people who were passing near. The watermen made a good thing of it; for, as the bodies rose, they took from them their shoe buckles, money, and watches, and then towed them on shore to be buried.' "That lieutenant had much to answer for " observed Ben: "his false pride was the cause of it all." sen. "It would seem so-but God only knows," replied Ander"Come, my lads, the beer is out, and it's two bells in the middle watch. I think we had better turn in, Jack, what's to become of you?" "Oh! I'll find a plank," said I. "So you shall, boy, and a bed upon it," replied Ben;" come and turn in with me, and don't you dream that the larboard lower deck ports are open." THE ART OF RISING. A HINT TO YOUNG LAWYERS. "The art of rising," said Mr. Horatio Luckless, "the art of rising! I wish I had it; but, alas! I do not at present see my way clear. Here I lie, and for the life of me I cannot get up. Pump court is never very bright, and we have had a succession of mornings which its oldest inhabitants never remembered. As Dr. Johnson says, 'I shall die convinced that the weather is uncertain.' It must, I fear, be getting late, but I cannot tell whether my laundress has been here yet. I hear nothing but the clank of those disagreeable pattens, which the washerwomen will wear, in spite of the request of the benchers to take them off when they walk through the inn; and here I lie, remote from all the world, with not one soul to care whether I sleep out the whole of the day or no. I wish some one would make me get up,I would go through a great deal ; I wish to be thoroughly roused. I have been all but out of bed several times, but have only ended by drawing the clothes tighter round me. I wish I had more resolution, it is certainly a great deficiency in my character. I have many good points, but I cannot get up in the morning. I make vows in vain every night; I go to bed early on purpose; this I am able to accomplish, but I cannot get up a bit the sooner. See that window, now; see that horrid fog looking in at me. Could any one even imagine a morning like this? Nothing can be worse except to-morrow morning. Yet I have heard that a man can accustom himself to get up at four if he tries, and here I am snug at half-past nine. Yet, if I had any inducement to rise, I think I might be able. If I had any thing to work at, then how willingly I would stir; but as it is, get up I cannot; I have not 'the art of rising.'' At this moment, something with a heavy sound was dropped through the valve of the outer door, and fell into the passage. This might not have attracted any observation from Mr. Luckless, but it was accompanied with a clink, which to his unaccustomed organ conveyed a sound which nature has contrived to be one of the most pleasing to the human ear.To throw back the bed clothes, to seize his trousers, to put them on, to rush to the passage, was, in the language of the most fashionable novels, "the work of a moment." And what did Mr. Luckless see? Could it be? If it was not the thing itself, it was certainly very like it. It had the exact shape of a brief. He turned it on its face; it was a brief; and thus was it endorsed, 'In the Common Pleas, Wolf v. Lamb. Brief for the defendant, Mr. Horatio Luckless. Two guas. With you, Mr. Serjeant Talfourd. Jen. kins and Snagg.' And on a slip of paper which accompa nied it were these words, "This cause stands No. 4, on the list for to-day." And where were the two guineas? Was he deceived in the sound of money? No, they were neatly wrapped up in a piece of white paper, and they lay on the floor. How beautiful they looked: how superior to any other sovereigns the gold seemed; and how much more lovely than any other silver the two shillings looked. They were, in fact, well worth halfa-crown each, and he wouldn't have parted with them on any account for that sum. How charming her Majesty's profile looked on them as he turned them over! This was sacred gold; it was the first he ever had received; it must be set apart and handed down to his children as an heir-loom, for children he might now think of. Jenkins and Snagg! How many soft emotions were raised by the former name. It might not be a very musical one, but it was English-Saxon to the backbone. If the respectable house of Jenkins and Snagg took him by the hand his fortune was made. All this did he ejaculate in his shirt and nether habiliments, when suddenly he thought of the mysterious slip of paper-This cause stands No. 4 in the list to-day.' The deuce it did! and he had not read a word of it. What was to be done? Now he took the brief up, and read a little of it: next he put on a boot. Then he read again the interesting endorsement, in which his own name appeared so conspicuously: then he began to shave. All this took up some time, and his anxiety rather retarded than forwarded his oper ations. In less than an hour, however, he was dressed and ready. but he had no breakfast. Appetite, indeed, he felt but little; he was too much pleased, too nervous to eat. Taking up his valued brief in one hand, and a crust of bread in the other, he told his little boy, who had by this time arrived, with some what of an important air, that he was going to the Common Pleas, and thither did he bend his path with hasty steps. He shouldered his way through the groups of witnesses. clerks and idlers, generally found loitering about the doors of the court, slipped on his wig and gown, and pushed into court with a look which seemed to say that the affairs of this world rested pretty much on his shoulders. He first ran to the paper of causes, and found, with dismay, that the cause of " Wolf v. Lamb" was actually on; the jury were, in truth, in the act of delivering their verdict. He was just in time to hear the foreman say, "We find for the plaintiff, damages £160, and to encounter in the well of the court the displeased face of his client, Mr. Jenkins. He had no op portunity to speak with his leader, who was in the next cause which was called on. He found that of the three causes which had stood before that of " Wolf v. Lamb," the first had been undefended, in the second the record had been withdrawn, and the third was submitted to arbitration. Mr. Jenkins came round to him for his brief, which he had scarcely been able to read, and on receiving it said to him with gravity, but with some good nature, "Allow me, Mr. Luckless, as an old member of the profession, to remind you, that the only way to get on at the bar is to learn the art of rising." CHARADE. The widow Jones is fair and fat, Tho' so grave and good she 's reckoned, Put an end to the old man's sorrow, Now tho' you may wonder the good old knight THE FORSAKEN! STANZAS COMPOSED FOR MUSIC. He never meets me, as of old, As friends, less cherish'd, meet me; To welcome, or to greet me: He never turns, amid the throng, Where colder ears will listen; Oh! brighter smiles than mine may glass REMARKABLE CONDUCT OF A LITTLE GIRL. "I have no bread!" cried the poor girl with anguish in her tones. The cry of disappointment and despair which came at these words from her father and brothers, caused her to recall what she had said, and conceal the truth. "I have not got it yet," she exclaimed, "but I will have it immediately. I have given the baker the money; he was serving some rich people, and he told me to wait or come back. I came to tell you that it would soon be here." ran on. After these words, without waiting for a reply, she left the house again. A thought had entered her head, and, maddened by the distress of those she loved so dearly, she had instantaneously resolved to put it in execution. She ran from one street to another, till she saw a baker's shop in which there appeared to be no person, and then, summoning all her determination, she entered, lifted a loaf, and fled! The shopkeeper saw her from behind. He cried loudly, ran out after her, and pointed her out to the people passing by. The girl She was pursued, and finally a man seized the loaf which she carried. The object of her desires taken away, she had no motive to proceed, and was seized at once. They conveyed her toward the office of the police; a crowd, as usual, having gathered in attendance. The poor girl threw around her despairing glances which seemed to seek some favorable object from whom to ask mercy. At last, when she had been brought to the court of the police office, and was in waiting for the order to enter, she saw before her a little girl of her own age, who appeared to look on her with a glance full of kindness and compassion. Under the impulse of the moment, still thinking of the condition of her family, she whispered to the stranger the cause of her act of theft. "Father and mother, and my two brothers, are dying for want of bread!" said she. "Where!" asked the strange girl anxiously. Rue, No. 10" She had only time to add the name of her parents to this communication, when she was carried in before the commissary of police. Meanwhile, the poor family at home suffered all the miseries of suspense. Fears for their child's safety were added to the other afflictions of the parents. At length they heard footsteps ascending the stair. An eager cry of hope was uttered by all the four unfortunates, but, alas! a stranger appeared in place of their own little one. Yet the stranger seemed to them like an angel. Her cheeks had a beautiful bloom, and long flaxen hair fell in curls upon her shoulders. She brought to them bread, and a small basket of other provisions. The following extraordinary act was performed by a child in Lyons not long ago, according to a continental paper: An unfortunate artisan, the father of a family, was deprived of work by the depressed state of his trade during a whole winter. It was with great difficulty that he could get a morsel of food now and then for his famished wife and children. Things grew worse and worse with him, and at length, on attempting to rise one morning for the purpose of going out as usual in quest of employment, he fell back in a fainting con"Your girl,' she said, "will not come back perhaps to-day; dition beside his wife, who had already been confined to her but keep up your spirits! See what she has sent you!" bed by illness for two months. The poor man felt himself ill, After these encouraging words, the young messenger of good and his strength utterly gone. He had two boys, yet in mere put into the hands of the father five francs, and then turning childhood, and one girl about twelve or thirteen years old.-round to cast a look of pity and satisfaction on the poor family, For a long time the whole charge of the household had fallen who were dumb with emotion, she disappeared. on this girl. She had tended the sickbed of her mother, and had watched over her little brothers with more than parental care. Now, when the father too was taken ill, there seemed to be not a vestige of hope for the family, excepting in the exertions which might be made by her, young as she was. The first thought of the poor little girl was to seek for work proportioned to her strength. But that the family might not starve in the meantime, she resolved to go to one of the Houses of Charity, where food was given out, she had heard, to the poor and needy. The person to whom she addressed herself accordingly, inscribed her name in the list of applicants, and told her to come back again in a day or two, when the case would have been deliberated upon. Alas, during this deliberation, her parents and brothers would starve! The girl stated this, but was informed that the formalities mentioned were indispensible. She came again to the streets, and, almost agonised by the knowledge how anxiously she was expected, with bread, at home, she resolved to ask charity from the passengers in the public ways. No one heeded the modest unobtrusive appeal of her out stretched hand. Her heart was too full to permit her to speak. Could any one have seen the torturing anxiety that filled her breast, she must have been pitied and relieved. As the case stood, it is not perhaps surprising that some rude being menaced her with the police. She was frightened. Shivering with cold, and crying bitterly, she fled homeward.When she mounted the stairs and opened the door, the first words that she heard were the cries of her brothers for something to eat Bread! bread!' She saw her father soothing and supporting her fainting mother, and heard him say Bread! she dies for want of food.' The history of these five francs is the most remarkable part of this affair. This little benevolent fairy was, it is almost unnecessary to say, the same pitying spectator who had been addressed by the abstractor of the loaf at the police. As soon as she had heard what was said there, she had gone away, resolved to take some meat to the poor family. But she remembered that her mamma was from home that day, and was at a loss how to procure money or food, until she bethought herself of a resource of a strange kind. She recollected that a hair-dresser, who lived near her mother's house, and who knew her family, had often commended her beautiful hair, and had told her to come to him whenever she wished to have it cut, and he would give her a louis for it. This used to make her proud and pleased, but she now thought of it in a different way. In order to procure money for the assistance of the starving family, she went straight to the hair-dresser's, put him in mind of his promise, and offered to let him cut off all her pretty locks for what he thought them worth. Naturally surprised by such an application, the hair-dresser, who was a kind and intelligent man, made inquiry into the cause of his young friend's visit. Her secret was easily drawn from her, and it caused the hair-dresser almost to shed tears of pleasure. He feigned to comply with the conditions proposed, and gave the bargainer fifteen francs, promising to come and claim his purchase at some future day. The little girl then got a basket, bought provisions, and set out on her errand of mercy. Before she returned, the hair-dresser had gone to her mother's, found that lady come home, and related to her the whole circumstances. So that when the possessor of the golden tresses came back, she was gratified by being received into the open arms of her pleased and praising parent. 250 The Conjurer-Miseries of a Musical Miss-The Dawn Is Breaking O'er Üs. When the story was told at the police office by the hair dresser, the abstraction of the loaf was visited by no severe punishment. The singular circumstances connected with the case raised many friends to the artisan and his family, and be was soon restored to health and comfort. THE CONJURER. 'Marry, come up! I can see as far into a wall as another! If you'll tell me the reason why Lucy de Vere, If you 'll tell me the reason, Sir Rowland will ride side, [room, Or is going to meet her at supper: If you 'll tell me the reason why Isabel's eyes If you 'll tell me the reason why Isabel's sighs Then I think I can tell when she promised, last night, If you 'll tell me the reason a maiden must sigh, If you 'll tell me the reason she flings her book by, If her cheek has grown pale, and if dim is her eye, MISERIES OF A MUSICAL MISS. Singing a most pathetic, enchanting song, which you intend shall entrance all present. Conversation, which before had died a natural death, starts into life with renewed vigor.After an ineffectual struggle to make yourself heard, you at length desist. Practising a beautiful new song, for a party, and hearing it sung by the first Miss who is asked. A large harp-string breaking in the middle of a splendid fantasia, having no other to replace it. Having sung a brilliant Italian bravura (as you imagine) with great execution and taste, the compliments which are showered on you from a set of earless exquisites, such as "very pretty! what a sweet thing!' 'really a very pretty little song!' Playing on a piano out of tune, guiltless of soft notes, half a dozen of the principal being judiciously dumb. After singing in your best style a very beautiful song, being asked if you ever heard Miss Brown or Mrs. Black sing it? The tone of the inquiry leaving no doubt on your mind that it is considered you would be much improved by only hearing those ladies. A Miss (in an unhappy moment) being asked to play a waltz, and having seated herself at the piano, remaining there a fixture for the evening. In the middle of a sentimental song, to which all and sundry are listening attentively, the bustling entrance of two servants with tea, coffee, &c., and all that follows. Hearing a Miss asked to sing, and listening to the mawkish excuses, which last fully a quarter of an hour, such as, 'really I ccarcely ever sing,' 'quite out of practice,' 'I have such a cold,' &c. &c. Playing an overture, and, in the middle of a brilliant passage, having two leaves suddenly turned over by a polite young gen tleman, which lands you safely into the middle of the adagio movement. Being requested to sing after supper, about forty people present, the most of whom are strangers to you. Commencing your song three notes too high, and after shrilly screaming higher than you ever screamed before, you are at length compelled to desist, amidst a suppressed titter, and affectedly kind remonstrances to "go on." The ineffectual efforts which you make to conceal your mirth, at witnessing a young exquisite accompany himself on the piano, and with his shoulders paying their addresses to his cars, and his eyes doing the same to the ceiling, sing a very low sentimental ditty, about a broken heart. At length the word farewell (which occupies at least ten minutes) is drawled forth by an effort of nature, as if he and his voice both meant quietly to expire together. Being obliged (by dint of incessant importunities) to lend a music book, full of rare and beautiful songs, all of which, of course, then become quite common amongst your musical ac quaintances. Singing at a party that beautiful song 'Farewell, Dearest!' and having got through the first two bars, you are disagreea bly surprised by hearing 'two by honors,' squeaked forth from the far end of the room; however, you take courage, and go on. The following accordingly is heard: Blessings with thee go (we have the odd trick). THE DAWN IS BREAKING O'ER US.... By T. MOORE. The dawn is breaking o'er us, See, heaven hath caught its hue! We've day's long light before us, What sport shall we pursue? The hunt o'er hill and lea? The sail o'er summer sea? Oh let not hour so sweet Unwing'd by pleasure fleet. The dawn is breaking o'er us, See, heaven hath caught its hue! We've day's long light before us, What sport shall we pursue? But see, while we're deciding, What morning sport to play, The dial's hand is gliding, And morn hath pass'd away. But come, we've day before us, Still heaven looks bright and blue; Quick, quick, e'er eve comes o'er us, What sport shall we pursue? Alas, why thus delaying? We're now at evening's hour; O'er hill and wave and bower. The Oak Trees-Mozart's Opera of 'Nozze di Figaro'-Handel. THE OAK TREES. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF KOERNER. Evening is near-the sun's last rays have darted Full of high thoughts and manhood's youthful glow; Still are ye decked in young life's greenest show: In vain Time menaces your healthy pride! Green, fresh and strong, ye rear your lusty heads; But rests him in the shade your branch-work spreads: As it showed in my country's better days! MOZART'S OPERA OF NOZZE DI FIGARO.' When Mozart was engaged at Vienna in bringing out the opera of Le Marriage di Figaro,' which was rendered into Italian, from Beaumarchais's French comedy, with great ability, by Da Ponte, there were two others on the tapis, and nearly ready for representation at the same time: one by Regini, and the other, The Grotto of Trophonius,' by Salieri. Each composer claimed his right of producing his opera for the first; the contest raised much discord, and parties were formed. The characters of the three men were all very different. Mozart was as touchy as gunpowder, and declared he would put the score of his opera into the fire if it was not produced first; his claim was backed by a strong party.— Regini was working like a mole in the dark to get precedence. The third candidate was Maestro di Capella to the court, a clever, shrewd man, possessed of what Bacon called 'crooked wisdom,' and his claims were backed by three of the principal performers, who formed a cabal not easily put down. Every one of the opera company took part in the mighty contest, which was put an end to by his Imperial Majesty issuing a mandate for Mozart's 'Nozze di Figaro,' to be put instantly inte rehearsal. At the first rehearsal of the full band, Mozart was on the stage with his crimson pelisse and gold-laced cocked hat, giving the time of the music to the orchestra. Figaro's song, Non piu andrai farfollone amoroso' Bennuci gave with the greatest animation and power of voice: Mozart repeatedly cried out, 'Bravo! Bravo! Bennuci!' and when he came to that fine passage, Cherubino, alla vittoria, alla gloria militar,' which he gave with stentorian lungs, the effect was electricity itself: for the whole of the performers on the stage, as if actuated by one feeling of delight, vociferated, Bravo! Bravo! Maestro. Viva, viva, grande Mozart! And the little man acknowledged, by repeated obeisances, his thanks for the distinguished mark of enthusiastic applause bestowed upon him. The same meed of approbation was given to the finale at the end of the first act. At the conclusion of the first public performance of the opcra, the audience seemed as if they would never have done ras, 251 applauding and calling for Mozart; almost every piece was encored, which prolonged it nearly to the length of two opeand induced the Emperor to issue an order, on the second representation, that no piece of music should be encored.Never was any thing more complete than the triumph of Mozart in his 'Nozze di Figaro,' to which numerous overflowing audiences have borne witness. HANDEL. Handel, like his music, was of gigantic stature, and when young, muscular in proportion. In his youth he was very handsome; and when at Florence, writing an opera for the Prince of Tuscany, the grand duke's mistress is said to have fallen in love with him; "a passion,", says his biographer, "which, but for his prudence, might have involved them both in ruin." It is probable, however, that the constitutional indifference to the sex, which he is said to have shown throughout his life, may have contributed to prevent him from involving himself in this instance; otherwise, it is by no means improbable, that his tried courage and violent and imperious temper, might have led him to brave consequences to the utmost. The vehemence of his temperament was extraordinary, and seems to have broken out, on all occasions, not only with an utter disregard to time, place, or persons, but with a vioience and coarseness which requires all the allowances that can be made for the manners of the age, to excuse or account for. His love of will, and impatience of contradiction, even of the most reasonable kind, had once nearly cost him his life. An opera had been composed by Mattheson, (one of his early friends,) in which the author himself had to perform, and Handel conducted the music at the harpsichord in the orchesMattheson's business on the stage terminating early in the opera, he came down afterward into the orchestra to assume the direction of his own music, a right which few will be inclined to deny him. Handel, however, refused to leave his post. A violent altercation ensued, and, as they left the theatre, Mattheson struck Handel: both immediately drew their swords, and proceeded to the market-place to decide the dispute. The encounter which followed, was terminated by Mattheson's sword breaking against a metal button of Handel's coat, or in one minute the future author of the Messiah would, in all probability, have been stretched lifeless on the "This rencontre," says Hogarth, "happened on the earth. fifth of December, 1704, but the young man's wrath is like flax on fire,' and in a few days the combatants were better friends than ever." tra. On another occasion, Correlli, at a public concert, leading a concerto of Handel's rather faster than pleased the composer, he snatched the violin furiously out of his hands before When in England, rehearsing his oratorios the whole room. at Carlton House, "if the prince and princesses were not punctual in entering the room, he would get violent; yet such was the reverence with which these illustrious personages treated him, that they never took offence at his freedom. If the maids of honor, or other female attendants, indulged their loquacious propensities during the rehearsal, his rage became uncontrolable, and sometimes carried him the length of swearing, and calling names even in the presence of royalty. Yet, at such times, the Princess of Wales, with her accustomed mildness, would say to her attendants, Hush! hush! Handel is in passion.' ers. During his engagement to write for the Italian Opera, he was much pestered-as has often happened to composers and managers since his time-with the airs and freaks of the singThe celebrated Cuzzoni refusing to sing something Handel had given her, he, after rating her with his usual violence for her insubordination, seized her round the waist and threatened to throw her out of the window. The lady, terrified at his furious words and gestures, submitted. This was the Handelian taming of the shrew, and it would have been well if experiments at correcting refractory singers had always been as successful. His imperious temper would sometimes manifest itself in a more dignified, calm, and becoming manA bishop sent him some words from the Bible for an ner. anthem; Handel returned them, saying, that whenever he wanted a text from the Scriptures he could find one for himself. It is remarkable, however, that his impetuosity accompanied him even in his public devotions; at St. George's, Hanover Square, where he was regular in his attendance latterly, the congregation were not unfrequently disturbed by his loud reading and vehement gestures. 1 Notwithstanding his frequent impetuous and somewhat grotesque bursts of passion, Handel's manner was habitually serene. His countenance is described as placid, with an expression of mingled dignity and benevolence." He possessed a large fund of wit and humor; and although he did not speak, or rather pronounce, English well, he understood it sufficiently to read and enjoy the poets. The admirable way in which the words are adapted to the music in the oratorios, has been given as a proof of his thorough knowledge of the language. His face and person were eminently handsome, until his sedentary habits and gourmanderie had made him corpulent. He wore an enormous white wig, flowing over his shoulders, which, we are told, "had a certain vibratory motion indicative of his satisfaction when things were going well at the oratorio." Although the reader may smile at a comparison between Handel and Dr. Johnson, yet there are several points of resemblance between these two burly geniuses. Both were athletic men, neither cared much for women; both were bon vivants to a pitch allied to the disgusting; and both were deeply imbued with religious feeling; although here, perhaps, the resemblance was more nominal than real. Although going by the same name, there could have been little in common between the gloomy terrorism of Johnson and the mens divinior of Handel, in whom the spirit of nature worked with a power at once so awful and beautiful. Handel, for some years before his death,'had become blind. Unlike Milton, who said that if it had not been for the gout, his blindness would have been endurable, Handel felt his calamity severely. He could never after it listen to his melody, 'Total Eclipse,' without deep emotion. If, as has been said, it was affecting "to see him, at upward of seventy years of age, led to the organ, and then brought forward to make his usual obeisance to the audience," it must have been still more so, to have seen him led, or, perhaps, endeavoring to find his way unassisted, to his customary seat at St. George's Church, and to have beheld his sightless eyes cast upward in deep and fervid devotion. His last public performance was exactly one week before his death, which took place on Good Friday, (13th April, 1759.) He had expressed a wish for some days previously, that he might die on Good Friday, in hopes, as he said, of meeting his Lord and Saviour on the day of his resurection-Easter Sunday. He was buried in Westminster Abbey. His monument, by Roubilliac, is well known. "The greatest of his faults," says his biographer, "was his use of profane expressions, to which, notwithstanding the real piety of his character, he was unbecomingly addicted." It is to be feared, however, that a haughty and overbearing temper was to be numbered among his defects. "Handel," says the above authority, "was the greatest of musicians; and it is not more probable that the lustre of his name shall be dimmed by age, or impaired by successful rivalry, than that any such thing shall befal the names of Homer, Milton, or Michael Angelo." But the greatest homage that was ever paid to his genius is to be found in the recorded opinion of the three greatest composers since his time-Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. Haydn, at the commemoration at Westminster Abbey, said, "Surely this man is the father of us all!" We forget the precise words of Mozart, but they were to the same purpose; and, in the expression of Beethoven, "I could kneel at his tomb,"-we have the sublime of homage. Rossini is also well known to be a great admirer of Handel. We record this for the especial information of our fashionable readers, to show them what their idol thinks of the old, forgotten, obsolete Handel. TREATING A BANK NOTE WITH DUE RESPECT.-The Philosopher relates a characteristic anecdote of an out-at-elbows poet, who, by some freak of fortune, came into possession of a five dollar bill, called to a lad, and said, Johnny, my boy, take this William, and get it changed." "What do you mean by calling it William ?" inquired the wondering lad. "Why, John,” replied the poet, "I am not sufficiently familiar with it to take the liberty of calling it Bill!"-[Bost. Dost. SONG OF A RETURNED EXILE. BY B. SIMMONS. SWEET Corrin! how softly the evening light goes, To their lair in the hills on their childhood that rose, And find the sole blessing I seek for-REPOSE! *The picturesque nountain of Corrin, (properly Cairn-thierna, 1. e. the Thane or Lord's cairn,) is the termination of a long range of hills which encloses the valley of the Blackwater and Funcheon, (the Avonduff and Fanshin of Spenser,) in the county of Cork, and forms a striking feature of scenery, remarkable for pastoral beauty and ro mance. One of the most beautiful bends of the Funcheon is taken through the demesne of Moorepark, near Kilworth, close to a natural grotto (Tim or Teague the Bard.) or cavern, called from time immemorial the cave of Thiag-na-fibah "Some of the epitaphs at Ferrara pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna. For instance, Martini Laigh plora pace. Can any thing be more full of pathos? Those few words say all that can be said or sought; the dead had had enough of lifeall they wanted was rest, and this they implore.' Lord Byren |