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Jaouth, and a bribe in his pocket, a champion against the rights of America, the only hope of Ireland, and the only refuge of the liberties of mankind. Thus defective in every relationsbip, whether to Constitution, commerce,'or toleration, I will suppose this man to have added much private improbity to public crimes; that his probity was like his patriotism, and his honor on a level with his oath.

He loves to deliver panegyrics on himself. I will interrupt him, and say, "Sir, you are mistaken if you think that your talents have been as great as your life has been reprehensible. You began your parliamentary career with an acrimony and personality which could have been justified only by a supposition of virtue. After a rank and clamorous opposition you became, on a sudden, silent; you were silent for seven years; you were silent on the greatest questions; and you were silent for money! You supported the unparalleled profusion and jobbing of Lord Harcourt's scandalous ministry—the address to support the American war—the other address to send four thousand men, which you had yourself declared to be necessary for the defence of Ireland, to fight against the liberties of America, to which you had declared yourself a friend. You, sir, who manufacture stage-thunder against Mr. Eden for his anti-American principles-you, sir, whom it pleases to chant a hymn to the immortal Hampdenyou, sir, approved of the tyranny exercised against America; and you, sir, voted four thousand Irish troops to cut the throats of the Americans figbting for their freedom, fighting for your freedom, fighting for the great principle, LIBERTY; But you found, at last (and this should be an eternal lesson to men of your craft and cunning), that the King had only dishonored you; the court had bought, but would not trust you; and, having voted for the worst measures, you remained, for seven years, the creature of salary, without the confidence of goverment. Mortified at the discovery, and stung by disappointment, you betake yourself to the sad expedients of duplicity. You try the sorry game of a trimmer in your progress to the acts of an incendiary. You give no honest support either to the government or the people; observing, with regard to both prince and people, the most impartial treachery and desertion, you justify the suspicion of your Sovereign, by betraying the government, as you had sold the people, until, at last, by this hollow conduct, and for some other steps, the result of mortified ambition, being dismissed, and another person put in your place, you fly to the ranks of the Volunteers and canvass for mutiny.

Such has been your conduct; and at such conduct every order of your fellow-subjects have a right to exclaim! The merchant may say to you—the constitution. ‘alist may say to you—the American may say to youand I, I now say, and say to your beard, sir," you are not an honest man!"

H. Grattan.


From The Galaxy."

And she is dead! and slie is dead!

My multitudinous bride!
No more my weary head may rest

Her many forms beside.
No more her sixty gentle hands

Shall fondly rest in mine;
No more around her thirty waists

My loving arms shall twine.

For she is dead; and from those eyes

Of black, and blue, and gray,
And various intermediate dyes,

The light has passed away.
The eighty little orphans' tears

Are mingled with my own,
And eighty hearts of tender years

Are inotherless and lone.
The fevers seized her all at once,

And apoplexy, too ;
With corns, lıysterics, and the mumps,

And dread tic doloureux.

And even then she thought of me,

And sought my grief to quell; And summoned me beside her beds

To say a last farewell. Good-by, dear John,” she feebly said ;

“I'm going soon,” said she; “But, oh! don't marry Widow Smith,

And, oh, don't mourn for me!
For Widow Smith is forty fold-

Too many, far, for you ;
And she is artful, sly, and bold,

And quite designing, too. “And, John, don't leave your flannels off;

And don't catch cold, my dear ; Don't die of grief, but calmly live, —

Your children need you here.
I shall not want you over there,

I'd rather be alone;
I've had you here quite long enough ;

You'll stay away, my own?"
And then she closed her eyes in peace,

And fell asleep and died ;
And left me here to mourn her loss,

My ten times triple bride.
I know I ought to be resigned-

I know my tears are rude;
But when one's loss is thirty fold,

He can't feel fortitude.
Oh ! Mary Anne and so forth Jones,

Thou wert a model wife!
Thy virtues, like thyself, were, too,

Too many for this life !
There's no one now to mend my shirts,

Or hear each other cry ;
I sew my buttons on alone,

And sing the lullaby.
I'll have to marry Widow Smith;

I can't get on alone ;
The children need a mother's care-

You don't know how they've grown!
You left me for a better world,

Your souls are free from pain; I must relieve my own despair,

And try my luck again.


HUMAN lives are silent teaching,

Be they earnest, mild, and true; Noble deeds are noblest preaching

From the consecrated few. Poet-Priests their anthems singing, Hero-swords on corslet ringing,

When Truth's banner is unfurled; Youthful preachers, genius gifted, Pouring forth their souls uplifted,

Till their preaching stirs the world.

Each must work as God has given

Hero hand or poet soulWork is duty, while we live in

•This weird world of sin and dole. Gentle spirits, lowly kneeling, List their white hands up appealing,

To the Throne of Heaven's King; Stronger natures, culminating In great actions, incarnating

What another can but sing.

Pure and meek-eyed as an angel,

We must strive-must agonize; We must preach the saint's evangel.

Ere we claim the saintly prize. Work for all-for work is holy; We fulfil our mission solely

When, like Heaven's arch above, Blend our souls in one emblazon, And the social diapason

Sounds the perfect chord of love.

Life is combat, life is striving,

Such our destiny belowLike a scythed chariot driving

Through an onward-pressing foe. Deepest sorrow, scorn, and trial

We are struggling in the morning

With the spirit of the night,
But we trample on its scorning-

Lo! the eastern sky is bright.
We must watch. The day is breaking ;
Soon, like Memnon's statue waking

With the sunrise into sound,
We shall raise our voice to Heaven,
Clant a hymn for conquest given,

Seize the palm, nor heed the wound.
We must bend our thoughts to earnest,

Would we strike the Idols down;
With a purpose of the sternest

Take the Cross, and wait the Crown;
Sufferings human life can hallow,
Sufferings lead to God's Valhalla—.

Meekly bear, but nobly try,
Like a man with soft tears flowing,
Like a God with conquest glowing,
Su to love, and work, and die!

Speranza (Mrs. W. R. Wilde).


Not a sound, not a breath !

And as still as death,
As we stand on the steep in our bayonets' shine :

All is tumult below,

Surging friend, surging foe;
But not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line,

Waiting so grimly.
The battle smoke lists

From the valley, and drists
Round the hill where we stand, like a pall for the world;

And a gleam now and then
Shows the billows of men,

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