A Prologue--Being A Dish Of Village Chat
_ We are going to talk, if you please, in the ensuing chapters, of what was going on in Chapelizod about a hundred years ago. A hundred years, to be sure, is a good while； but though fashions have changed, some old phrases dropped out, and new ones come in； and snuff and hair-powder, and sacques and solitaires quite passed away--yet men and women were men and women all the same--as elderly fellows, like your humble servant, who have seen and talked with rearward stragglers of that generation--now all and long marched off--can testify, if they will.
In those days Chapelizod was about the gayest and prettiest of the outpost villages in which old Dublin took a complacent pride. The poplars which stood, in military rows, here and there, just showed a glimpse of formality among the orchards and old timber that lined the banks of the river and the valley of the Liffey, with a lively sort of richness. The broad old street looked hospitable and

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