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THE SHANDON BELLS.

FRANCIS MAHONY (FATHER PROUT).

With deep affection

And recollection

I often think of

Those Shandon bells,'
Whose sound so wild would,
In days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle
Their magic spells.

On this I ponder
Where'er I wander,

And thus grow fonder,

Sweet Cork of thee;

With thy bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

I've heard bells chiming
Full many a clime in,
Tolling sublime in

Cathedral shrine,

While at a glib rate

Brass tongues would vibrate

But all their music

Spoke naught like thine;

For memory dwelling

On each proud swelling
Of the belfry knelling

Its bold notes free,

Made the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee!

I've heard bells tolling
Old "Adrian's Mole" in,
Their thunder rolling
From the Vatican,
And cymbals glorious
Swinging uproarious
In the gorgeous turrets
Of Notre Dame;

But thy sounds were sweeter
Than the dome of Peter

Flings o'er the Tiber,

Pealing solemnly;

O! the bells of Shandon
Sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters

Of the river Lee.

There's a bell in Moscow,

While on tower and kiosk o!

In Saint Sophia

The Turkman gets,

And loud in air

Calls men to prayer

From the tapering summits
Of tall minarets.

Such empty phantom
I freely grant them;

But there's an anthem

More dear to me,-
'Tis the bells of Shandon,
That sound so grand on
The pleasant waters
Of the river Lee.

MRS. CAUDLE'S UMBRELLA LECTURE.
DOUGLAS WILLIAM JERROLD.

(From "Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures.")

"That's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. What were you to do? Why, let him go home in the rain, to be sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him that could spoil. Take cold, indeed! He doesn't look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd have better taken cold than take our only umbrella. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear the rain? And as I'm alive, if it isn't St. Swithin's Day! Do you hear it against the windows? Nonsense; you don't impose upon me. You can't be asleep with such a shower as that! Do you hear it, I say? Oh, you do hear it! Well that's a pretty flood, I think, to last for six weeks; and no stirring all the time out of the house. Pooh! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle. Don't insult me. He return the umbrella! Anybody would think you were born yesterday. As if anybody ever did return an umbrella! There-do you hear it? Worse and worse! Cats and dogs, and for six weeks—always six weeks. And no umbrella.

"I should like to know how the children are to go to school to-morrow? They shan't go through such weather, I'm determined. No: they shall stop at home and never learn anything — the blessed creatures!- sooner than go and get wet. And when they grow up, I wonder who they'll have to thank for knowing nothing-who, indeed, but their father?

me.

"But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh, yes; I know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow-you knew that; and you did it on purpose. Don't tell me; you hate me to go there, and take every mean advantage to hinder But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle. No, sir; if it comes down in bucketsful, I'll go all the more. "No: and I won't have a cab. Where do you think the money's to come from? You've got nice high notions at that club of yours. A cab, indeed! Cost me sixteen-pence at least sixteen-pence! twoand-eight-pence, for there's back again. Cabs, indeed! I should like to know who's to pay for 'em ; I can't pay for 'em, and I'm sure you can't, if you go on as you do; throwing away your property, and beggaring your children-buying umbrellas!

"Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear it? But I don't care-I'll go to mother's to-morrow: I will; and what's more, I'll walk every step of the way,-and you know that will give me my death. Don't call me a foolish woman, it's you that's the foolish man. You know I can't wear clogs; and with no umbrella, the wet's sure to give me a cold-it always does. But what do you care I may be laid up for

for that? Nothing at all. what you care, as I dare say I shall—and a pretty

doctor's bill there'll be. I hope there will! It will teach you to lend your umbrellas again. I shouldn't wonder if I caught my death; yes: and that's what you lent the umbrella for. Of course!

"Nice clothes I shall get too, traipsing through weather like this. My gown and bonnet will be spoiled quite. Needn't I wear 'em, then? Indeed,

Mr. Caudle, I shall wear 'em. No, sir, I'm not going out a dowdy to please you or anybody else. Gracious knows! it isn't often that I step over the threshold; indeed, I might as well be a slave at once,- better, I should say. But when I do go out, Mr. Caudle, I choose to go like a lady. Oh! that rain-if it isn't enough to break in the windows.

"Ugh! I do look forward with dread for tomorrow! How I am to go to mother's I'm sure I can't tell. But if I die, I'll do it. No, sir; I won't borrow an umbrella. No; and you shan't buy one. Now, Mr. Caudle, only listen to this: if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it in the street. I'll have my own umbrella, or none at all. Ha! and it was only last week I had a new nozzle put to that umbrella. I'm sure, if I'd have known as much as I do now, it might have gone without one for me. Paying for new nozzles, for other people to laugh at you.

"And I should like to know how I'm to go to mother's without the umbrella? Oh, don't tell me that I said I would go-that's nothing to do with it; nothing at all. She'll think I'm neglecting her, and the little money we were to have, we shan't have at all-because we've no umbrella.

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