4. She had a similar shout of joy looking in the coun tenance of the second murdered man; but the third was her son; from that moment her eyeballs became as coals of fire, and she did not shed a single tear. That woman's tears have not yet begun to flow. When is she to have redress? She is to have no redress, and the cause of her woe, the grand evil, s still to remain in Ireland.

5. We are still to follow up the old cause, giving new acts of Parliament, but no new principle, no new spirit unknown to our predecessors, and leaving all the evils of the tithe system substantially untouched and in full operation. What does it signify whether the designation be tithe or tithe composition, or land tax, or rent charge; magical as names are supposed to be, will that verbal magic do away with the intolerable, interminable injustice of the impost, so obnoxious in itself?

O'CONNELL

47. THE TAIL.

In one of O'Connell's speeches he remarked that "it is consistent with the genius and disposition of my country to mix merriment with woe, and the sound of laughter is often heard while the soul is wrung with bitter anguish, and the tear of sorrow dims the cheek." In accordance with this national characteristic, he occasionally gave vent to the most ludicrous remarks, as when, in his great speech on the Reform Bill, he laughingly described the desertion of Lord Stanley and his followers from the ranks of the Reformers.]

WHAT

HAT are we to call the section of the house over which the noble lord (Stanley) presides? It is not a party;— that he denies; it is not a faction;-that would be a harsher title. I will give it a name. We ought to call it "the Tail."

2. How delightful would it be to see it walking in St. James' Street to-morrow, to see the noble lord strutting proudly with his sequents behind with a smile passing over his countenance, something like, as Curran said, "a silver plate on a coffin,” while the right honorable member for Cumberland (Sir James, Graham) made one of its lustiest links,-not held by

the Cockermouth crutch, but supported by his detestation of all coalition.

3. Yes, sir, this is the ridiculous combination of supports by which the right honorable baronet (Sir Robert Peel) is this night saved. How is he to be saved? By the Tories? Oh, no! By the Whigs? Oh, no! the genuine Whigs have not gone over yet.

4. Whatever becomes of speculation for places, where no negotiation for places has as yet been entered into-whatever becomes of future perspects, of difficulties not over and subdued, of kindness thrown out and courtesies offered, and protection held over these unfortunate orphans-the ministers as we call them-whatever becomes of their party, the true Whig, the true Reformer, the true friend of liberty will stand firm; and I doubt much that the right honorable baronet's protection, with that of his noble friend, the noble lord, and the sequents which he may carry with him, will avail those over whom it is extended:

"Down thy hill, romantic Ashbourne, glides

The Derby Dilly, with its six insides!"

O'CONNELL

48. SCENES OF OUR YOUTH.

["I came to the place of my birth, and said, 'The friends of my youth, where are they?' an echo answered, Where are they?'"]

L

ONG years had elapsed since 1 gazed on the scene,

Which my fancy still robed in its freshness of greenThe spot where, a schoolboy, all thoughtless, I stray'd, By the side of the stream, in the gloom of the shade.

II.

I thought of the friends who had roam'd with me there, When the sky was so blue, and the flowers were so fairAll scatter'd all sunder'd by mountain and wave,

And some in the silent embrace of the grave!

III.

I thought of the green banks, that circled around,
With wild-flowers, and sweetbrier, and eglantine crown'd;

I thought of the river, all quiet and bright

As the face of the sky on a blue summer night.

IV.

And I thought of the trees, under which we had stray'd,
Of the broad leafy bows, with their coolness of shade;
And I hoped, though disfigured, some token to find
Of the names and the carvings impress'd on the rind.

V.

All eager, I hasten'd the scene to behold,

Render'd sacred and dear by the feelings of old;
And I deem'd that, unalter'd, my eye should explore
This refuge, this haunt, this Elysium of yore.

VI.

'Twas a dream—not a token or trace could I view Of the names that I loved, of the trees that I knew: Like the shadows of night at the dawning of day, "Like a tale that is told," they had vanish'd away.

VII.

And methought the lone river, that murmur'd along,
Was more dull in its motion, more sad in its song,
Since the birds that had nestled and warbled above,
Had all fled from its banks, at the fall of the grove.

VIII.

I paused; and the moral came home to my heart:
Behold how of earth all the glories depart !
Our visions are baseless; our hopes but a gleam;
Our staff but a reed; and our life but a dream.

IX.

Then, oh, let us look-let our prospects allure-
To scenes that can fade not, to realms that endure,
To glories, to blessings, that triumph sublime

O'er the blightings of change, and the ruins of time.

BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZI

THE

49. THE PILLAR TOWERS OF IRELAND.

HE pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they stand By the lakes and rushing rivers through the valleys of our land;

In mystic file, through isle, they lift their heads sublime, These gray old pillar temples, these conquerors of time.

II.

Beside these gray old pillars, how perishing and weak
The Roman's arch of triumph, and the temple of the Greek,
And the gold domes of Byzantium, and the pointed Gothic

spires !

All are gone, one by one, but the temples of our sires!

III.

The column with its capital, is level with the dust;
And the proud halls of the mighty and the calm homes of

the just;

For the proudest works of man, as certainly, but slower, Pass like the grass at the sharp scythe of the mower !

IV.

But the grass grows again when in majesty and mirth,
On the wing of the spring comes the Goddess of the Earth;
But for man in this world no spring-tide e'er returns

To the labors of his hands or the ashes of his urns!

V.

Two favorites hath Time-the pyramids of Nile,

And the old mystic temples of our own dear isle;

As the breeze o'er the seas, where the halcyon has its nest, Thus time o'er Egypt's tombs and the temples of the West!

VI.

The names of their founders have vanished in the gloom, Like the dry branch in the fire or the body in the tomb;

But to-day, in the ray, their shadows still they castThese temples of forgotten gods-these relics of the past!

VII.

Around these walls have wandered the Briton and the Dane→→ The captives of Armorica, the cavaliers of Spain

Phoenician and Milesian, and the plundering Norman PeersAnd the swordsmen of brave Brian, and the chiefs of later years!

VIII.

How many different rites have the gray old temples known! To the mind what dreams are written in these chronicles of stone !

What terror and what error, what gleams of love and truth, Have flashed from these walls since the world was in its youth!

IX.

Here blazed the sacred fire, and, when the sun was gone, As a star from afar to the traveller it shone ;

And the warm blood of the victim have these gray old temples drunk,

And the death-song of the Druid and the matin of the Monk.

Χ.

Here was placed the holy chalice that held the sacred wine, And the gold cross from the altar, and the relics from the

shrine,

And the mitre shining brighter with its diamonds than the

East,

And the crosier of the Pontiff, and the vestments of the Priest !

XI.

Where blazed the sacred fire, rung out the vesper bell,Where the fugitive found shelter, became the hermit's cell;