back to his solitary mansion, half-resolved that next week should begin a fresh life for him, instead of leaving him shut up in his own world, like an oyster in its shell.

The word soon bore its fruit in another life. Slowly and wearily, but resolutely still, from that day Janet Dennys came back to the everyday world which had almost become to her an indistinct shadow; for we can shut ourselves out from life until it becomes a mere cloudpicture, and our dreamland brightens into a present reality.

It is no easy matter to step all at once out of the charmed circle of self-isolation into a life of sympathy with and help for others; and Leslie, as he pondered over his good resolutions, came to the conclusion that he wanted an adviser to assist in solving this problem. He felt the need of a friend, and none seemed fitter for counsellor than the young minister whose discourse had aroused him from his gloomy abstraction to the fact that life was something better than the vast Sahara it had hitherto appeared to him.

It was evening before he returned from his visit to Mr. Hawthorne, with half the winter thawed out of his heart already. The quiet friendliness of the young minister's welcome had set him at bis ease, and the charm of his manner, no less than his earnest eloquence, had won the visitor's heart. Unfortunately there are two many Mr. Sylvesters in the world, who conscientiously believe that Truth is really the disagreeable vixen that they present to your view on every occasion; but Mr. Hawthorne was one of those who have the rare gift of displaying her such as in the graceful German fable of "The Magic Flute," she appears to her adopted son, and bestows on him her blessing.

Absorbed in his own reflections, Leslie reached the village, and turned across the fields that led to the Hall, without noticing that some one was advancing in the opposite direction. The soft turf deadened the sound of his footsteps, and as he sprang over the second stile his abrupt appearance startled a lady who had sat down to rest on the bank close by. He turned to apologize, and their eyes met. Her face was quite strange to him; but Janet Dennys-for she it was started to her feet, believing that a second messenger from the dead stood before her, as she recognized the third man, whom she had seen in her vision at the well.

Leslie saw the deathly pallor that overspread her face, and advanced with ready courtesy to offer his arm as a support; but she drew back with a superstitious thrill, exclaiming, "Do you, too, come from the sea?”

The truth flashed on his mind at once-this, then, was Miss Dennys, and chance had given him the interview for which he had been long wishing! But now he hesitated, fearing the effect of the sad message he bore. She read his irresolution aright, and summoned courage to question him.

"You were Frank Charlton's friend ?"

"He was the only friend I ever had," said Leslie, warmly; "and to me he entrusted his last message to you before the ship struck." "And that," said Janet, eagerly

"Was that he died thinking of you to the last. I do not know whether I ought to tell you, Miss Dennys, but his death was not by drowning."

"I saw it all," she answered, shuddering; "and I believed that you had perished by the same hand. You are wondering how I knew this. You do not know that I was about to marry his murderer, and that Frank himself returned to warn me only a week before my wedding-day. I am not mad, indeed! I had no other means of discovering Bernard's villany. I saw the whole scene of the shipwreck as plainly as I see you now; and when we met to-day I recognized you instantly, and believed that another visitant from the dead was before me!"

"And Bernard-where is he?" said Leslie, eagerly.

"He fled the same night, after an unsuc cessful attempt on my life. I told no one of the warning that I had received; but nothing ever escaped his lynx-eye; and that night, as we returned by the Severn-side from the ruins where we had spent the day with a party of friends, he taxed me with an intention of breaking off our marriage, and required from me a solemn promise to fulfil my engagement. I replied by accusing him of Frank's murder, and in proof of my assertion displayed the ring which the villain_had lost on the night of the shipwreck-it had been given to me by Frank in token of the truth of his words. We were alone by the river, and I knew that I should not escape him, yet I felt no fear. He offered me life on condition of my silence and fulfilment of my promise to him, and menaced me with instant death if I refused. Finding his threats useless he bade me go to the death I had chosen! I sank without a struggle in the deep water, and after that all was blank. I was rescued by a gentleman who had witnessed the scene from one of the gardens sloping down to the river; and Bernard, who had been watching to assure himself of my death, took to flight on his approach."

There was much more to ask and to tell, and the sun had set long before Leslie and Miss Dennys re-entered the village, passing, in their way, the gossips' corner, at which were assembled as usual the elders of Wickham.

"I towd thee he came courting her," exclaimed the lad, who had directed Leslie to the Hall.

"Sure enough, lad," said the blacksmith, meditatively; "but who'd a-thought that Miss Dennys would mary a furriner, even if he wor squire at the Hall?"

Three years have passed over quiet little Wickham since then, bringing some changes even there. The children no longer run to hide themselves as the young squire comes by: and even old Betsy Moor has forgotten her pre

judice, and tells you that "yon is a good young man, although he did come from furrin parts!"

Mr. Sylvester is gone too, and in his place Mr. Hawthorne stands, Sunday after Sunday, to speak the joyful tidings of salvation. The young squire no longer sits alone in the great pew in solitary grandeur; for last summer the path from the village-church was strewn with roses, while Mr. Hawthorne pronounced the marriage benediction over him and Janet Dennys.

Poor Miss Reeves is the only person discontented, as she sits among her millinery, consoling herself with her well-thumbed Byron, and the satisfactory reflection that "all men are deceivers," varied by the often-repeated wonder

May 3rd.]

Arose at eight-tried a new dye; Shifted my patch from chin to eye; Fitted new head with ribbons blue; Dressed and drove out at half-past two. Called on Miss Kitty; plann'd to drive To opera at half-past five.

Heard "Nicolini"; Jaques Heath Clapped and encored till out of breathFound me my chair, and on the way Persuaded me to name the day!

But the sun goes down, and the shadows lengthen; the street is deserted, and one by one the lights of the village are extinguished; the Angel of slumber stretches his wand over reader and writer; the meshes of the web of life grow fainter and fainter in the twilight, until Wickham, with all its inhabitants, fades out of its chronicler's sight. LILY SHORTthouse.

Awoke-combed Tiny, read a play;
Tried a new wash, then dressed in grey.
Fontagne, the tire-woman, said
The shade would couple well with head;
Made a pincushion for my lover;
My likensss was on snuff-box cover:
He pressed me then to name the day
When I would give my hand away.
Made him no answer! played piquet,
He swore and flew off in a pet.
Broke my best china cup at tea,
Dressed and drove out at half-past three;
Went to the "Mall," passed Lady Flam,
I'm sure her jewels are all sham!
Returning home I dropped my hair,
But quickly snatched it from the stair,
Young Jaques ran up in surprise,
I puffed the powder in his eyes!
Oh, happy thought! he did not see
Those lovely locks belonged to me!

Belgravia.]

May 1st.]

CONSTANCE.

Awoke at eight-had tea in bed;
Rested once more my aching head;
Not home till four, no sleep till five:
I wonder that I am alive!
Got up and dressed, seedy and slow,
Ordered my horse for Rotten Row;
Flirted and galloped there till two,
Then lunched and pondered what to do!
Early carriage, half-past four:
Oh shopping is an awful bore!
Dropped some pasteboards in my way;
Drove to the Park, so full and gay;
Talked to Sir Battered; quite a list
Of games he lost last night at whist!

1868.]

Yawned, and drove home. Dress number three; "Bennet" brought up a cup of tea. Carriage again, rolled out to dine,

Which meal commenced at half-past nine;

At twelve behold me on the road

To Lady Scamper's grand abode;
Showed myself there, then off once more;
Danced, and drove home at half-past four.

May 2nd.]

Awoke-planned croquet in the square,
To make young "Singleton" declare!
Arose at ten, tried a new hat;
The crowns now worn are somewhat flat
The golden hair-dye suits me well,
I bought of" Atkins" in Pall Mall,
Mem. dropped my chignon on the ride,
I wondered why my "Jannette" shied;
But knew I could not be betrayed,
As all young ladies wear one shade!
Wrote invitations for a ball,
Young "Singleton" then came to call-
Goes to the opera to-night;
Ran up and dressed, with real delight.
Heard Sinico and Titians sing,
Then for two balls was on the wing.
Arrived at home by half-past three,
Young Singleton's declared to me!

R. E. THACKERAY,

ADVOCATE.

"He was born to be a great man;" such was the constant declaration of the mother of John Philpot Curran, even at a time when no prospect whatever existed of the fulfilment of her prophecy. Fulfilled, however, it was, although not exactly in accordance with her wishes; for when in after-years people congratulated her on the brilliant professional successes of her distinguished son, she would answer petulantly, "Never tell me about his eloquence; my hope always was that it should be written on my tombstone, Here lies the mother of a bishop'." To this proud fond mother the object of our present sketch remained tenderly attached throughout his life, delighting in tracing all his wonderful natural gifts to her, as the parent from whom he inherited them, and insisting she should share his good fortune by causing her to become an inmate of his home; although, as a matter of course, owing to early associations, her habits were plain and unsuited to those of his family; and when her own good sense caused her to withdraw from it for their mutual comfort, it was upon a respectable allowance from him, which never failed her to the end. It was from her he took his second name, Philpot, she being a member of a respectable family of that name in the County of Cork. His father was seneschal of the court in the little town of Newmarket, also in the County Cork where he was born, and perhaps the best account we can give of him will be in his (Curran's) own words in reply to a medical man whom he consulted in London, towards the close of his life, who asked him if his father had ever suffered from gout. "My father left me neither money nor malady; the only inheritance I ever got from him was a large stock of excellent advice, and so careful was I of it, that I never broke bulk, never used any part of it, and it is very likely to descend to posterity in the very same manner in which it was left." There are many stories told of the early development of his wonderful intelligence and wit; among others, that of his taking the place of the man who speaks for Punch behind the screen, on an occasion of that humorous and welcome individual's visit to his native town, and puzzling all the inhabitants by his intimate knowledge of their short-comings in many ways; until, winding up the fun by caricaturing the parish priest, the poor showman was hunted from the village, and thus consequently ended the occupation of the young mimic and satirist for the time being. A Mrs. Aldworth, a member of the distinguished family of the Newmarket Aldworths, has been very frequently

into account his own great natural truth and openness of character, we can scarcely believe that such was really the fact, as he himself speaks openly of the Rev. Mr. Bosye, Rector of Newmarket, as his first friend, describing even how he was coaxed to the Rectory by him, through the bribe of a few sweet-cakes--how he taught him grammar, and the rudiments of classical knowledge, and finally sent him to a school kept in Middleton, about twelve miles from the city of Cork, by a Doctor Carey, to which kindness he confesses "I felt indebted for all my after-success in life." While in speaking of Mrs. Aldworth, he says she would have been the best and most generous woman in the world if nature had supplied her with three hands. It is impossible that, stintedly furnished as she is, she could accomplish the great purposes of her heart she is not prepared for so large a charity; for while one hand holds the petition of the poor, the other is engaged in wiping away the tears that flow for their distresses, and not having a third to put into her pocket, she is thus rendered incapable of relieving them." However, he was always on good terms with, and kindly received by this family during his vacations, as well as by the Wrixons, Beechers, and other people of rank in that neighbourhood. And here it was that, at the wake of a wealthy old bachelor of the middle class, he had been often heard to declare he formed his first idea of what true eloquence could be. It was founded on the keen or funeral oration of a beautiful majestic woman, once the favourite niece of the deceased, but now the widow of the man of her own choice, whom she had married in opposition to the will of the uncle then lying dead before her, and who had even in his last moments refused to forgive her, or make any provisions for her or her children. Left as they were in poor circumstances while the relatives who had benefited by his will made many lamentations over him, praising at the same time his generosity and other good qualities, she listened in silence; but when they ceased, she rose, and walking slowly from the distant part of the room in which she sat, she approached the corpse, and laid her hand upon its icy forehead, and after a pause, during which all present waited breathlessly, expecting to hear from her some terrible outburst of anger and disappointment, she spoke coldly and calmly the following words, addressing herself solely to the deceased:

"Those of my kindred who have uttered praises, and poured them forth with their tears to your memory, did that which by force of obligation they were bound to do. They have

been benefited; they have in their different degrees profited by the bounty you could no longer withhold. You forgot in your life the exercise of that generosity by which your memory might now be held regarded and embalmed in the hearts of disinterested affections. Such consolation, however, as these purchased praises can impart to your spirit, I would not by any impiety tear from you'; cold in death is this head, but not colder than your heart when living, through which no thrill of nature did ever vibrate. This has thrown the errors of my youth, and of an impulse too obedient to that affection which I still cherish, into poverty and sorrow, heightened beyond hope by the loss of him who is now in Heaven, and still more by the tender pledges he has left after him on earth. But I shall not add to these reflections the bitter remorse of inflicting even a merited calumny; and because my blood coursed through your veins, I shall not have your memory scored or tortured by the expression of my disappointmentor of the desolation which sweeps through my heart. It therefore becomes me to say, your faith and honour in the other relations of life were just and exact, and that these may have imposed a severity on your principles and manners. The tears which now swell to my eyes are those I cannot check; but they rise like bubbles on the mountain stream-they burst, never more to reappear."

It is to this day the tradition of his native county that young Curran was present in Kilworth when this magnificent burst of natural feeling was spoken, and that the hearing of it was his first inducement to cultivate his genius in that way, with a success that has never been equalled, not to say surpassed. However, as we have already said, he himself among, his intimates has frequently declared such to be the fact.

On the 16th of June, 1767, he entered Trinity College as a sizar, and obtained the second place; that he was very poor it need scarcely be said, and quite unable to keep up an appearance equal to the wealthier students of his time. Ill dressed and slovenly then through necessity, as he was all through his life from habit and carelessness of insignificant presence, and with a face plain almost to ugliness, proud and ec. centric, it is not probable that he much sought | their society, nor could they afterwards remember, when he became celebrated, anything remarkable in him during his collegiate career. He was never remarked as one devoted to study, or as one anxious for scholastic degrees; and yet, without apparent effort, he must while there have acquired an immense amount of classical learning. Virgil, Horace, and Homer, were his favourite authors not only then, but throughout his life; the bible being also the subject of his serious consideration, and his allusions to it in his speeches were frequent and appropriate. After eating the usual number of dinners in the Middle Temple, London, he was called to the Irish bar in 1775, then filled by men whose names are still fresh in the annals of their

country-some to her glory, as others to her shame. Burgh [Burke ?], Yelverton, the eldest Emmett, Hoare, Lord Clonmell, Keller, Lord Clare, and a host of others; the last-named (Lord Clare), he was often heard to say, should never have got before him, but that "the father had pre-occupied the ground for the son by one stage." As is usual with young_barristers, he was for some time almost briefless; travelling the Munster circuit he scarcely made his expenses; and it was during one of these excursions that he met and formed an attachment to the young lady who soon afterwards became his wife, and from whom after a long union, when their children were in fact grown up, he parted under very unhappy circumstances. Against the man, a clergyman too, and a trusted friend who was the cause of this unhappiness, he brought an action, and got heavy damages; but he never claimed them, nor did he sue for a divorce. It has been said very frequently, that he was not himself free from blame in his domestic life, and that as the head of a family he was neglectful and severe; perhaps feeling in his own conscience that such was really the case might have tempered his justice with mercy; but it is certain that, long after their separation, when, believing herself to be dying, she sent to beg that he would see and forgive her, he did not refuse her request, and was absolutely on his way to her lodgings, when a messenger met him to say she was out of danger; and so spared him an interview which would have no doubt tried them both very severely. At his death it was found that he had provided for her in his will, slenderly perhaps, but still sufficiently to keep her from wanting the necessaries, and some of the comforts of life.

One of the first tokens of the estimation in which he soon came to be held by his professional brethren, was the fact of his being chosen, by the advice of Mr. Toler, afterwards Lord Norbury, to act as agent for Mr. Daniel Toler, his elder brother, in the Tipperary election of the day. "I will take the ball at the first hop," he exclaimed, when he got the message, which happened to find him playing ball in the Racquet Court of Newmarket, his native town. In the conduct of this election he was eminently successful, and, strange to say, spite of the unsparing invective used on both sides, obtained the friendship of the opposite candidate, who afterwards forwarded his interests by every means in his power.

It would take us far beyond the limits of this slight sketch to trace the career of the great Irish Advocate systematically from its commencement to its close; it must therefore suffice to state here, that soon after the political victory fought for, and obtained so ably on the Tipperary hustings, we find him, notwithstanding the drawbacks always attending the opening career of a young lawyer, but also, in his case, despite small means, obscure birth, and the positive personal enmity displayed towards him by some of the judges of his day, fully

established at the bar as its most brilliant ornament. The ill-tempered and unpopular Judge Robinson, whose knowledge of law was as narrow as his intellect; Lord Clonmell, the renegade Irishman, the coarse, unprincipled, cleverduelling bully; and Lord Clare, fearless, tyrannical, haughty, unscrupulous, and sarcastic, with the latter of whom he exchanged shots, in consequence of a severe parliamentary attack which he made on him, when, as Mr. Fitzgibbon, he filled the office of Attorney General, under the vice-Royalty of the Duke of Rutland,* were his acknowledged enemies; yet without violating the respect due to the Crown, he never cowered before these its unworthy representatives, ever displaying towards them, and all others with whom he came in contact in the discharge of his duty, invincible courage and uncompromising honesty. An enlightened and incorruptible patriot, ever the fearless champion of the people's rights, when their wrongs were manifold and heavy, and at a time too when it was indeed, in his unhappy country,

"Treason to love her, and death to defend,"

he was always true to the principles he professed; and when his friend, the good and beloved Lord Kilwarden, afterwards sacrificed in mistake for Lord Norbury, by the justly infuriated people, waited on him at an early period, and even pressed him to accept the position of Solicitor-General, he declined an office which he looked on as a bribe, held out to win him from his allegiance to his country. As a cross-examiner Curran stands unrivalled; in whatever corner of the heart or conscience of the witness the truth lurked, no matter how closely veiled or cautiously withheld, he was always successful in drawing it forth; he was master of all the weapons to be used on the occasion, whether it was to be an open or a covert attack, ridicule or seriousness, encouragement to a bashful witness or indignant sarcasm to bear down the insolence of a brazen one; while the jurics whom he addressed were literally amazed by the wonders of his eloquence, and on some occasions even trembled to commit their reason to its guidance. We can here merely mention a few among the most celebrated of these magnificent appeals. That in defence of the brothers Sheares of Cork, delivered at midnight, after a day of incessant fatigue in their defence, Toler (Lord Norbury) the AttorneyGeneral, declining to wait until morning. That in defence of Hamilton Rowan, for libel spoken in presence of an armed guard, and, it is said, in absolute danger of his life, as, in the course of its delivery, he more than once claimed the protection of the bench against the Orangemen of the day, with whom the court was filled, yet declaring, at the same time, "they might murder, but should never intimidate him."

His

Curran was "out" on three other occasions-once with a Colonel Sellinger in Cork, once with his friend Bully Egan, and once with some third person.

address in favour of Oliver Bond, on whose trial he cross-examined Reynolds, the informer of '98,* of whom he afterwards said, "His heart is so utterly hardened, that it is not in the arm of man to drive a wedge into it." His oration in favour of Lady Pamela Fitzgerald and her children, the widow and orphans of Lord Edward, spoken at the bar of the house. His speech delivered before the Lord Lieutenant and Privy Council in Dublin in 1790, on the right of election of the Lord Mayor. That in the case of the crown versus Judge Johnson, in which he made the touching and well-known appeal to Lord Avonmore, which resulted in their reconciliation, the friendship of their lives having been for the first and only time interrupted in 1800 by the vote given by his old friend on the question of the union. His speech in favour of Catholic Emancipation in 1796. And lastly his powerful address, said to be the very outpouring of his own agonized feelings on the occasion of his advocacy of the Rev. M. Massey, against the Marquis of Headfort in 1804, for criminal conversation, and for whom he obtained damages of ten thousand pounds.

Curran first took his seat in Parliament in 1783, for the Borough of Kilbeggan, having for his colleague Flood, the celebrated orator of the Irish house, whose speeches usually took so amusingly personal a turn, at least amusing to those not personally concerned in the attack. He was returned for this borough, without being himself consulted by its patron Lord Longueville, who first knew of his election by a friend stopping him in the street to ask for a frank; but discovering soon after that, as a return for the distinction thus conferred, he was expected to speak and vote exactly as Lord Longueville wished, he immediately expended the few hundreds he possessed, and which he could ill spare from the wants of an increasing family, in the purchase of another borough, which he at once placed at the disposal of his lordship, as an equivalent for the one held by him, thus showing early in his parliamentary career, to use his own words on another and far later occasion, that "at no period of his life did he ever entertain an idea of becoming hodman to any political architect."

During his whole parliamentary career, his place was on the Opposition benches; a Whig in principle, but never a slavish one, as he always reserved to himself the right of forming his own opinion on any question brought forward for discussion; he seldom spoke at any great length in the house, usually coming in late, and rather tired after passing the day in court; but his part in the debate was telling, and of great

*How often are the same disgraceful scenes to be enacted in our Irish law courts ? fresh Reynoldses, the confessedly paid agents of the government of the day, dead to all sense, not to say of honour, but of decency, coming shamelessly forward to prosecute the enthusi astic boys they had themselves entrapped by the connivance of the very same government which now imprisoned and transported them.