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Have met thy glance in Fashion's festal throng,
Joining the waltz, mazourka, or the song,
When thy fond heart was breaking.... .'mid applause,
I've watch'd thy smile, soul-weeping at the cause :
I've known thee east 'mid this world's treacherous ways,
Remark'd thy cheek whilst shrinking from its gaze:
Admired thee oft in Pleasure's gaudy bower,
And, more than all, in Sorrow's gloomier hour,
'Mid sympathy and sighs......who then can hear
Thy sob nor thrill beneath thy Woman's tear ?
I've seen thee swaying hundreds with thy nod,
Have view'd thee meekly kneeling to thy God!
In adverse days beheld thee patient, calm,
Pouring on others' wounds the precious balm
Thine own most needed..... smiling thro' a tear,
Thy trust in Him who willeth all things here.
I've gaz’d on thee as calm in Death's cold mien
As when in sleep thy slumbering form was seen :
Have stood beside thee on the bed of death,
Thy soul yet lingering to resign its breath
To Him who gave it...... Ah! that awful scene
Recalling now the all that thou hast been.
Thy fondly cherish'd love for ever o'er,
Leaving at heart a feeling, oh! how sore !
A throb how hopeless !

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And oh! I've seen thee at the altar stand,
Plighting in youth thy faith, thy heart, thy hand

To man's allegiance, when he vow'd to be
For life the kindest of the kind to thee!
To love, to cherish, and protect thee thro'
Thy earthly wanderings, faithful, fond, and true
Then leaving thee-how lovely! how forlorn !
Thy life to insult, and thy love to scorn!
Such, Woman! art thou-such whom Man forsakes ;
Whose spirit broken, but the more he breaks ;
Whose heart from all his failings seldom flies,
Whose love, when cherish’d, never, never dies !
Such, Woman, is thy fate-still, still in thee
Man's fairest, fondest, firmest friend I see!
An earthly Saviour thou to him art given,
His fond hope here--nay more-his guide to Heaven !

Oh! there were moments when FITZREYNARD's soul
Life's every throb and feature would controul ;
When every feeling of the mind seem'd wrought,
Intently fixed, on one mysterious thought.
So deep that thought his features would absorb,
Those eyes seem'd soldered in their glassy orb;
Those lips seem'd closed for ever~-o'er that face
Nought but a marble sternness could you trace.
Then every eye that gaz'd on him would pause,
And, shuddering, seek in silence for the cause,

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So fled that darken'd aspect......O'er that brow
Far brighter beams of feeling sparkle now.
Forth from that eye flash more than wonted fire,
Hope, joy, contentment, love, peace, fame's desire.
But oh! when those exciting thoughts had spread
Like gloom and sunshine o'er his brow, and fled;
When that dark dreary vision had pass'd on,
And that fleet flashing meteor too was gone;
When that pure stream of soften'd light that play'd
Around him oft-extremes of feeling sway'd :
'Twas then the twilight of the mind would steal ;
'Twas then the eye gave proof that it could feel :
Then shone that soul like glow-worm's lamp at night;
Then beam'd that brow like moonbeam's soothing light ;
Then, then from all contending passions free,
Tranquil his bark saild o'er life's fitful sea.

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Upon a sofa lay a sleeping child,
Angel in mien, and as an Angel mild ;
Soft were its slumbers, and it seem'd to be
The petrel floating o'er life's stormy sea
Calm amid Nature's passions......there it lay,
Sun-beam of Peace beside Thought's treacherous ray.

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He turn'd--but, gracious Powers! what met his gaze-
What form was that--fond shadow of past days?
One moment gaz'd he as it nearer came,
One look sufficed it was, it was the same !
That face, the smile, the eye, and oh! the look-
That figure..... more his bosom could not brook.
With bursting heart, with feelings nought could quell,
“ Laura !”-he cried-and ere it ceased he fell :
He spoke not, breathed not, moved not from the place
Where he had fall’n..On that now pale face
The mark of Death seem'd gathering--stern Despair
Was hovering o'er those features once so fair :
Striking the contrast, darker even now
Those clustering locks fell o'er that pallid brow.
His hour was not arrived life still remain'd,
Though intellect no longer he retain'd:
Assistance came and bore him to his bed,
Convulsious follow'd, and his reason fled.
Dreadful to watch the progress of the fit......
One moment frantic-then he'd calmly sit,
And talk of Laura, as in happier hours
She wreath'd for him Hope's earliest, fondest flowers.
Thus he remain'd for months...... no change took place
That eye could witness, or that ear could trace.

It was the song he'd loved in happier times
Now falling on his ear like evening chimes,
Thro' the dim, distant twilight of the mind,
Touching the chord round which those notes entwin'd:
He started-paus'd--then listen'dlingerd o'er
The song he'd heard so oft with joy before
From other lips, less rural, but more sweet ;
One moment pass'd--the Maniac's on his feet,
Maniac no longer !......
Feelings long dormant o'er his mem'ry crept,
Those notes restored his reason, and he wept ;
Fearful, yet fast, upon his burning cheek
Tears fell—he tried, but tried in vain to speak.
Oh! 'twas heart-rending then to view the strife
Struggling within 'twixt dark Despair and Life.
But grown more lm, his eye one moment gleamid,
His soul one moment o'er that pale brow beam'd,
On trembling knee before his God he knelt,
With quivering lip, thus, thus he pray'd-he felt.

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Then paus'd, one moment lowly bow'd his head,

“ Laura !"—he sigh’d.....,FITZREYNARD's spirit fled! Dorsetshire,




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I Believe I am not far from scattered over the world, believe

the mark in taking it for me it has proceeded from no granted that your entertaining want of inclination to aid the and spirited publication is open mutual cause, or a lack of gratito every contribution calculated tude to those out-and-out Corto sustain the distinction of its

respondents, whose facetious wits being a genuine Sporting Periodi- have brought on many a twinge cal. As an old reader of its in my swaddled extremities, by enlivening pages I confess my- making me the animated picture self greatly its debtor: many a of "Laughter holding both his pleasant hour have I enjoyed over sides." as the last new Number," in my But to my subject--The Irish, favorite bower at the extremity Mr. Editor, are å race of people of the garden; or by the side of sui generis. I know of none, inthe stream, with the “fool end” deed, on the face of the globe so (as Dean Swift would say) of my prominently distinguished for fishing-rod stuck in the earth; their national attributes and lively or in my lofty cane-backed chair characteristics. By the former I before the genial hearth: and if mean to be understood as referI have not so often as others ring to that warm-hearted philanthrown in my humble mite to- thropy and boundless hospitaliwards the monthly quantum ty which are the eulogy of every



traveller, and the cementing bond posed of old sheets, bags, and of many a friendship. Their blankets, with a pole at the enpeculiarities of manner and senti. trance, and a sheaf of reed, a ment, ludicrous as they are and broken bottle, or a sod of turf at which none laugh more heartily erected for a sign, were discernithan themselves where is the ble among the multitude that man who would not speak of thronged the side of the little them with complacency-smile rising ground before mentioned. indulgently on their foibles-and High above the rest Mick Norwillingly find a liberal apology mile's sign-board waved in the for their less venial errors ?

rising wind. Busy

the I am not, however, going to look of that lean old man as he explore the dark regions of Erin's bustled to and fro among his pigs, political ills-would I could im- kegs, mugs, pots, and porringers. part a perennial sunshine to its A motley mass of felt hats, white scowling horizon but I am muslin caps and ribands, scarabout to relate one of those mirth, let cloaks, and blue riding jocks, inciting scenes so often mingled filled


between the with the hilarious moments of tents, and moved in a continual the natives, and which seldom series of involutions, whirls, and fail to communicate their joye eddies, like those which ous influence to everybody else observable on the surface of a who may happen to witness or fountain newly filled. The horses hear of them.

were to start from the end of the The scene is a Race Course - bay opposite to the winning the prize a saddle. The incidents post, go round Mick Normile's will be gathered from the follow- tent, and the cowel on the hill ing portraiture by one of their side, and, returning to the place own artists.

whence they came, run straight The spot selected for the occa- along the strand for the saddle. sion was the shore of a small This was to be the victor's prize. bay, which was composed of a The solatio victo were to be had at fine hard sand that afforded a the rate of four-pence per tumvery fair and level course for the bler at Mick Normile's tent. horses. At the farther end was a The following insight into the lofty pole, on the top of which characters of the heroes of the was suspended by the stirrup a reins, and of the secret machinery new saddle, the destined guerdon of intrigue which was expected of the

conqueror. A red hand- to interfere with the fair dealing kerchief stripped from the neck of the day, was thus communiof Dan Hourigan, the house- cated by one of a visiting party, carpenter, was hoisted over-head, as the rural equestrians passed and a crowd of country people, by, dressed, notwithstanding the fine- The first whom you see adness of the day, in their heavy vancing, on that poor half-starved frieze great-coats, stood round black mare with the great lump the winning-post, each faction on her knee, and the hay-rope for being resolved to see justice done a saddle-girth, is Jerry Dooley, to its own representative in the our village nailer, famed alike match. A number of tents, com- for his dexterity in shaping the

heads of his brads and demolish- can to win the saddle for himself. ing those of his acquaintances. The two who ride abreast beRenowned in war is Jerry, I can hind Hogan are mountaineers, tell you-Gurtenaspigand Derry- of whose motives or intentions Í gortnacloghy re-echo with his am not aware. The sixth and last fame. Next to him, on that is Lowry Looby. He is the only spavined grey horse, rides John romantic individual of the match. O'Reilly, our blacksmith, not less He rides for love; and it is to esteemed in arms, or rather in the chatty disposition of the lady cudgels. Not silent are the of his affections, our own housewalks of Garryowen on the deeds 'maid, that I am indebted for all of John O'Reilly, and the bogs this information. of Ballinvoric quake when his The signal being at length name is inentioned. A strength given, after a hundred shouts of of arm, the result of their habitual “clear the coorse!” the six horseoccupation, has rendered both men started in good order, and these heroes formidable among with more zeal and eagerness in the belligerent factions of the their faces than was to be found village; but the nailer is allowed in the limbs of the animals which a precedence. He is the great they bestrode. For a few moAchilles, O'Reilly the Talemon ments the strife seemed doubtful, Ajax of the neighbourhood : and victory hovered, with an inand, to follow up my Homeric decisive wing, now over one helparallels, close behind him on met, and now over another. The that long-backed, ungroomed crowd of spectators, huddling creature, with the unnameable together on a heap, with faces colour, rides the crafty Ulysses that glowed and of the assemblage, Dan Hogan, sparkled with intense interest, the process-server. You may encouraged the riders with shouts read something of his vocation in and exclamations of hoarse and the sidelong glance of his eye, vehement applause. “Success! and in the paltry deprecating air success, Jerry!"-"It's done ; a of his whole demeanour. He half-pint wit you Dan Hogan starts as if afraid of a blow when- wins?"--"I depend my


upon ever any one addresses him. As John O'Reilly.”—“Give her a he is going to be married to loose, Lowry” and other exDooley's sister, it is apprehended pressions of a similar nature. by the O'Reillys that he will But ere they again came round attempt to cross the blacksmith's the winning-post, the position of mare; but the smoky Achilles, the horses was altered. O'Reilly who gets drunk with him every rode in front, lashing his horse Saturday night, has a full reliance in the flank with as much force on his friendship. Whether,

as if he were pounding on his however, Cupid or Bacchus will own anvil. Dooley, the nailer, have the more powerful influ- came close behind, drubbing his ence upon the process-server, is a black mare's lean ribs with the question that I believe yet re- calves of his legs, as if designmains a mystery even to him- ing to beat the poor beast out of self; and I suspect he will adopt the last remnant of her wind. the neutral part of doing all he The others followed, lashing their

eyes that

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