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THE GRACE MAUSOLEUM.

The Grace Mausoleum occupies the site of Grace's Chapel, or south wing of the old church of Arles, on the summit of Arles Hill, in the barony of Slievemarigue, and Queen's County, Ireland. Elegance of design is here happily combined with a characteristic style of architecture. The general effect, for which this sepulchral edifice has been admired, is produced by its apposite situation, and its height; by the rich carving of the two Gothic pinnacles which surmount it, the projecting buttresses, and the handsome cut stone mouldings of the narrow Gothic doors, windows, and labels, which adorn its walls. No wood work belongs to any part of this little structure, excepting its oak doors; and the peculiar durability of its roof consists in being covered with a strong flagstone, three inches thick, brought from the Boley quarries, on the estate of Sir William Grace, baronet. The lower rows of these ponderous flags rest on a massive eave-course, as the upper ones do on the edges of each other; and the whole being divided by mock joints, or lines, into courses of ten inches by six, resembles a number of oblong stones.

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A vault, formed by a semi-circular arch for the repository of the dead, and an upper chamber, or chapel, formed by a high-pointed Gothic arch for the reception of funereal monuments, comprise its internal arrangements. The decorations of the chapel or upper chamber, in its vaulted and groined ceiling, are strictly of the Gothic order. Moulded ribs spring from the corbel capitals of the piers, which divide the monuments on the walls. These run diagonally on the ceiling, and, intersecting in the centre, are there connected with beautiful boss flowers, entwined through the several members of each rib. The windows of this funereal chapel are of a quatrefoil figure, and admit a "dim religious light," eminently suitable to the architectural character of the place, and in unison with the solemn purposes to which it is consecrated.

The cantred of Grace's country is rich in traditionary lore, as well as extremely fertile in the more general and visible subjects of antiquarian research. The following short poem, translated from the Irish language, which relates to this interesting district, is calculated to command the admiration, as well as gratify the curiosity of our readers. During the protectorate of Cromwell, the Grace family suffered a temporary deprivation of their estates, a circumstance to which the alludes, and thus the date of the composition is determined. Though the following translation is not unfaithful, it is far from doing justice to the strength and pathos, the artless diction, and affecting turn of sentiment in some parts of the original.

GRACE'S COUNTRY.

Country of Grace! by heaven divinely plann'd!
Well till'd and peopled is thy fertile land,
From narrow Nore's bright stream extended wide,
By smooth Momonia's gay and flowery side;
Thence (widening far where Munster river flows,)
To fam'd Kilkenny, powerful o'er its foes.

Thy fields are spacious, and thy meadows green,
And snow-white lambkins gambol o'er the scene;
Thy groves, delightful, decorate each glade,
And, widely-spreading, form a grateful shade;
While wavy autumn gilds the fruitful soil,
To recompense the hind's industrious toil.

poem

Through golden vales thy crystal rivulets flow,
There silvery fishes leap and sport below;

With hounds and horn, chac'd o'er the mountain's height,
Thy native roebuck flies from morn 'til night;
And fox and hare, the nimblest of their race,
Are hunted down, the wearied in the chace.

Country of Grace! by heaven divinely plann'd!
A cloudless sun illumes thy smiling land:
Each good is thine, that nature can bestow,
And every other bliss enjoy'd below.

But ah! what woes these iron times impart !
Woes that must sadden every feeling heart.

Ill-fated land! thy joyous days are o'er ;
Thy good, thy generous chieftains are no more;
Whose mighty arm pour'd vengeance on the foe;
Who laid th'invader in the battle low;

Whose hardy valour ne'er was known to yield,
But triumph'd ever in the ensanguin'd field.

Whose castle-towers in feudal splendour rise;
Whose sacred abbeys glisten to the skies;
Who rear'd the fort, and rear'd the palace halls,
Where festive merriment oft rung the walls,
Where mantling wines in golden cups went round,
And Erin's harp pour'd forth its silver sound.

Where, ceas'd the dance, the tuneful harper done,
A minstrel sung the praise by Raymond won;
Illustrious Raymond! author of that race,
Which, settling here, first took the name of Grace;
When to Ierne's shores the warrior came,
And crown'd his followers with immortal fame.

AN EPIGRAM DEFINED.

An epigram, the greatest wits
To make it well, has pos'd:
'Tis like a shoe that nicely fits,
The better it is clos'd.

J. R. P.

THE TUB-SNATCHERS.

A TALE OF THE COAST BLOCKADE.

-Shall she expire

And unaveng'd? arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire !-Byron.

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"The stars are twinkling out," said Pat Franklin to his pot-fellow, "and the moon's as bright as a maiden attired for the bridal. By my soul, Wolf, this will be a fine night for the tub-snatchers!" Ay," returned Wolf, cramming the bowl of his pipe with tobacco, I'll warrant ye, there'll be a good look out too; there's a cruiser in the Downs, and its ten to one if she don't keep a pretty sharp eye on the jollyboats. But I hope-(puff-puff)—I hope, please God, the tub-snatchers will cheat her for once! (puff-puff)-—here's a health to their undertaking!" (puff-puff-puff.)

Such was the conversation that passed between two labourers at the Freshwater Tar. This public-house was so completely antiquated by time and repairs, that the north frosty wind frequently whistled through its numerous crannies, and the pelting hail made such ravages on its broken windows, that the landlady had become completely tired of both glazier and carpenter. It stood on a small sunny hill that sloped gradually downward, and terminated in a sweet little valley, so famous for wild-flowers, that the children of the neighbouring village always resorted there for materials to make May-wreaths. A few paces beyond this valley expanded a broad sandy shore, diversified with mounds of sea-flowers, and clusters of shells. At the northern extremity of this shore, the waters have formed themselves into a small haven, at whose mouth the ruins of an old monastery are still standing. To these ruins came a party of smugglers, provided with lantherns and torch-lights; and having concealed their contraband cargo in large pits, which they had hitherto provided for their reception, they withdrew to their boats, and disappeared on the blue expanse of the

sea.

Already had the landlady of the Freshwater Tar scolded her spouse to bed, and already had Pat Franklin and his pot-fellow defrayed the expense of their carousal, when a stranger presented himself at the bar, and was instantly accommodated

with the chair of the absentee. The unknown guest placed himself betwixt the two work-fellows, and, with sundry evolutions of his countenance, requested them to prolong their

stay.

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Why, d'ye see," said Pat Franklin, scratching his carotty pate, we both like a dish of chat, certainly; but then its likely we shall have our crockery-ware rattled about our ears by our wives at home:egad, they are two Jezebels, ar'n't they, Wolf?" Ay, to be sure," replied the potfellow, extending his mouth beyond its usual width; "but howsomever, there's no harm, ye know, in having another quart of ale." My wife a Jezebel, Pat! she rattle the crockery-ware about my ears! nay, I'd send her to the devil first. Come, brother, sit down, there's nothing like cracking the vapours while you can."

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Pat Franklin needed but little persuasion to induce him to accept the proposal of the stranger. A fresh quantity of logs were kindled on the vacant hearth, the pots were replenished with good double ale, and the newly arrived guest, whose name was Walsingham, commenced his inquiries.

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This sea-coast of yours is a rum place," said he.

Very rum," rejoined the milk-and-water landlady, "its a jolly place for smugglers, too.

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Smugglers!" reiterated the stranger, gadzooks, they are nothing to the old ugly minsters that fringe the neighbouring shores, and seem to threaten you if you only trespass on the shadows they create! I passed one of them about a mile from hence, and was so terrified with the supernatural noise that issued from its precincts, that, God help me, I would not pass it again if this government were to reward me with the produce of the Indies." Ter-ter-terrified!" exclaimed the landlady, directing her suspicious eye to the assembled pot-fellows; "heaven forgive me! why, my poor husband, who's a-bed and asleep, would tell you of circumstances connected with the old ghostly place, that your hair would stand upright on your head."

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"Pooh, pooh!" returned Pat Franklin, smashing the bowl of his tobacco-pipe on the worm-eaten bench; " pooh, pooh! don't talk to me of haunted minsters, and such like superstition. Many a time have I passed by the old ruins that breast the north-western part of this coast, during night-fall, and

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