Modern or muddy, the pub is part of Ireland

Before Johnny can hoist himself onto his corner stool, Aileen is pouring the steaming whiskey into the glass tumbler he prefers, replenishing the contents without prompting as the morning wears on and the earthen smell from his rubber boots melds with the linseed oil she rubs into the wide pine bar.

Leonard's typifies an iconic Irish institution fast fading into history: the traditional pub. It is part grocery, part hardware store, part community center and, yes, part drinking establishment.

The country pub and its more ornate city cousin are falling victim to the roaring Irish economy that threatens old habits even as it produces new jobs. Prosperity has not made the Irish drink less; one study, in fact, suggests that consumption of alcohol increased by 41 percent in the last decade of the 20th century despite the abstemious who still take ''The Pledge" to never let alcohol pass their lips. But a younger, more cosmopolitan work force in a country of 3.9 million people has fueled demands for a livelier bar scene. A rush to renovate and expand has swept through tiny rural pubs and historic Dublin taverns alike, stripping many of the distinguishing features that made them Irish originals. The trend is toward ''superpubs," licensed establishments on steroids, designed to accommodate as many as 1,000 patrons at a time. Karaoke machines and pool tables and large screen TVs are fast replacing the humble hearths, the cracked leather stools and the sawdust-covered floors that have long been the natural venue for the spontaneous conversation, traditional music, and fierce political debate for which the island nation is known.