The walls were vast, the eddying blast
Hissed thro' the tapestries old,

And the shadows they cast, came-vanished fast,
With every waving fold.

And a deep recess no light might bless,
So choaked with fume, and damp,

So thick and drear, you might almost fear
'Twould quench the brightest lamp,

On one side lay stretched far away,
An endless dim retreat,

Where ghosts might dance, or the devil prance
And you'd scarcely hear his feet!

I shuddering looked, and wished myself booked
By the coach that onward roll'd,
For better the cramp, and cushions damp,
Than fright, and stench, and cold.

But the die was thrown,-the act was my own,

I could not then turn back,

So I trimmed the fire-my funeral pyre!

And lay-upon the rack!

How long thus I lay I can scarcely say,

But at last a stupor stole,

Like the mists that creep o'er a mountain steep, To obscure, not hide the soul:

For still I could hear each sound of fear-
The creak of the old oak door-

The slight rain-tap-'twas a thunder clap!
That creak, a cataract's roar!

And the flickering light still caught my sight,
Each object in the room

In moulds it cast stern wild and vast

And indistinct with gloom!

But I must confess, that dim recess―

Oh! for a counter charm!—
Seemed expressly built for ghosts of guilt,
And shook me with alarm!

Fancy might trace in its dreary space
A thousand shapes of dread,-

See !—it is!-'tis not-'tis! a glimmering spot!
A body without a head!

In fear, surprise, I rubbed my eyes

It could only be a dream!

A noise I heard! the horrid thing stirred-
I rose, but could not scream!

My blood cold ran-with shortened span
And fluttering, came my breath;

And my heart did sink as tho' life's last link
Were stopped by the hand of death.

The fire light threw a lurid hue
O'er the shape as it onward came,
It held in hands, like iron bands,
Its head as it passed the flame!

The face was white as the pale moonlight,
The eyes had a ghastly stare,

Like snakes unroll'd, in many a fold

Hung the dank and clammy hair.

Across the floor the head it bore
With slow and solemn tread,
And around it hissed a reeking mist,
The ghosts of the buried dead!

Once more, once more across the floor
Still bearing that awful head

On, onward it passed, 'till it came at last
And held it o'er me in bed!

I rose with a shout-" to hell, out! out!"
(Sheer terror made me rash,)

And with kick and thump, and bang and bump
Fell the head with a fearful crash!

With a gasp and a stare, and stiff erect hair,
Half choaked by a stifled scream,

I found that I stood with my feet in a flood,
The victim of a dream!

I had got out of bed with this dream in my head,
And wandered about on the floor,

And the kick and the thump, and the bang and the bump Had knocked down the bason and ewer.

Years after I found that the story went round,
How the ghost was an orphan daughter
Who had been betrayed, and could only be laid
By a hogshead of holy water!

A GOSSIP TOUCHING BACHELORDOM.

No, no quiero casarme
Que es mejor ser soltero,
Y siempre placentera

Del mundo, del mundo gozar !

Aye! long life to the bachelors: they have the best end of the staff after all, provided they know the world and are neither prigs nor pedants. Frown not, O peerless Dulcinea, neither corrugate that marble brow nor plant the smile sardonic and contemptuous on those chiselled lips, because of my frank avowal of a decided preference for the state single, a preference which has been the result of long and laborious examination and reflection after much suffering. Yes, I hear what you say: "Some odious old thing in a wig who has been refused fifty times over; not so, fair lady!

"Time has not thinned my flowing hair
Or stolen its raven hue,"

and once only did I attempt that nerve-exciting experiment, vulgarly called popping the question, and then-but I had better not spoil the interest of it by jumping to the conclusion all in a hurry: no! I utterly detest everything in the shape of fuss or haste. "Fair and softly goes far and easily," said the inimitable Sancho, from whom, by the bye, Lord Bacon filched many an aphorism. His well known "Let us take time that we may get done the sooner," is just a twistification of the forementioned adage of Sancho's, and no more; however it is quite in character, for what is it after all but a gammon of bacon? That is a little digression, and now to tell you how I behaved in the "Yerrahwill-you-marry-me-dear-Ally-Croker" accident, and faith it was a most moving accident, but how it moved, the sequel will tell-stop though! I must do it" purty"-how shall I begin? Shall I launch off with aspiring pinion into the regions of poetry, and in soft cadence of sweet measured time turn Il Grau Padre Alighieri's coat thus

"It was the hour that wakens fond desire

And melts the heart to breathe its fondest wish :

Oh dear, that's too fine entirely, so here goes from pathos to bathos, from Parnassian pinnacles to prosaic plains.

One beautiful autumnal evening, just as the deepening shades began to embrown the air, I found myself seated on a cushion in the deep window of a large room, my right arm resting on the seat which occupied the recess, and my interesting countenance slightly upturned towards a charming face surmounting the charming figure of as charming a flirt as I ever had the felicity of encountering. We were alone : we had been singing, and after having thrice repeated Mozart's beautiful duettino, "Se Potesse," there was a slight pause, which she broke by warbling, as if unconsciously, one of the melodies of my native

land-"I'd mourn the hopes that leave me"-I was raised into the third heaven, and when she had concluded, spouted ore rotundo from Comus

"Sure something holy lodges in that breast
And with these raptures moves the vocal air,
To testify his hidden residence."

That I declared should be the final utterance of song for the evening,
and accordingly we adjourned to the window, where she seated herself,
and I took up the position at her feet which I have previously described.
There was a soft languor-inducing warmth in the air which scarcely
stirred except now and then in gentle puffs, that came gushing through
the window laden with perfume. Oh, those bay windows opening on
gardens, and oh, those soul subduing evening hours, and oh, several
times, those large grey eyes which combine the excellence of all others
-at one time flashing like the bright black orb, at others melting even as
the translucent blue. Figure to yourself, O reader, what a situation for a
susceptible Munster-man, with a heart that melted under the rays of a
pair of fine eyes like-as Lady Morgan elegantly and classically ob-
serves-like
butter in the sun. What could I do? The time-
the impressions left by the concord of sweet sound alike forbade a con-
versation partaking either of gaiety or jest, and so with an inward
misgiving I fell perforce into the subdued and sentimental, alluded to
the beauty of the evening, spoke of it as "the sweet hour of thinking,
feeling, loving," touched on my approaching departure and expressed
the deep regret I should feel when far away from scenes and society so
delightful. As she listened, "the fringed curtains of her eyes" slowly
dropped and veiled their lustre-a transient blush flitted across her
face like a gust of wind, and just as the broken murmurs of impas-
sioned love were about to pass my lips I caught sight of a young
vagabond of a brother of hers outside the window, with his dexter
thumb pressed to his vile snub nose and his extended fingers performing
a rapid and sinuous movement. Human nature could not endure it,
and-forgive me O golden darted Eros !-I burst into an uncontrollable
roar of laughter. Up started my divinity-her eyes flashing and her
countenance varying between an expression of wonder and indignation.
This just damped my mirth sufficiently to enable me to ejaculate
"Tom!"-at the word she turned and saw that engaging youth still
performing his mysterious "ko tou," having put on additional power
by the addition of his left hand to the other. In a moment her laugh
rang out clear as the call of a silver trumpet, but the sound, instead
of adding to my merriment, extinguished it, and getting into a regular
fury, I bounced through the window and made a rush at the rascal
Tom, who, in his own phraseology, "cut like bricks." After a short,
but sharp run, I seized him-caught his coat collar in one hand and the
slack of his unwhisperables in the other, and was about to land him
in the middle of a double flowering furze bush, when the garden gate
opened and in walked papa and mamma, a brace of daughters and their
attendant cavaliers; and with a muttered something that was not ex-
actly a blessing, I released the atrocious Tom, who immediately
bolted.

Now, was not that sufficient to prevent one from ever again "owning

the soft impeachment?" Quite! for whenever afterwards I felt a growing inclination towards some angel with her wings in her pockets -up rose a vision of this dreadful Tom. I was perfectly hag-ridden by it; go where I would, gaze on whatever heavenly fair I might-no matter what the time, the place, the circumstance, or country, the moment a ray of tenderness dawned upon my heart there was this diabolical Tom, his snub nose redly shining, and his dirty fingers incessantly playing, while the cavernous orifice of his mouth was widely distended in a grim of fiendish delight. Pen or tongue are alike inadequate to express the torment, the horror I endured from this visitation, and I sought relief from all sources and in all modes, but in vain. I never heard a bell toll but it, said "Tom!” and as for chimes-if by any unforseen chance I came within hearing of them-I was nearly driven distracted, for they said nothing but "Tommy, Tommy;" in short the faintest sound of "tintinnabulary" clatter was enough to set me off like a sky-rocket.

It was just about this time that Paganini was making such a furor in England, so as all the O'Tooles were 66 fanatici," up to town I went to hear him. As soon as ever I espied the distant smoke of London I plugged up my ears with waxed cotton, fearful of the bells, although by the precaution I lost the conversation of an enlightened fellow-traveller, who gave me a great deal of information about-his mode of rearing pigs. I arrived, as I had intended, late in the day and in the evening went to give my ears a banquet. Not till the first coup d'archet from the orchestra did I withdraw my anti Tom's. At length out came the fiddle-fiend, and I certainly thought him as ill constructed a specimen of the genus homo as ever was put together. But O mighty Hermes! when he spoke, I say he, for who but a born natural could suppose that the fiddle had a separate identity when he spoke he 66 took my troubled soul and lapped it in Elysium." The first piece he played was that beautiful "Carnival de Venice." I was in a perfect ecstacy, breathless, all ears, and at the moment I had no more idea of Tom than I had of Tombuctoo. But alas!

66

"Medio de fonte leporum,

Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat." Little did I dream of what was coming. He came out again, and after an introduction which gave me an idea that it was Elderly Nicholas himself who was performing-he commenced the theme of the celebrated Campanile." Blessed saints! I had nearly gone distracted when the first stroke of the carillon assailed my tympanum, and tom, tom, tom, tom, tom, tom, rang clear and silvery through the house. In desperation I rushed from my seat, and after a tremendous struggle, in which my hat was lost, and my coat razeed to a jacket, I got out, and with the little sense that was left me, called a coach, and drove to mine inn, where very soon after I sought the repose I so much needed. But alas! repose visited me not, although I slept, for I dreamed a dream in which my waking horrors were aggravated ten-fold, while escape was denied. Again I saw Paganini; but, this time, two-headed and fourarmed. One of the heads was his own, and the other that of Tom, the Tom, from the nose of whose round and shining face was extended the hands of the supplementary arms, in the act of taking that horrid