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cAL DE RETZ ?'s PLO 7 )YING HUSBANO, hopes and nar n good and ill. .nd thy power !aye thee now UR T pool SI CHAPTER V interfered in el a warninz. and y nick of time s astonished into riled and slowly advanced, be ; which the crowd formed right himself to one by a sign of the dly word, and approached Fa- Bien, who pale and o ice was with- out timidity or hu only from the im- upon the mob, then an he had just saved from ce So my fr e arrived but just in time a bad action. Do you ble to God and the King nanzuhom you have de- TO binder you from c think that it would 1 thus to malts tained on susp " Monseign ;her, who had been one :rsecutors, " this young ip, because the people ,ueen Anne, hear their man has beaten us 1 that coac%," re tone of voice, loud enough ing crowd " the ladies in it maid the C n that was were but lies of honour who were on their way the Carmelites in the Rue de Vau the Queen, Lehoux, why should sere respect her as your sove- girard ; a I if it had be, not you and reign mistrel .an alums crowd. murwur rau au vugh the Your eminency ias not always said that," said the butcher, i The Co. easy air, and replied htly coloured. turned round with an , smiling, " Come, this is enough— and leave this Door devil, whom you me. I hope you believe me to be a disperse: friends have half k true frienc 3 your cause to trust him in rn tody ? If he has been guilty of any thing blameable, depend upon it, justice shall be done. Adieu, adieu, my children! I have only just returned from a little journey for the good of the state, and I am almost overcome with fatigue." "Long live t exclaimed the crowd, rious or obstinate still e scene would tered them with an air of pe )adly with the grave and mo t on ; and he con the most importu tle troop of mounted id who had till then Luce, came to assist ients afterwards the ad but just now blocked sing affairs which .n_appearance had I ched Fabien, who now iind, from the natural vent as is just detailed, had ressed his thanks to his deli- I rendered him. The s finger on his mouth. in a lovg voice, " what, u but such a fate, for an ye reckoned on your eived in you; but I they desire )le, did not reflect upon nse in which they were lered me an im r death on the battle- t for the service at all t a whic 'erer, for '.n.dint,w He wa of a friend ; bu this rah] " replied he, the mysterious " you have r to you that contact with this said the I do not Coadjutor, looking " do you think that entlemen, when exposing myself too e to make myappear icred calling, " conti- I must re-enter the )ung Mead, where .lompany you? fort presume you would t to return hone and face again the rabble?' " I ai a stran adjutor, cas neither 1 Well, this as it not so ? " I will not sa Ldea, whic " And his condt surpris , to a per ♦oaring to g not yet the youth, with an embar- I have arrived only to-day in Paris, for g upon him a look .e alone here—you have ations, nor companions s not alone at the moment that furious mob cast :onapanied yon basely deserted you ? ir," said Fabien, blushing at the s but too well founded. said the Coadjutor slowly, as if s as unworthy as unlike a bro e Croissi?" started, and could not repress an ex in finding his position so well known t, whom he_had but just seen for the e Coadjutor smiled ising quickness en young friend; ther had good reasons for not shown) with you at that moment, am •on braved with so much 4o not make the rest ar from interest not to n you owe me s do not forget this day. " Adieu, i with thankft e secri rs, who attended him this s his embarrassment, is, as he approached do not fret yourself in endea- enigmas which I suppose tat y y o o u u r tr an ; All I can tell you is, h himself in public d avoiding g the danger which gallantry, but rashness. For :If uneasy in the matter; he s soon as I have turned upon ~ I advise you for your own on our conversation • but if you thi n k anks for the service have done you, at has been given you bien, with astonishment ur deliverance, Join the group otrance of the of ca- THE Coadiu' nip. A off the d ey pro urned out unpleasantly to Fabien s, the two brothers, instead 33 towards the Faubourg St. G main, scended the Quai d mured in the dark and muddy streets of the C Jacques Both sail of the most 1 cham upon the subject and s " Sir," sarcastic tone, " you can t in Paria the Natal oissi ; you must lodz, )ut just to II have to render an accoun io❑ of forms and ce r • Quai des Orieyres, I with languishing eyes,... - inquired— 1, - - -- - A " WPII ! what would you with I the Queen The hair-brained onies of the y order to deliver from n3Y-rO.Y.al—mls"Cre7 ue, true," said the page, who then appeared to re his message; " your beautiful eyes quite bewil rie, charming Montglat. I have come to tell you !e you immediately." said Elizabeth, tremblingly. rapid pace towards the door of THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD. evn. It is t or your ow security Lying n ted my an aqt of the most inconeeiv- u must bear the brunt o I only exposed myself to danger by my folly," could I— t than young man with some bitterness a noble lady whom I love b I —perhaps murderedbefore my eyes? girl the Baron, with somewhat of an air of hat you cannot as yet unders )raiseworthy perhaps in itt:e said tt ought I LO nay Fabien, you know me well enough surely to-be-certain that cowardice was not the cause of my toward the rabbi to you that your rashness has jeopard project for which I require your assis ht to avow important will make, if it succeeds, the fortune of us both." As he said this he heaved a profound sigh. This indul gence and apparent kindliness of manner moved Fabien v,reatly, who ed to the quiet reproaches " Monsieur le Baron," said he, timidly, " I am quite ready to do whatever you wish, and if possible to repair my faults should I be really culpable in your eyes." •. J 7 " and to commence, I have thus decided: you must take up your residence irksome tavern which we shall fall in with, and p .ss yourself off as a person_coming to reside in Paris for the benefit of your helt I will t; ke care to arras some story which you must not contradict, nor must you leave your chamber for some days; and if you are pru dent, and take those precautions which I shall exact from you, all will not probably he lost." " Sir, I consent," said Fabien ; "'and I only hope that ; my submission may prove to you how much I regret hav- ing incurred your " It is well,' said the Baron, with a smile of satisfac- I see, Fabien,_ that you areas prompt to repair le, I have a question to ask you. ad that gentleman le Coadjutor, I mean—who saved you, and who en- conversation with you, ask you your name?" )t tell it him," replied Fabien, slightly colour cting the recommendation of his deliverer. either o " Come, then, things are better than I expected," mur- nne to place confidence in me, and having done so." At this moment they arrived opposite an old and smoky looking house in the Rue de la Huchette. It was not the custom at that time to disguise under pompous names the termed an " hotel," was then only est title of a tavern. A large sign placed efore the door was adorned with three white birds, of a known by the . mo For the present month, is excellent, as usual, both in its illustrations and the quality of its literary matter. The " Chronicles of Clovernook," however, we are sorry to say, are interrupted by the continued indisposition of the edi tor, whom we trust to see next month occupying his ac customed limits. This magazine, so far as its career has hit' you will never repent rto extended, takes a high stand amongst the perio- dicals of the day, and is undoubtedly the cheapest ever given to the world. Taire Edinburgh Magazine for this month its usual varied and interesting matter, a notice of " A Correspon dence between Burns and Clarinda," just published by Mr. Tait, and which, we may fairly predict, will excite the attention of the entire S - . ---.....• .F..“. 011 , C1. ... 11 LUG fJCSJOW .VS aaapp,a.a u .,.. ....cottish people, as calculated oe in any doubt as to their order and class in ornithology, to throw a new, and we fear not brighter light upon the the words written beneath " The three pigeons—good character of their favourite poet. The article in question lodging therein," at once gave him the necessary informa- is ably written, but, as we have noticed the work itself 1 tion. In fact, nothing could be more primitive th an th e elsewhere, we need not here recur to it. The " Scenes appearance of the hostelrie in question. in the Life of an Authoress," commenced in this num- The arrival of the travellers, as may be supposed, pro- ber, promise well ; and " Reminiscences of the Life of duced a great sensation in this plebian quarter; but it Sir Walter Scott" are highly interesting, as indeed must -ed away after they had dismounted and entered be any authentic records of the life and literary career of that great man. The political part of the magazi- soon pass he tavern „, __ .... 6 ,se, as In about a quarter of an hour the Baron dep ar t e d a l one , usual, we shall say little about ; and with respect to the leaving Fabien under the care of the inn-keeper, to whom poetry which it contains, much of which has high merit, he gave instructions in a low voice, and departed on foot we shall only remark, that the absence of ” Verses on towards the aristocratic part of the city, where the Hotel Free Trade, by a Lady," might. with advantage, have Croissi was situated. been omitted. Poetry upon such a subject is but thrown The next morning, at an hour when most of the inha- away ; and a poetical lady might surely find something bitanta of Paris were wrapped in deep slumber, Fabien de more suitable upon which to display any taste or talent Croissi was, conformable to his country habits, up and she may possess. The reviews are, as usual with Tait, stirring. During the night his sleep had been disturbed, excellently and impartially written. and he had many times regretted that he had not inquired of his.brother as to the fate of the young Countess de Montglat. As the appearance of daylight did not dissi- The Abbotßford Edition of Waverley. Edinburgh : Ca dell and Co. ; London : Houlston and Stoneman. • . . . ... ...... •...” ........... ..........•..........•••• pate his inquietade, he determined upon addressing th e N o . 43 o f thi s sp l en did e di t i on of the novels of , the dear companion of his youth ; and scarcely had he corn- Author of Waverley concludes the romance of Ivanhoe menced his task when rapid and heavy steps were heard and the fourth volume. The illustrations continue ex ascending the staircase. Fabien ran to the door, and cellent—none the less so for the acquisition of Franklin found himself in the presence of his brother. as one of their designers. On the first of January, we The Baron was dressed with a simplicity that was not observe, a new monthly issue of the same edition is to be usual with him. His garments were of but one colour, commenced, which will enable those who have not availed and he was without a scarf. His face wore an expression themselves of the opportunity hitherto, to place this most of pleasure mingled with gravity. He did not notice the noble copy of a noble writer's works in their libraries. preoccupation of his brother, but said briskly to the land- lord, who accompanied him, and who bov;ed low to the The Post Magazine Almanack, and Court and Parlia ground, to receive his commands— tuentary Reoister. Plico 6d. W. S. D. PatFtraan. " Have you done us I desired you ? Has any one bee n Wine-Ottice-uuurt, Ficet-street. here ?" The most ably arranged and useful Book of reference " " No, — sir," said the host, with an embarrassed air ; which we have seen. but" " It is well ; leave us," interrupted the Baron, abruptly, without listening to him further. NEW WORKS As soon as he was alone with Fabien, th e B aron cast The Correspondence bet ween B urns an d Cl ar i n d a. Edin - himself into a chair, and said, with c ons id era bl e v i vac i ty, burgh :W. Tait, B vo ., p. p . 297. Phili p, Li verpoo l . he least innniry a. 2 tr. 1,;. With all his frailties— an d th e i r name was "l eg i on "— ' • - poor Robert Burns slept in peace, his genius acknow. ledged, his memory shrined in the hearts of his fellow countrymen, and the tale of his follies fast passing into oblivion. We admired and loved the poet ; we were content, in charity, to cease to remember the man; or, if occa sionally some association or incident of his varied life brought him before us, to regard him only as one of those sad examples of the facility with which splendid talents, a warm heart and amiable feelings are dragged to earth and defiled by unruly and ill regulated passions, combined with bodily infirmity. The publication of this corres pondence has however once more drawn the shroud from before the face of the dead. We are compelled again to contemplate the wayward character of the poet and the man ; and, with these added materials before us, to view it, we fear, in a darker shade than even that, which had previously rested upon it, and obscured so much of its brightness. health, after so much fatigue. "" " All goes as well as one could wish," my dear Fabien ; " your adventure of yesterday has caused considerable conversation in Paris; but no one knows the name of the hero, and my friends and myself think we can at once commence operations." Fabien listened in silence, expecting that his elder bro ther would explain these enigmatiCal words. " You do not yet comprehend me," continued the Ba ron in a serious tone; " but the moment is now arrived when I ought to dissipate the mystery that appears to en velope my proceedings. You shall now know all." So saying, he closed the door with a considerable show of precaution before he reseated himself; then drawing near to Fabien, he spoke in so low a tone that if any lis tener had been placed at the extremity of the chamber, he would not have been able to gather a single word. CHAPTER VII The circumstances under which these letters of the poet are now for the first time given entire to the world do not at all reconcile us to the propriety and advantage of their publication. Of that, however, it is not our province to complain ; and we shall therefore at once proceed to ex plain the facts which they develope, and the feelings and situation under the influence of which they were written. Towards the close of the year 1787, after the eminent suc cess of the first edition of his poems, and when he was sounewb- Gives the gentle reader a slight i❑ ht of the way afterwar es him into the very t On the morning of the same day, the COUT the grand gallery of the Palais-Royal, pearance of the queen-regent, Anne court at this epoch of troubles and factions, did not exhi bit that brilliant and animated appearance which it mani- tiers crowded awaiting the ap of Austria! The of a lion at Edinburgh, the poet spent an even ing at the house of a friend, on which occasion he was in troduced to Mrs. M•Lehose, (Clarinda,) the deserted wife of a writer, (lawyer,) who had left her, with two children, and was then residing in Jamaica. At this in terview both parties were much struck with each other, Burns finding in his new acquaintance a beautiful and ta lented woman, of pletical temperament and ardent dispo sition, and she in him that dangerous description of male friend, towards whom the sympathies of such a woman so rapidly warm into love. A correspondence was immedi ately commenced between them, commencing, of course, in the strain of friendship and compliment, and rapidly verging, as might have been expected, into one of raptu rous, though platonic, affection. Both were enthusiasts ; and the heart of one—the lady—was disengaged, if not also the heart of Burns. Mrs. McLehose however was wedded to another ; whilst Burns, legally at liberty, was lly bound to Miss Jean Armour his " lovely ..a" who was subsequently his wife, and was already the mother of his first children (twins,) and in a fair way to be again a mother. For this second l; fested at a later date, in the time of the ostentatfou . Louis XIV. ~.csence of a few ladies enlivened, nevertheless the appearance of a court, the dullness of whit..— origin to the quarrels and intrigues of the facti med its Amongst those who still came to pay their respect. _ Queen, the Duchess of Chevreuse might be especially.re marked. She was a tall woman, with a haughty and -. )oK, and one whose appearance was that of a su perannuated coquette. Her daughter, who accompanie4 her, was a pretty and lively girl. but possessed of a „pt, lant and impatient temper. - Madlle. Chevreuse, it was thought, held no insignificant a place in the good opinion of the Coadjutor. Near the grand entrance which opened into the apartments of the Queen were found the maids of honour waiting until their service was required by their royal mistress ; mingling with them were the officers of the guard in brilliant uniforms, while young abbes, smell ing strongly of musk and ambergris, coquetted first with le and then another; pages passed to and fro, in gay laughing merrily at the anecdotes and witticisms passing about. , costume .apse from It appeared as if on this occasion there bad been some- virtue, she had been expelled from the paternal home thing more than common to amuse the courtiers—some and it was whilst detained by an accident upon his jour other source of gaiety than the sonnets of Benserado or ney to see her (in the home which he had provided for Voiture : there was a rumour afloat of the disturbance her) and to make her his wife, tbat the bulk of the corres caused the preceding evening by the appearance of the pondence in this volume took place, as well as the inter carriage of the Queen upon Pont Neuf, and the event was views—passionate and dangerous they appear to have been spoken of in a hundred contradictory versions. on both sides—which are referred to by them. In the midst of the graceful group of maids of honour, On both sides, the letters exhibit fearful deviations from there was oae person present who could have given, had propriety, of thought at least; and on that of Burns a she chosen to do so, the particulars of the riot on Pont- sad, sad want of good taste. Clarinda is, of course, rap- Neuf better than any other : this was Mlle. de Montglat. turous in her expressions of admiration, and yet conscious She was dressed with all the eclat which the nature of her of the impropriety of the intercourse in which she is en occupation near the Queen required—diamonds adorned gaged —now lecturing him upon his confessed irregulari her neck and hair, but her pale and wearied features con- lies, and now schooling him in religion. His replies ex trasted straagely with her brilliant toilet. Her eyes were hihit a much greater desire to skew off, as a letter writer red as if with weeping during the night, and traces of tears and a sentimentalist, than to pay due respect to the cha still remained on her lovely countenance. ratter, and regard for the happiness, of one whom he pro- It was in vain that several idlers came to interrogate her fesses so devotedly to adore. What, for instance, can be upon the events which formed the subject of conversation. more open to the suspicion of hollowness and insincerity She only replied by monosyllables, and in a tone of slight than the following, written after one of their interviews? impkience, as if she had a secret repugnance to trust the " SYLVANDER TO CL ARINDA. scat' al-loving courtiers with a recital of an adventure " Sunday Morning, (27th Jan.) which touched herself so nearly. " I have just been before the throne of my God, Cla- The Duchess of Chevreuse, her protectress, fancyi ng rinda. According to my association of ideas(!), my senti that she would doubtless be m o re f avoure d th an othe rs , ments of love and friendship, I next devote myself to you. advanced towards her, with a slow and majestic step, and Yesternight I was happy—happiness' that theworld cannot said, smilingly, a few words in a low confidential tone of give.' I kindle at the recollection ; but it , is a flame voice. But the young Countess, wh en s h e p erce i ve d h er where i nnocence l oo k s sm ili ng on, an honour stands by, proximity, could not restrain herself from the expression a sacred guard. Your heart, your fondest wishes, your of an involuntary gesture of terror, and she replied, in a dearest thoughts, these are yours to bestow (! !) : your stifled tone— person is unapproachable : and he loves not as I do who "Do not ask me, madame; I have already answered would make you miserable." you too many questions. It is you that have betrayed me." Wretched obliquity of principle and morality this, ad- The haughty lady lifted up her head, and cast upon the dressed to one whose heart should have been as faithfully poor girl a disdainful look. - kept as her person, by one whose heart and h- d s.-- ..and were _ . .. " Little ingrate," murmured s h e ' . be as discreet as you already pledged, and morally bound, t o ano th er ! N or will—in time I s h a ll k now th e t rut h." are all the nice distinctions with which Clarinda seeks to Turning her back upon Elizabeth de Montglat, she lay down the boundaries which friendship may approach walked away with a slow and majestic pace. without becoming unholy love, in much better taste, ac- Having ceased to torment her victim, she contented companied as they are by lamentations that she is " formed herself by whispering, and pointing her finger towards the with emotions that she dare not indulge." Some passages spot where Elizabeth stood, when the door of the royal too of the lady he r gran d son ( w h o p u bli s h es the corre apartments opened, and a smart little page, twelve or thin- spondence to shield her memory from reproach) might teen years old, with a pert and flippant air, entered the advantageously have paused over before he took such a grand saloon. The bystanders flocked towards him, f an - step. The following is an instance in point :—" Last night eying that he was the bearer of some message the secret mu Ft have shown you Clarinda, not `divine', but as she of which they each wished to partake; but the boy, mali- really is. I can't recollect some things I said without a ciously treading on the toes of the most curious, advanced degree of pain. Nature has been kind to me in several towards Elizabeth, making her a profound obeisance, respects ; but one essential she has denied me entirely : shes to s boy, ments, without paying attention to the ,o attempted to drag her by the hand in 'as alone, seated in her spacious bed- (To be continued.) NOTICES +nr sERIA.Ls. If i Ireland before and after the Union with Great Britain By R. Montgomery Martin, Esq. London :W. S This work, of which we have t by far ttl .st two numbers be with regard to the most instructiv question of Repeal, which years of controversy upon that question have elicited ; and we can confidently recom mend it to the perusal of every lover of Ireland's true pros perity and greatness. In the first number Mr. Martin enters into a brief account of the state of Ireland previ ous to her union with this country—and a dark picture indeed it presents to us !—and traces the progress of that feeling, which ultimately carried the measure of 1800. NI, 2 Itement of histori y confirmatory documents, demolishes pleas by which sedition mongers of Ireland and England,—how s .the loud assertions bawled daily erly such a s specious and lii . Ireland was the party injured or sought to be injured in her social position by that measure ! The second number deals with the question of alleged injury to the manufactures and commerce of Ireland by tk. Union withGreatßritain ; and shews by the production of an arranged mass of statistical and documentary evidence that, since the Union, the commerce, tl- in our ears Ae shipping, and the manufactures of Ireland have sustained, not a decline but, a vast increase! The work is to consist of 7 parts; and when completed will be an invaluable record, pub- Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry. By William Carleton. Dublin . Curry and Co. The number for this month concludes the story of "going to Maynooth ;" one highly amusing toEnglishmen, who are ignorant of the kind of stuff of vhich is formed the " makings of a Priest," in Ireland, and are therefore oc casionally aghast at meeting the full-fledged specimens, to be seen in that country wherever a popish masshouse meets the eye of the wayfarer. Mr. Carleton is a keen observer of men and manners ; and the most faithful pourtrayer ex tant of men and manners in Ireland, and especially amongst The next number is to be devoted to Toole's courtship. The Illuminated Magazine, it is that instantan acknow rofessedly dear to lira, should surely have convinced Burns of the danger of the precipice upon which they both stood, and of the pro- A r .• . . . . gemen , from one priety of relinquishing their interviews, made as they were with every possible degree of secrecy. And yet in another letter, in reply to one in which Clarinda informs him of ••••- , ..111u4 1111 Vllll3 HIM lit her alarms atthe indecorum of such interviews, we find him saying, " Do not let us impose upon ourselves by sounds. If in the moment of fond endearment and ten der dalliance (the italics are our own) I perhaps trespas sed against the letter of decorum's law, I appeal, even to you, whether I ever sinned, in the very least degree, against the spirit of the strictest statute ?" And conti nues, " Now my love, do not wound our next meeting with any averted looks or restrained caresses ?" Whilst he thus describes the feelings by which he himself is im pelled—" Oh, love and sensibility, ye have conspired against my peace ! I love to madness and I feel to tor ture !" Within a month after the composition of this piece of high-flown sentimentalism, the poet was at Kilmarnock, writes C about to pre twa wee sarkies" to the eldest of the twin children of " bonnie Jean ;" and from this period up to the time of his marriage (in about another month) the correspondence was still carried nn_ That orant whin!, Burns ju whilst he 4...5.n..uaca lllb professions or love to Clarinda, .., stating that, during their correspondence, he had not been " under the smallest moral tie to Mrs. Burns," produced an estrangement between them ; an d a l t h oug h a f ew l etters passed subsequently, these were only the interchange of mutual courtesy, and were comparatively cold on both sides. The feeling, which the volume now published must produce upon most readers, can scarcely be other than one of deep regret and reprobation. With Clarinda herself, who appears to have been, with the exception of this un fortunate passion, an estimable and amiable woman, the world has little to do. But the character of the poet is the world's property;" and his friends and admirers can not but regret a publication which so materially darkens the blotted page of his h a doubt whether he was at an , His most toucl ' e which t time capable of sic ley must now appear, lose much of their charm, when we once begin to suspect that the ardour which they breathe is affectation, and that the feelings which they pourtray come from the pen, or the fancy, and not the heart. We regret, therefore, on every ground, that such a cor respondence has, after a lapse of fifty years, and in a changed stale of public feeling and morals, been given to the world; and yet, having been so given, it must now assume the position of an integral feature in the poet's life and writings. As specimens of epistolary composition the letters themselves are honourable to the talents of both writers, and especially to those of the lady; and their perusal may serve as a warning against the indulgence of the kind of feeling under which they were both written. The work is beautifully got up by Mr. Tait, and will, no doubt, find an extensive circulation. The Perils of the Nation : an Appeal to the Legislature, the Clergy, and the Higher and Middle Classes. Se cond edition revised. London : Seeley, Burnside, and Seeley, Fleet-street. Fes modern publications of the same class have at tracted a greater amount of attention than the work be fore us. Its bold and manly tone—its genuine English sentiments—its fearless condemnation of the utilitarian spirit of the day ; and, above all, its earnest recognition of Christian principle and Christian requirements, as the basis of legislation, and the only true test of the healthy condition of the social machine, were novelties, startling enough to wake up the dullest amongst the worshippers of expediency. Detached passages from it have been pub lished, in the columns of most of the journals in the in terest of conservatism, accompanied by commendatory remarks ; and, indeed, so extensively is it thus known to the world, and its value recognised, that it may appear almost a work of supererogation to bestow upon the second edition now before us a critical notice. We do this, however, with a view to convey to those of our readers, who have not perused the work itself, but contented themselves with the abundant extracts laid before them by the press, the general objects of the writer, and as fair an idea as we can of the measures and policy, by which he proposes their• accomplishment. In the outset of the work, the writer lays it down as a fact, of which he is thoroughly convinced—and he is not singular in the opinion —that Great Britain is at this mo ment menaced with convulsion, arising from the social dis organization of her masses. To establish this position, he proceeds to examine into the social and physical state of the " manufacturing poor"—the " workshop labourers" —the " commercial poor"—and the " agricultural poor"— all of whom he shews, by the production of a mass of documentary and statistical evidence, to be sunk in fear ful demoralization, intense bodily suffering, mental dark ness and error, and rapid progression to complete pauper ism. From such a state of the working population of any country, it is stark madness to anticipate anything save evil—anything less than civil and social convulsion ; and the more especially is such a state of things amongst that working population dangerous, when there is a total ab- Bence on the part of the classes above them, and of the legislature as well, of a disposition to adopt those kindly measures of amelioration, which are required for the per manent restoration of the afflicted and disaffected masses to a condition of wealth and contentment. The cause, and the growth, of this threatening source of evil is, we submit, justly, attributed by the writer, amongst other concurrent circumstances, to a vicious sys tem of legislation which has prevailed for the last half century, and to the adoption, by many successive gevern-• ments, of a false and infidel philosophy, as the basis and test of their measures. For years past we have been le gislating for Liao w 0015.4 qf /A. lo coot's-arias 'io.ot;oa to the happiness of the nation. From the petty trades man to the millionaire—from the small farmer to the lord of a thousand acres—throughout all ranks and all condi tions of the people, has sprung up a wild thirst for gold ; for the gratification of which no sacrifice of principle, of honesty, of humanity, even, is esteemed too great. To promote the growth of capital—its accumulation in masses—we have added farm to farm, sweeping our once happy cottiers from their loved holdings, into the condi tion of totally dependent labourers or paupers, and driving thousands of once substantial cultivators to struggle in vain for other farms, upon which to bestow their industry, and rear their families in comfort, with the too certain prospect in view of ultimately sinking into the class be neath them. And all this mass of misery is created to enable a comparatively small number of men to grasp in dependence and riches upon large farms of 1,000 or 1,500 acres. For the gratification of the same unworthy passion we have depressed everywhere the price of labour; we have decreased the profits of industry and enterprise ; and as the result we have c eated, and are fast widening, a gulf between poverty and wealth—on one side lashing to fury a vast mass of passionate, despairing, demoralized human beings, whom, at the same moment, we torture and goad by the display, on the other side, of the heaps of hoarded wealth which avarice and selfish philosophy have wrung out of their misery. Nor is this the worst feature of the system in which we are as a nation embarked. Avarice has not only entered into and taken possession of the national mind, but has brought with it other demons, of strength and wickedness equal to its own. The teaching of our modern philosophy tells us not only to board—to scheme•—to " get money ;". but it bids us also throw away all scruple with respect to the honesty of the means which we employ. The " cutting tradesman" who embarks in business without capital or the prospect of capital adequate to the conducting of his busi ness upon the old principle of fair dealing,—who squanders thousands in tricky embellishments and other devices to hide his want of resources, and after a few years of " sel ling off at large sacrifices," finds his way ultimately into the Gazette,—is, at the close of his career, only " a spirited man!" He has scorned the jog -trot pace of his more honest forefathers. He has ventured and lost a stake which was not his; and he is—not a swindler—oh no ! he is only an unfortunate man. Another roll of the dice would have enabled him to " pull through ;" and then lie would have been a rich man, although old-fashioned peo ple might have been disposed to call him only a successful swindler. One natural result of the operation of such a system of business, and such a code of commercial morality, is the abandonment of the principle of equitable dealing. Every tradesman in the present day is bent upon underselling his neighbour. Cheapness is the infallible road to success ; and how is this to be attained ? By reducing the wages of the labourer, in part ; by the introduction of inferior ma terials; by the perpetration, in fact, of cruelty upon the operative, or fraud upon the consumer. To what misery has not the operation of this evil principle led ! It fills our workhouses ; it has heaped our streets with vice and wretchedness. It is the source of a thousand weekly MURDERS of miserable victims, whom it condemns to toil, half naked and famished, in garrets and cellars, for the paltry wages which it offers, as the only alternative to save them from utter starvation, or that infamous and death dealing instrument which we have provided for the pun ishment of poverty, a UNION WORKHOUSE ! What is a country where such a mass of evil and suffering exists less than a reeking pesthouse ? To remedy the present condition—perilous condition— of the nation, the writer of the work under notice would have us to go back to the honest ways of our forefathers; to legislate for its cure upon Christian principles; to protect the labourer; to provide for him the blessings of a religious education, and, in addition to merely legislative measures, he endeavours to stir up in individuals and classes, a disposition to cultivate, to the utmost of their ability, the happiness of their dependants and those beneath them in worldly station. Many of his appeals, upon the necessity of this policy ar•e admirable, alike in spirit and in substance; and the whole are cha racterised by a spirit of charity, humanity, and right feel ing, and are strengthened by unanswerable evidence of their wisdom and sound policy, drawn from Scriptural au thority. As a nation, we are urged to reject the errone ous teaching of human philosophy, and to return to the teaching and guidance, in all our dealings with one another, of the only safe guide—the word of God. The concluding passage upon this subject we must quote, even at the risk of being accused of prolixity : " The subject" (the peril of the nation, and the means to be devised for its removal) " will, doubtless, engross much of the attention. of the legislature during the coming session ; and that their consultations may be di rected to the advancement of God's glory, the good of his church, and the safety', honour, and welfare of our Sove • reign and her dominions, is a prayer that ought to issue from the ground of every heart. Meanwhile, this fact stares us in the face: England is in imminent peril; she has within herself abundant means for the removal of all from which that peril springs, if each among her well informed classes will do his duty, first by searching and trying his own ways, that he may return to the Lord in whatsoever he has depsrteil from Him,—secondly, by using the full amount of his influence to disseminate right principles where they are obviously needed, through igno- , enly combining about improvements which w p-rrnanent establis In all this, the word of God m it is vain to r ,ce confiden it on a right basis of what nor ust be taken I Go any other. Pri lived 1 to the I of him, an'—you seen their Ns Idin'." consistent Bishop; iyin for love G LEOPOLD'S OPINIONS OF GEORGE III.—" 1113 ; h ' ; said Prince Leop o ld t o hi s f at h er -i n -13w,. e Ma.les t Y re, that his i z a g l a t z d i t e n h t e e e . rui da i w n en ° d that on of sqnshin, they will beat upon our house, and that founded upon unless it prove to be inde winds to blow ge r rogmore refe rs t o a morn i ng f ete g i ven by King wa d a the Third, in the open air, at which some of the Ln e ll,?„ performers were commanded to attend, and station a s ; different parts of the gronnds to sing and afford au ° d esse uriAISTMAS. went to the royal guests. His Majesty having W I. , s or (From the Illuminated Magazine.) a wish for a repetition of some song o f Inclek n a d to Muuden's, it was respectfully intimated that they that the Now do the the spells of home revive in their ancient th'o'd old perform at Covent-garden in the evening, and weight, within the breasts of many and many a household time was approaching. " Then, pray," said the good and, long sundered from the hearths round which they King, "go at once. I will not have my peop el" Be,-)Georg. clustered in their early childhood; and the young wife, pointed ;" and, turning to the Prince of Wales, ~ to who had well-nigh forgotten the innocent gambols of her oblige me by seeing Mr. Munden and Mr. Incled.oo. girlhood, feels her heart quicken at the music-sounds of their carriage." His royal highness, with his her hoyden sister's voice ; and the brother, who in the ble deportment, took each of the actors by the arm! dense struggles and the turmoil of a selfish world, had soiled the . ~. t 11. dens .• .. . the nnlion ~,,....,/...1,1- _1 • froP Gair anirir ra 1..:,. ..-....L . usual f a t a SELECTIONS, haise was in waiting, s ouch t"e ere dsitiolioekir bands at parting.—lllemoirs of Munden. LorS POLITICAL OPINIONS OF THE PRINCESS CHAP fof AND OF PRINCE LE OPOLD .—The political senticaei. To aces and the well r r., ire the dark a n d c h eer l ess homes of season by the angel visits of smiling and grief forbears to .0 penury lighted for,. charity ; a"d want forgets to pint __,_, -- --............., .rnt.... t;pCill LlctllU anu gentle, voice, .... piii,,. auu princess also beautifully haririonib. ,- own pours forth her store of alms and consolation ; and be- Prince Regent made it his first care (to adopt his neath the holy and beautiful influences of the period, men's hearts are touched wtth compassionate and kindly words) to instil into the mind and heart of his daug e b o t n el : the knowledge of the true principles of the British „ 0 . feelings towards their felows ; and the ties of common stitution, and always pointed out to her that the g° c % - d,. fellowship and brotherhood are recognised and felt by ment, acting under that constitution, ought to he ~, men of all classes and persuasions; and the clear strong ministered for the true and solid dignity of the crow.•j;:e light of an universal festival shines equally upon all—on and for the real security, freedom, and happiness or ,!'„i the dwellings of the peasant and the peer —on the palace and HIP nonr_bnylesa •_.....-1 people. Prince Leopold was a Whig, not more adyv,polue`ct i a tempered in nis opinions, h owever , t h an was Lord Grey. I ,!: - a i.. Now does s s his lordship as an examp l e, s i mp l y b ecause t h er e '',. ii - • _ ways a sufficient.qua"'' e an nserva ti si n a bout his Li ler" both safe sad n Gernianv was 1 liberal garuea as a man undoubtedly holding som wh at el i o n• — E ,." uy surprise beneath its licence opinions. And the princess, in England, wis unqu s oti , giving branches, glow with a rich rose blush, raised Iran- opinions. looked upon as imbued with moderately whig slitical siently by the hearty impress of the startling kiss. Now merits. Both, when married, agreed that their P° .. or do the waits startle the "drowsy ear of night" with their creeds should in no respect be obtruded on the court harmonious dis.cord, and choleric old gentlemen, aroused the public; and although the Dukes of Kent and 5,,, r,, es from their first sleep, invoke the plagues of Egypt to rain were more frequently consulted by them than the P o u_: i d on all such somnifugous minstrels, and once more bury of York, Clarence, or Cumberland, yet Prince Le Pl . :, their heads within their yielding pillows, to woo old Som invariably•studied to avoid all political discussion s, , s 4 nus to their drooping eyelids. Now do postmen, coach never allowed his own views to interfere in the least 6 :" men, watchmen, beadles, pew-openers, shopmen, milk his or his consort's attachments.—Fraser's 411afinz in ~,s 5 men, scavengers, waiters, and errand-boys, grow superla tively and unaccountably civil, to the innocent amazement MRS. TODGERS ON COURTSHIP.— MY of yourself, until boxing-day arrives, and then the mys- Pecksniff, you may depend upon it," said Mrs. Todgserh',,, tery is solved—the reason manifest. Now the small green- " that he is burning to propose." "My goodness : or ; coated boys, with swollen red hands, blue cheeks, and don't he then !" cried Curry. "Men are so roue , ' Tuodg frozen noses, looking all shrunk and shivering, obtrude timid than we think 'em, my dear," returned Mrs - t he dear Au... their long and pictured scrawls of caligraphy upon your ers. " They baulk themselves continually. I saw a nd notice, and crave, with " bated breath," some numisma- words on Todgers's lips for months and months. i tteu tic token of your approbation. Now is a walk upon a months, before he said 'em." Miss Pecksniff sub r°l , oh breezy common, with wind due east, the snow knee-deep, that Todgers might not have been a fair specimen. „,... -......,.,. below freezing-point, a feat of va- yes he was. Oh bless you, yes my dear. I wa s vers d r o ft s, B e t i de .. and cheery"triinitgh' t s o fo lo r o g k e, o o p n on a . fr N os o t w y b ti r c i u d l l a h r ig i . n th ,, o N se o d , a n y o s,. I yasosuoregiyvoeu,m"rs.aidmodrsieTao _..k, is a breakfast of strawberries, a noontide siesta upon the encouragement, Miss Pecksniff, if you wish him to sr s ' iiro ' green sward, a bathe by twilight in the " freshet brook," ; and he'll speak fast enough, depend upon it. "I am Airs. to be numbered among the " Pleasures of Memory ;" and 1 I don't know what encouragement lie would violets, ; reen leaves, the plaint of nightingales, wall-fruit, 1 Todgers," returned Charity. "He walks and gipsy parties, to be ranked with those of Hope. Now ' and plays cards with ine, and he comes and sits alone jo i cii. are the butchers prodigal of their smiles and gas, lavish me.' " Quite right," said Mrs Todgers. " That's o ," in fair white cloths and berried holly, and rivals in the spensible, my dear." "And he sits very close to T, he display of huge and over-fed carcases, especially in beeves. " Also quite correct," said Mrs. Todgers. " Ar T i o dg.. Now do grocers alluringly set forth a rich array of spices looks at me." "To be sure he does," said Mrs' chair or and fruits, candies and conserves, product of ers. " And he has his arm upon the back of the 1 " India, East or West, or Middle Shore, sofa, or whatever it is —behind me, you know • , egios In Pontus, or the Punic Coast, or where should so," said Mrs. Todgers. " And then ° he be Now Alcinous reigned." to cry !" Mrs. Todgers admitted that he might do !lee- Now is a confectioner's shop a tempting thing to holiday than that ; and might undoubtedly profit by the r eco tie of boys, whose store of silver coin is burning in their tion of the great Lord Nelson's signal at the ba r .. , n ot pockets ; and greedy looks are turned towards the ice Trafalgar. Still, she said, he would come round,.T g i s s within, from snow and ice without ; and many conjectures to mince the matter, would be brought round, " e d • ly s how formed as to the relative worth of the sugared cakes— i Pecksniff took up a decided prisition, and plain sprinkled with ornaments and imagery —until at length ' him that it must be done.—Martin Chuzzlewit. ~ eater the contemplated purchase is effected, and fruition of the MISTAKE IN EDUCATION.—" There is not a s r the Twelfth.niglit cake forestalled, by craving and impatient and more reprehensible mistake in education thaL or y appetites. .. .Now do old alms-men, who have out- raging propensity of compelling children to e xtraot.w" ,d pro converse their kindred and generation, resort for warmth and (mental) exertions, and exacting from them a rapid /heir converse to the rude settles ranged before kitchen-fires, press; this is the grave both of their health and I d s t and mutter between their shrivelled lips and toothless talent, and notwithstandin all that has been said n n — p e re have, wit w re .t % gums, old tales of by-gone days and Christmas celebra- it by men of great abilities, g who have attacked wi tu r ;il.... . guns_ old than success, it is still by far too coma . ° ~.„_ j "In their hot youth, when George the Third was king." (Tissot on the Health of Men of Letters.) This e a r 6 c ;et shall repeat with Tissot, is designed for bodily exstody, Now do the visages of thriftless debtors look blank and rueful, and creditors hazard wide calculations on the re- which strengthens the frame, and not entirely fbr aren ta ' which enfeebles it and checks the growth. 0 ! ye p l atu rest suits of settling-day. Now is there awful carnage among lay to heart this discourse in favour of innocent er' r .. d u i to turkeys, destruction in the game-field, and slaughter in whom nature relying on your affection, has delivene, who, the barn-yard. Now are the " up" coaches laden with defunct and feathered bipeds from the countyy. and the your hands—who are your own flesh and blood —"a a nd o n with amiable simplicity, in a great measure dePe ae its "down" freighted with living and smoke-dried importa you for their destiny ! "Love childhood—enco?ra or you tions from the city. Now are those all-important func sports, its pleasures, its amiable instinct. Whie n is tionaries, the cooks, stirring betimes, and very crimson are their rotund shining frontispieces, and very red their has not sometimes regretted that age—when the mouth_ i lly at ever decked with smiles, and the mind continu i round plump arms, very greasy their chubby fingers, very of chip eloquent their untiring tongues, in "amorous descant" by lye very , th e on the joints and puddings•beneath their supervision, and dpereancew?iir promote the dEerveeinoptehmeeinnntoocfentht mind,theesports ercising and strengthening the organs, without which.. 0 . very onerous their labours deemed—to toil when all the the iou world keeps holiday ! act of thinking is impracticable; and they lay _ O Ol Now do the bright and laughing faces of happy youth dation of that harmony between the corporal and !fro, is faculties, from which probably arises what we r f„ t f or peer at you from within and without the laden stages, rnore:r ao i t y swarming post-chaises, and vehicles of every description, sound understanding. Children will remain instruction, if we do not break the string of their c P oo l and their loud laughter rings in loud and joyful peals for it, by too early overstraining : nay, they osla}:_„.. it above the clattering hoofs and rumbling wheels that speed it perpetually, if we have but the art of interic I'"" ii . at the them on their journey; and every milestone that is left with their bodily exercises. Ridicule—lt is true th_ isc es behind serves to make those faces brighter—that laughter louder than before • and now do the radiant .enuntenaneea or dellgnted childhood, beaming with boisterous mirth at singularity of gymnastic exercises would in so,PV' s coal attract notice, and mtgnt excite laughter : but it tut t ou r every magic change of Harlequin, mischance of Panta- be deemed a sufficient reason for neglecting "t, e nn ish loon, gesture and grimace of Clown, meet you in every reason approves as proper to be done, we must re l D7 o ity. well filled box, pit, gallery, of the gay and crowded thea- every improvement in the least striking for its e° ll this tre. Now in the long dark winter evenings do humble "Whatever people may say or do,' . ' says Stove f: iihs elf companies of five and six huddle around your door, very subject, "no man of probity should suffer "d tai , chaunting rude carols of " the seven good joys that Mary to be deterred from the direct road to a great _ ar c l iou ht.• portant end. An intelligent schoolmaster will uu to pler had," with many a natural trill and quaver, ln patient expectancy of some remunerating pittance. Now do the edly encourage his scholars, both by precept and ex t , roo , a quiet dim interiors of grey old village churches show in every thing that respects the care of the body,„ i' ~m . ,s i cal strangely and solemnly, f es t oone d w i th wreaths of glossy r sense of duty."—R uguen i n ' s Treat i se o n evergreens; and monki s h carv i ngs look grimly through Education. the dark and shining leaves; and vaulted roofs give plea sant echoes to the choral anthems of children clad and taught by charity. Now does the great dining-room at "the old house at home," with its dark shining wainscot ,neslov and beaming winter wainscot ing, its he av y d rapery, i ts h uge wood fire, the gleesome faces,circle there assembled, n s it lookedthe o f sparkling yorea _ wines home." en gleams wi ray upon the inmates of the gloomy prison. the mystic mistletoe depend from porch anc e man of I. The r his or(i lorous darin Now is a blaci night, a comforta $1 TDe Sa BRIGHTON AND LOND ON ATMOSPHERES•*-- it 9 last was here o ne o f th e b r i g h test and most b r illiant thu s of the season. On that day an artistical friendois writes from London :—" D o te ll me whet h er you ha„ jos! morning a very bri g ht or a very foggy sky. W now (2 o'clock) e merg i ng f rom darkness WI i nto ne utral —Brighton Gazette. w ing WEALTH OF THE ORLEANS FAMILY.--The 1 0 ' I v a re details of the wealth o f Louis Philippe an d his far" ° ":,;t:- - . given by tke Co mmerce — a v i olent imos ition jog The House of O r l eans possesses in France the foPn° forest property GOING TO MAYNOOTH - - - (From Carleton's Traits and Stories of the Irish Pea santry.) Denis then shook hands with them all, not forgetting honest Phadrick Murray, who exclaimed, as he bid him farewell, " Arrah ! Misther Denis, aroon, won't you be thinkin' of me now an ' thi n i n the College! Faix, if you always argue as bravely wid the Collegians as you did the day you proved me to be an ass, you'll soon be at the head of them !" " Denis," said the uncle, " your father excuses me in rvard of havin' to attend my cattle in the fair to-day. You won't be angry wid me, dear, for lavin' you now, as my road lies this other way. May the blessin' of God and his holy mother keep you till I see you agin ! an', Denis, if you'd send me a scrape or two, letting me know what a good parish 'lid be worth ; for I intend next spring to go wid little Barny to the Latin !" This Denis promised to do ; and after bidding him fare well, he and his friends —some on horseback and numbers on foot—set out on their journey; and as they proceeded through their own neighbourhood, many a crowd was collected to get a sight of Denis 0' Shaughnessy goiny to Maynooth. l' vi e etare s i Immovable dotatio n o f th e C rown ........ g9oooi „ Old apanage of Orleans, added to the im- } 58, 79 ' 1 movable quotation of the preceding reign•• 41 09 Private domain, minimum- ' • SO ° 4349 Woods and forest s o f th e d'O r l eans f am ily. • 39° - 03 Total hectares .... 2 d -tor „ s One thousand s i x h un d re d hectares of groin ~/o c e "„ square league, so th a t th e a b ove forests cover a wens' 151 square leagues. We do not include in thisponds' property farms, meadows, arable land, mill% n ot is parks, chateaux, and palaces by the dozen ; we. a dvari c chide 12,000,000 f. collected by twelfths, aria 000, the the pecuniary quotation of the civil list ,• the„q, o f the ( 3 B o r o i a , O r O e . 0 f. of the Queen of the Belgians, the annual 1,00 0 % ° ",,,ti0n ; whose the tariffs oi3e a r r t e y the i n Count de Paris, and the Duchess of Orleans do. an d asu 01- so re tio ef the which the Duke of Orleans had in the indeniniitiv33o and f e leB l 3 , be a y n i n t t emigrants; 9,000,000 ,civil i , wv o io o l O r il , id o 6 o .t 0 ; in t , o oh ore the an much nmuoa in erryeecvoeeifnv theet o i r n fi c i oheorsft. gr; 008y r tis . ed i htighheesctaitti,aFlsrace I); Family cannot be reckoned at less than 30,00 0, to we shall prove it if it be denied. It is also ea s y ' t - hat tb by the documents laid before the Chambers, mot% a. Royal Family d o not spend more than 10,000;y, ther' year. Let us sa y 15,000,000 f. or even 20,000,000',,hichf will still remain an annual saving of 10,000 ,004 ; 'ui ll e of in thirtee n y ears , must have formed a portV e t i l os? 130,000,000 f. We do not add to these Wit' s ., as t: which the Duke of Orleans, an excellent m ans ` well known, unde n i a bl y ma d e prev i ous to 1830, income amounted to at least five or six millions the fol lowing romance of real life, (writes the Ln"ci e ry high' ) ltnepaosaont l tnte t uohde o rtee. nosr, A tuettar N hoe drcaf c emitt a rrhcse : r eleo a t cs no, l CheltenhamifescgehErHaae Examiner, i catte zsl et io E nnEhn . se - — ;:rst ii M tosmaann a y tio.e:of a :li t sng t , tc O iht inorer: ttqtY.iiiinpeo 1 3e; c, t 0.30.; ribr. iipt r i,:s e eohr s i f of whom it cannot fail to create what i T a be l . "d ia l i 7o o (l a ter of one oft he richest ducal families of E n ri t g r y es, t a e t es Scotland, whose possessions in the latter sna - e i es- e a over whole counties, and who possesses Pri" ° 4 att ach ° in the midland diitricts of England, being m o u m e etitn e , t a r * sb to attainment of classical literature, was , the pa rt placed under the tuition of the young curate t to 1 rs in which her father's English mansion is si tua the Latin language. I do not know whether Obich bet: attention was directed ; b ut certa i n it is, amandi formed any p or ti on o f t h e s tudies O s he that the exi t, ceived a tender passion for her poor instruct% by the 1 1 110 ence of which was so far from being concealed d her 11° S ter, that he was himself the first who inform! .P lady parents of the fact. It was determined t" o r a nglami. as soon as possible; and accordingly suitable match, in rank and otherwise, for the 3' see te n T a " tl; °neje f royalty of North Britain, is now the h a P PY th, a nd t h peer, of high lineage, said to be aikin to hu sband : 0 the lady. His lordship is in his t w enty-fou rth ' of the lady in her nineteenth year. The dues' ProntonunitisYnse newly-married couple has since had the w" - providing handsomely for circumstances clergYrn a ,, i h hunl a „ o . honourable conduct, under in ' l , , is owl nature would be but too prone to fall a victim, hurotie, the fact that the young lady, at a time when r nessli auC he passions require control, did not contract % e o f t The living of ----, not far from the duke, having fallen vacant,—opportunely enong" " to W u ' f tbs not help thinking—has been presented _„,, es o looks so like a romance, that I give you the tr`,`,: h4 rest can' as to n'a . „, er adds . parties, to use your own discretion pers- ti o in a note—" We have not availed ourselves of the o pondent's permission to üblish the names s ha ve n n e figuring in this petit drama; but our reader pose to g a S public or etherwise. The editor of the Exa f n e ‘ u " r " eo rres s difficulty in reconising in them the parties few ► &In created some stir in the fashionable won'(' o c i , since."—[Loid Blantyre and the eldest Pea_t_e's, as tb the Duke of Sutherland are clearly indicated 11 noble parties lately married.] • It was one day in autumn, after a lapse of about two years, that the following conversation took place between a wealthy grazier from the neighbouring parish, and one of our hero's most intimate acquaintances. It is valuable only as it throws light upon Denis's ultimate situation in life, which, after all, was not what our readers might be inclined to expect. " Why, then, honest man," said Denis's friend, " that 's a mui . dherin fine dhrove o' bullocks you're bringin' to the fair ? " "Ay !" replied the grazier, " you may say that. I'm thinkin' it wouldn't be asay to aquil them." " Fais, sure enough. Where wor they fed, wid aim. mission ? " "Up in Teernahusshogue. Arrah, will you tell me what weddin' was that that passed a while agone?" " A son of ould Denis O'Shaughnessy's, God be mer ciful to his sowl!" " Denis O'Shaughnessy ! Is it him they called the Pigeon-house'? An' is it possible he 's dead ? " He 's dead, nabour, an', in throth, an honest man 's dead! " "As ever broke the world's bread. The Lord make his bed in heaven this day ! Hasn't he a son larnin' to be a priest in Maynewth ?" "Ah ! Fahreer gairh ! That 'a all over." " Why, is he dead, too ? " "Be Gorra, no—but the conthrairy to that. 'Twas his weddin' you seen passin' a minute agone." "Is it the young sogarth's ? Musha, bad end to you, man alive, an' spake out. Tell us how that happened? Sowl it 's a quare business, an' him was in Maynewth !" " Faith, be was so ; an' they say there wasn't a man in Maynewth able to tache him. But, passin' that over— you see, the father, ould Denis—an' be Gorra, he was very bright too, till the son g rewn up, an ' drownded him wid the languidges—the father, you see, ould Denis him self, tuck a faver whin the son was near a year in the col lege, an' it proved too many for him. He died ; an' whin young Dinny hard of it, the divil a one of him would stay any longer in Maynewth. He came home like a scare crow, said be lost hi s h ea l t h i n i t, an ' refused to go back. Faith, it was a lucky thing that his father died before hand, for it would brake his heart. As it was, they had terrible work about it. But ould Denis is never dead while young Denis is livin'. Faix, he was as stiff as they wor stout, an' wouldn't give in ; so, Other ever so much wranglin', he got the upper hand by tellin' them that he wasn't able to bear the college at all, an' that if he 'd go back to it he 'd soon folly his father." " An' what turned him against the college? Was that flame ? " " Thrue !—thrue indeed ! The same youth was never at a loss for a piece of invintion when it sarved him. No, the sarra word of thruth at all was in it. He soodhered an' palavered a daughter of Owen Connor's, Susy—all the daughther he has, indeed—before be wint to May newth at all, they st'''. She herself wasn't for marryin' him, in regard o f a vow she had; but there's no doubt but he made her fond of him, for he has a tongue that 'ud made black white, or white black, for that mattber. So, a miliar Dec. 19, 1843•