whom they might have endeavoured, by threats and torture, to have extracted a full developement of the king's intention, and his present hiding-place, was now dead, they released their unhappy captive the next morning, without making her acquainted with the bitterness of her destiny. She hastened towards the spot of her lover's retreat, anxious for his safety, and yet scarce daring to proceed. It was in the month of October; the morning was chill and cold, and although the red sun was glimmering on the distant waters of the Severn, it spake no comfort to her soul; the dew drops were laying thick upon the lank blades of grass, and a grey mist was rising from the earth, which partly obscured the distant objects. She ventured onward, trembling with the most intense anxiety, and invoking heaven for the safety of her lover,-for then she thought not of the king-when, suddenly turning her eyes to the ground, she witnessed the object of all her solicitude, lying on a cold bed of turf before her. He who had so often hailed the sound of her footsteps, was now heedless of her approach; his cheek, which had once glowed with her pure kisses, felt not now her pale and delicate lips as they fed greedily upon the death-damps of his face. She passed her white fingers over his brow, and when she saw them smeared with the unnatural stain of living gore, she laughed in the delirium of her despair till the sound of the mountain echoes, mocking her tone of misery, awoke her to the burning realising sense of her soul's agony. Now, unrestrained, she called upon his name in language the most affecting. She whispered in his deaf, unheeding, ear the voice of love and truth-she pressed his lifeless hand and placed it in her bosom, and when she felt its icy chilliness freezing at her heart, she wept that he was cold. A fisherman who had witnessed the scene, and hurried from his boat to assist her, was, at this moment, approaching the spot; she looked wildly round and beckoned him away, but when she saw him still advancing towards her, she uttered a piercing shriek, and in a few minutes was on the lofty summit of the adjoining precipice. She waved her white arm for a few minutes, as in triumph, and then sinking upon her knees at the utmost verge of the o'erhanging brow, she crossed her hands over her face, and, instantly bending forward, sunk gently into the dell below. Such was the aerial delicacy of her form, that not a limb was bruised, and nothing but the ab

5

sence of breathing indicated the calm triumph of death. The unfortunate lovers were buried in one grave, and nothing is left us of their memory but the imperishable cliff; which rises, like the genius of History, over the spot to consecrate their eternal fame.

STANZAS

Supposed to be written on the night that the act of legislative union became the law of the land.

BY THE LATE THOMAS FURLONG, AUTHOR OF THE DOOM OF DERENZIE," &c.

Oh! Ireland! my country-the hour

Of thy pride and thy splendor hath pass'd;

And the chain that was spurn'd in the moment of power,
Hangs heavy around thee at last.

There are marks in the fate of each clime

There are turns in the fortunes of men ;

But the changes of realms, or the chances of time,

Can never restore thee again.

Thou art chain'd to the wheel of the foe,

By links, which the world shall not sever;

With the tyrant, thro' storm and thro' calm thou shalt go,
And thy sentence is bondage for ever.

Thou art doom'd for the thankless to toil,
Thou art left for the proud to disdain :

And the blood of thy sons, and the wealth of thy soil,
Shall be wasted, and wasted in vain.

Thy riches with taunts shall be taken,
Thy valour with coldness repaid;

And of millions who see thee thus sunk and forsaken,

Not one shall stand forth in thine aid;

In the nations thy place is left void,

Thou art lost in the list of the free;

Even realms by the plague, or the earthquake destroy'd,
May revive-but no hope is for thee.

I drop all my cares at the portal of a comely village inn. The air of its quaintly decorated little parlor, is a Lethe to all urban thoughts, I delight to gaze through the mottled diamond-shaped glasses of its little casement-to decipher the antique-shaped cone-like anagrams graven on them by hands long since mouldered and forgotten-to people the polished leather-seated chairs with topers of my mind's creation-to hear their rustic jokes, and doat on their rosy, circular, shining faces, gleaming through a thin blue fog of tobacco whifs --to note the irrevokable confusion of their features, after a victorious manual joke -to indulge in sculpturing out of thin air, limb after limb, until every part, even to the youngest wrinkle of the eye's cavity, is moulded to my fancy, an appropriate creature to fill the post of honour, and rule over such an assemblage; to deck him with the gubernatorial hammer and pre-eminently capacious pipe; to work up a proper and befitting solemnity of station to endow him withal; a burgomasterish rotundity of body, and invincible solidity of aspect, proof against pun, conundrum, wink, or even full-blooming jest; and a heavy half-frowning orderly eye, rolling systematically from the clouds that emanate from his pigmy Vesuvius, to the most boisterous individuals of the debating conclave; such a piece of mortality as will of its own nature, and without an effort, amalgamate with the warring spirits among whom it is thrown, allay their fiery turbulence, and blend them together in goodly fellowship and communion.

From these shadows of whim, it is refreshing to turn with the bodily eye, on a jovial palm-rubbing host, waddling about with a humourous affectaton of agility and courteous deportment; or to accost his buxom wife, and wean her from a projected lecture to her tittering daughters, for the rude impropriety of unnecessarily passing to and fro for the idle purpose of obtaining a glimpse of the gentlemen of the parlor,' when she herself was absolutely meditating an inroad on his privacy on some gossamer pretence, to appease and glut the raging appetite of her own indomitable curiosity.

Every spot in the Village Inn hath its choice delights. The kitchen hearth is the most inviting corner in the house, when

the weary ones, who rested awhile around it, are departed on their appointed tracks, or retired for a brief repose; when the embers of the wood fire are burnt white, and crumble about; when the domestic and much-loved minstrel of the cosey fireside, the happy and chirrupping little cricket, sings his wonted and shrill ditty from his warm nook; when the watch-dog bays, and the mother-hen clucks aloud, and gathers her little brood more closely beneath her at the moaning whoop of the old owl; when the house spaniel whines in her dreams at the deepvoiced wind, and the light of the moon, as she bursts suddenly from the clouds trooping rapidly across her path, vies with the deep red glimmer of the flames that linger and flit about the hollows of the waning fire.

There is something particularly cold and repelling in the reception of a commoner at an inn, within the bourne of a populous town. The usual common-place business-like civility of the spruce domestics, throws a damp on my spirits. There is no warmth, no sociality about them. In the Village Inn it is, different. May I often visit those little nests of hospitality and gladness!-where every moment of time fell like a refreshing dew-drop on my spirits, in the white villages of merry Devon. Jasper Doyle, of- was landlord after my own heart. There was a spice of whim in him that instructed as well as amused: he was a wag, but knew not his own humor-a glorious piece of eccentricity, but a common every-day fellow in his own eye. This happy ignorance enhanced his attractions tenfold. He was at once paternal and slavish to the guests he loved. Of servants he had little need, for he did all himself, "to prevent mistakes and keep his fingers out of mischief." His house was sheltered beneath two immense elm trees, that had flourished from time immemorial in a nook of the village green. The first time I paid a visit Jasper was seated on a rustic bench, which surrounded the rough trunk of the largest elm, hastily devouring his lunch. A large iron-grey dog and a lop-winged raven were assiduously watching by his side, for the dainty morsels which ever and anon, in spite of his own appetite, their expressive looks wheedled from his hand. Their expertness in catching the rich bits, proved that Jasper seldom feasted without the attendance of Ralpho and the dog. On my approach, he hastily divided the remnants between his dumb companions, and advanced to greet and usher me into

the house. He made no parade or bustle on my arrival, but evidently attempted to smuggle me in unseen by all, that he might have the pleasure of doing every thing for me himself; this, I afterwards learnt, was mine hosts motive. On casting my eye above the fat blousy-looking angel's head and expanded pinions, that defaced the centre of the portal, I observed a flaunting bellicose sign, that ill accorded with the rural appearance of Jasper's domicile. There were several regimentals, most scandalously ragged; tassels flying about from one side of the board to the other, tarnished, not by wind or weather, but palpably by the malice prepense of the artist, or the whim of his employer. In the centre of the group, I detected a churlish, asthmatical, pallid little figure, in laced yellow regimentals, with a pipe in his mouth, a pewter goblet in his clutch, and a sword of extravagant length, hitched on the wrong side, and protruding far behind his flying skirts. He looked like a vexed wasp with his sting drawn, and reminded me of somebody whom I had seen before, but for the life of me, I could not tell when or where. His nether lip seemed to be in the act of venting a grunt; and his crabbed brow, and diminutive pepper and salt colored eye, formed one of the most savage scowls I ever beheld. His inferior officers were drunk, ragged, and filthy; with their leaky pockets turned inside outwards, and their blue elbows staring through their inadequate sleeves.

On questioning Jasper as to the intent and drift of the daub, he explained it as follows: "That little scoundrel in the middle, sir, was the commander of our county volunteer corps

a sad blade-no civility, sir,-quite a bear. Well, sir, when the corps was dissolved, my gentleman thought proper to keep up his staff-vermin, sir-arrant stoats, poor, ravenous, and ragged-the disgrace of the corps: of which, by the bye, I had the honor of being a corporal. Well, sir, they met monthly at my house-boozed and piped like squires of independence; but about a year ago suddenly deserted to my rival the Old Oak-robbed me-went away in my debt-abused my liquors-slandered me in the ears of the whole parish— swore that I couldn't make punch! Aye, sir, well you may stare! but you haven't tasted my punch yet. This galled me to the quick; so I turned things over in my mind, and being a bit of a brush, got up portraits of the clownish com