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Ald. Right Bulbrooks, this is good evidence of murder. No pro clamation, no act of indemnity, no Lord Hardwicke, can save in this

case.

Bulbrooks, do you think you can get this ghost, of Will, Wallabout's to give evidence at the next commission?

Bul. I am not sure your honor, until I enquire of Alexander the swaddling preacher, who will take pains, to bring poor Will forward, as Alexander and Will, were very well acquainted in the lord, met at love feasts, told their experience together, and preached the word, to the benefit of many souls in our regiment.

Ald. That's right Bulbrooks? Bring your friend and the ghost for. ward, as soon as possible, and I will have a subscription made by the aldermen of Skinner's-Alley, for

their encouragement?

Marlay. Mr. Alderman, I wish to know, who are these aldermen of Skinners-Alley, who you say, are to subsidize ghosts for hanging me.

Ald. Why, sir they are some of the most loyal gentlemen in the country. Mr. I. C. B. Mr. S.-Mr. G-d, Doctor D.-Mr. Cr.-Mr. Led, and several others.

Marlay. You say nothing of old Harris the Bruiser, old Thompson the kettle drummer to the franchises old Forbes the nailor, very ancient members of this society. The men you mention are very worthy men indeed.

Bul. Your honor does not see, that the prisoner is laughing I suppose he is mocking your honor.

Ald. Mocking, the great men, I mentioned. This used to be trea son. In good Lord C-~-'s time, I have sent a fellow and his three daughters to Bottony Bay, for laughing at the statue of our great deliverer,

there were none of your Hardwickes then in power to interrupt the course of justice.

Marley. Mr. alderman, may I have permission to know, what form of face, I am to wear before you and Mr. Bulbrook's.

Ald. You impudent traitor, you corrigible villain, I'll have you given to the Doctor, where Kilmainham air and medicine will soon alter your fat face and belly, so long filled with rebel mutton.

Marlay. Could I persuade you Mr. alderman, to let me have a more convenient prison, where I could see my friends, I would wish to put my visage rather to the care of the city barber, than trust my bowels, to such a Doctor.

Ald. You villain, I see you must be hanged, there is no great man in the state safe from your aspersions or treasons. It was you that planned taking that loyal protestant nobleman's estate and title; Lord Charlemont, to give them to Horish the sweep.

Ald. See who knocks at the door?

Bul. It is corporal Burthatch and his party, with another prisoner.

Ald. Bring in the fellow, but, tye him well, search him well, leave nothing with him, of arms or papers until I examine him. "No please your honor, nor money either, I'll take care of that."

(Enter. Bulbrooks with the pri

soner whose hands are well secured behind his back.

Ald. Where did you get this fellow?

Bul. Your honor, he was detected reading a newspaper in his shop in Coles-Lane market.

Ald. A butcher reading, and the same impudent traitor who took advantage of the want of martial law, had justice G- affronted for a debt of four pounds, I'll learn him

to

to leave off reading and have more respect for magistrates. This is the fellow who must have sold the mutton to this tailor.

Marlay. Mr. alderman I am not surprized at the danger, and inutility of reading your apprehend, a man may be a very good butcher, or a very good alderman, without much. reading, there were your old friends, aldermen of Dublin, Anthony King, Emerson and Tweedy, who could not spell, yer they performed their parts, with surprising dexterity, in deed this great art appears not much in repute by any of the board to which you have been called from your buxter cellar.

Ald. Here Bulbrooks, tye this fellows legs gag him, put him on a car, and take him to the Doctor.

Bulbrooks. Your honor terrible news just arrived down New-Street.

Ald. What news is it, Bulbrooks? Bul. The rebels your honor have passed the breaks of Ballinascorny, sixty thousand strong, with four hundred pieces of cannon, matches lighted, and two thousand empty cars, Its said they mean to rob every body in Dublin, but the poor, a large party has arrived in Patrick. Street, where they are threwing up intrenchments, and fortifying the

church.

Ald. What shall we do here Bulbrooks, bury my coat, take down that lodge warrant, burn it, do Bulbrooks, I am just dead, fasten these two rogues in the back vault, and let me escape from these vile rebels.

Marlay. Alderman, I can get you a pass, give my compliments to Lord Horish, for a pass for our friend the alderman, and if his honor will allow me to wait on the Dr. I shall attend him without any delay.

Bulbrooks. Your honour, the news is all false, it was a yeoman, who in the act of drying his shirt fell

from a window in High-Street that cause a croud, and the croud cause this report of the invasion from Ballinascorny.

Ald. Right Right good Bulbrookshang up the warrant again; give me my coat-and carry off these villains, (Exeunt Omnes)

AUTHENTIC ANECDOTE OF GEN. JUNOT.-General Junot was originally a private in the French army, and is a man of low origin. In one of the battles in Germany, when Bonaparte commanded in person, he wanted to send a dispatch to one of his Generals, and called out to a company, if there was any man among them who could write, to which Junot replied in the affirmative, Bonaparte desired him accordingly to step out to the drum head, and dictated to him a dispatch, which he wrote.While in the act of writing, a ball struck the ground which covered the scribe with dust. ". That will do," said Junot, with much composure," as I wanted some sand for my letter." "You are a brave fellow," observed Bonaparte," and what is there I can do for you?"-"Have these worsted epaulets," said Junot, "taken off my shoulders, and replace them with silver," This was accordingly done. Junot became a great favourite, was afterwards made Governor of Paris, and was elevated to his present rank.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

TO AN OLD HARP.

HAIL sacred relick; Pride of other days
To thee my muse her mournful homage pays,
And bending o'er thine antiquated frame,
That oft has echoed to the warrior's fame
Piety and awful veneration rise.

Along thy chords my hand unbidden flies,
Till my rapt soul on Fancy's eagle wings

Dares, through unmeasured years her flight pursue
Whilst Bards and Heroes burst upon my view.

Lo! in my sight, to meet invading war
The spears of Erin-glitter from afar

While, from each polished helm and glancing shield
Reflected sunbeams brighten all the field-
Ranged in the front a white rob'd band appears
Rev'rend their forms, the sons of other years;
White as their robes, their flowing beards descend
And on their Harps, the Bards of Erin bend

The pausing warriors 'wait the rising song
And round the tuneful croud attentive throng
In thougtful silence bear upon their spears

Smooth their fierce looks, and bow their listning ears-
At once a hundred voices rise around!

And to the lofty song a hundred harps resound.

"Youths who with unpractised arm,
"Now the sword of slaughter wield
"Now to War's destructive storm
"Strangers in the deathful field

"Oft your sires in combat stood,
"Death descending with their blows;
"Oft with spears endrenched in blood
"Shower'd destruction on their foes

Ye, who hear their honoured name,

Toils and wounds and death despise-

"Rugged is the road to Fame,
"Countless dangers round it rise.-

"And if in the glorious strife
"Erin's champion yields his breath
"Is the Coward's lenthened life
"Equal to his bour of death?

"Cowards born to peaceful shame
"Claim an unremembered Grave
"Glory and a deathless name
"Are the Bith rights of the Brave

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Of old, when round the board th' Warriors throng,
Declin'd the circling shell and claim'd th' song,
Th' feats, th' fall of heroes and of Kings,
Awaked to martial Strains thy sounding strings;
Thus was the Bards unerring skill Confess'd,
To sway with potent Sounds the subject Breast,
Hark,- -oer thy frame his rapid hand he flings,
And wakes the slumbering terrors of thy strings,
Thro' the rapt croud responsive fury flies,

Burns on their Cheeks and flashes from their eyes;
Anon,' th' strain is Chang'd and sounds of woe,
From thy deep chords in pensive murmurings flow,
As pity's self had swept thy sirings along,
And pour'd her plantive spirit through the song;
With hearts declined, thine alter'd voice they hear,
Heave the deep sigh, and drop th' impassioned tear;
When soft thy strains in sportive measure rise,
And gladness sparkles in their glistening eyes.

Of old-would love the thrilling song inspire,
And every tone with glowing passion fire,
As on some streamlets blooming bank reclined,
The youthful minstrel pour'd his ardent mind;
Bade the deep glen repeat the pleasing lays,
Taught ev'ry speaking string his charmers praise
Robb'd earth and beaven to make her form more fair,
'Till all perfection center'd only there.

Of old-to sooth the passions to repose,
In soften'd sounds thy melting voice arose,
From its deep seat each rankling sorrow stole,
And pour'd oblivion on the tranquil soul;
Of old, thy sounds with more than magic force,
Could guide the storm of battle in its course;
Fire the untutor'd soul with hopes of fame,
And bid him spurn existence" For a Name,"
But all is past, hy force, thy power Oer'thrown,
Thyself despised, neglected and unknown.

"Poor Harp," farewel; though Erin may deplore,
Her sun of greatness set, to rise no more,
Though he degenerate sons untouched by shame,
Have from the list of Nations razed her name

Still when my eye shall rest upon thy form,

The patriot wish my glowing breast shall warm,
And the faint touch that wakes thy tuneless strings,
Again shall lift my soul on fancies wings,
Though backward time direct my ardent gaze,
To long forgotten scenes of ancient days,―

Again for me shall PHPNIAS dare the fied,
And MORNES Sons uprear the golden sheild;
Again alas; their forms in death recline,
And their cold bands the reeking blade resign,-
Again with warlike pomp in earth be laid,
While their fante hodes a weep ng nation's tongue,
While in their praise ten thousand Harps are strung,
To swell the chorus o'er the funeral mound,

And waft their souls to Heaven on Wings of sound.

Z X.

INVOCATION

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