When your throat fries in hell's drouth, salt the flame be in

your mouth,

For the treachery you did in Aghadoe.

For they tracked me to that glen in Aghadoe, Aghadoe,

When the price was on his head in Aghadoe;

O'er the mountain, through the wood, as I stole to him with food,

When in hiding lone he lay in Aghadoe.

But they never took him living in Aghadoe, Aghadoe;

With the bullets in his heart in Aghadoe,

There he lay, the head-my breast keeps the warmth where once 't would rest

Gone, to win the traitor's gold, from Aghadoe!

I walked to Mallow Town from Aghadoe, Aghadoe,

Brought his head from the jail's gate to Aghadoe;

Then I covered him with fern, and I piled on him the cairn, Like an Irish king he sleeps in Aghadoe.

O! to creep into that cairn in Aghadoe, Aghadoe!

There to rest upon his breast in Aghadoe!

Sure your dog for you could die with no truer heart than I, Your own love, cold on your cairn in Aghadoe.

FAIRY GOLD.

A BALLAD OF '48.

Buttercups and daisies in the meadow,
And the children pick them as they pass,
Weaving in the sunlight and the shadow
Garlands for each little lad and lass;

Weave with dreams their buttercups and daisies,
As the poor dead children did of old.

Will the dreams, like sunshine in their faces,
Wither with their flowers like Fairy Gold?

Once, when lonely in Life's crowded highway,
Came a maiden sweet, and took my hand,
Led me down Love's green delightful byway,
Led me dreaming back to Fairyland.

But Death's jealous eye that lights on lovers
Looked upon her, and her breast grew cold,
And my heart's delight the green sod covers,
Vanished from my arms like Fairy Gold!

Then to Ireland, my long-suffering nation,
That poor hope life left me yet I gave;
With her dreams I dreamed, her desolation
Found me, called me, desolate by that grave.
Once again she raised her head, contending
For her children's birthright as of old;
Once again the old fight had the old ending,
All her hopes and dreams were Fairy Gold.

Now my work is done and I am dying,

Lone, an exile on a foreign shore; But in dreams roam with my love that 's lying Lonely in the old land I'll see no more. Buttercups and daisies in the meadows

When I'm gone will bloom; new hopes for old Comfort her with sunshine after shadows, Fade no more away like Fairy Gold.

THEOBALD WOLFE TONE.

(1763-1798.)

THEOBALD WOLFE TONE was born in Dublin, June 20, 1763. Mr. Darling, his schoolmaster, acknowledged that he possessed very remarkable talents combined with much want of application. Nothing could induce him to work but his great love of distinction, which even at this early age was a marked feature in his character. The boy found he could master his week's lessons in three days, and he was in the habit of spending his spare time in attending the fielddays, parades, and reviews of the soldiers in Phoenix Park.

He

He was in his eighteenth year when he entered Trinity College, and he relates that, although he worked with a will to prepare for his first examination, he happened to be examined by "an egregious dunce, who, instead of giving me the premium, which, as the best answerer, I undoubtedly merited, awarded it to another." now determined to abandon his studies, and urged his father to furnish him with means to take part in the American war. His father refused, and he says that, in revenge, for about twelve months he did not "" go near the college, or open a book that was not a military one." He returned to his university, where, notwithstanding loss of time and occasional inattention, he gained in 1874 three premiums and a scholarship. About this time he made the acquaintance of Miss Matilda Witherington. She was very pretty, scarcely sixteen, and the heiress of her grandfather: they eloped in 1785. The forgiveness of friends soon followed, and Tone now determined to adopt the law as a profession. In 1786 he was graduated B.A., resigned his scholarship, and, leaving his wife and child with his father, went to London in January, 1787, and entered his name as a student-at-law on the books of the Middle Temple; but this, he said, was all the progress he ever made in his profession. After some vicissitudes in London, he returned to Dublin, and in 1789 was called to the bar. His wife's grandfather presented him with £500 ($2,500), and to make up for his deficiency in law one of his first acts was to purchase £100 ($500) worth of law books. His legal career was short, and, although he had wide acquaintance among the members of the profession and had achieved a tolerable measure of success, his hatred of it increased, and he turned to politics as a relief. About this time he made the acquaintance of Thomas Russell, an ensign, whose "identity of sentiment " formed a tie between them which lasted for life. Tone's devotion to politics now led to the discovery, which he says he might have found in the pages of Swift or Molyneux, "that Ireland would never be either free, prosperous, or happy, until she was independent, and that independence was unattainable while the connection with England existed."

In the summer of 1790 he took a little cottage at Irishtown on the seacoast. In the winter of this year Tone and his friends formed a political and literary club in Belfast; and among other pamphlets

written at this time was 'An Argument on Behalf of the Catholics of Ireland.' He then formed the Society of United Irishmen and began to intrigue with France against England. He was obliged to flee his country. The Catholic Committee presented him with £300 ($1,500), with which he paid his debts, and in June, 1795, he sailed with his wife, sister, and three children for this country. The voyage was not without adventure; his ship was boarded by a British cruiser, and fifty of the passengers and all but one of the seamen were pressed into the naval service. Only the entreaties of Tone's wife and sister prevented his being carried off with the others. They arrived safely at Philadelphia. Here he met Hamilton Rowan and Dr. Reynolds. By the former he was presented to Citizen Adet, the French Ambassador at Philadelphia. He at once laid before him his plan for the invasion of Ireland, which was favorably received, and at the Ambassador's request he drew up a memorial for presentation to the French government.

Tone now seems to have had some idea of settling down as an American farmer; but in the autumn he received letters from Keogh, Russell, and others, detailing the great progress of the cause in Ireland, and urging him to proceed to France at once, and endeavor to secure her aid in the impending struggle. Mrs. Tone, instead of throwing obstacles in his way, encouraged him to proceed in his duty to his country, and so on the 1st of January, 1796, he left for Paris with introductions to the government from Adet. Arrived in Paris, he found in the republican government the realization of his most sanguine dreams. He was met on all sides with a flattering reception, and was created a chef de brigade. After much delay, negotiation, and an interview with Bonaparte, the details of the invasion were settled. He embarked Dec. 16, 1796, in the Indomitable, one of a fleet of forty-three vessels carrying 15,000 troops and a large supply of arms and ammunition,-General Hoche holding the military and Admiral Morand de Galles the naval command. But the weather, which had so often befriended England, again came to her aid. The expedition was ineffectual and Tone says in his journal: "Well, England has not had such an escape since the Spanish Armada; and that expedition, like ours, was defeated by the weather."

Two other attempts were made and failed, and the third expedition, commanded by General Hardy, which consisted of only one sail-of-the-line and eight frigates, containing 3,000 men, failed also. Wolfe Tone had little or no hope of success; but although failure was almost certain death to him, he set out with this expedition, which started on the 20th of September, 1798. He assured his wife on parting that should death overtake him he would never submit to die by the halter. The story of this expedition and its disastrous ending, and of the capture and last hours of Wolfe Tone, is told by Mr. R. Barry O'Brien (q.v.), in his new edition of 'The Autobiography of Wolfe Tone,' and it will be found in the work of that gentleman.