude
which their enthusiasm would prompt them to pay to himself.

The whole town was one scene of life, bustle, and enjoyment. It was
studded with bonfires, which were surrounded by wild groups of both
sexes, some tolerably dressed, some ragged as Lazarus, and others young
urchins with nothing but a slip of rag tied about their loins "to make
them look jinteel and daicent." The monster bonfire, however--that which