The wrangling courts, and stubborn law,
To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw;
There selfish faction rules the day
And pride and avarice throng the way ;
Diseases taint the murky air,

And midnight conflagrations glare;
Loose revelry and riot bold

In frighted streets their orgies hold;
Or when in silence all is drown'd,
Fell murder walks her lonely round,;
No room for peace, no room for you—
Adieu, celestial Nymph, adieu!

Shakespeare no more, thy sylvan son, Nor all the art of Addison,

Pope's heaven-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease,
Nor Milton's mighty self must please :
Instead of these, a formal band

In furs and coifs around me stand,
With sounds uncouth, and accents dry,
That grate the soul of Harmony.
Each pedant sage unlocks his store
Of mystic, dark, discordant lore;
And points with tottering hand the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.

There, in a winding, close retreat,
Is Justice doom'd to fix her seat;
There, fenced by bulwarks of the Law,
She keeps the wondering world in awe;

And there from vulgar sight retired, Like Eastern Queens, is much admired.

Oh! let me pierce the secret shade Where dwells the venerable maid! There humbly mark, with reverent awe, The Guardian of Britannia's Law; Unfold with joy her sacred page, (The united boast of many an age, Where mix'd, though uniform, appears The wisdom of a thousand years,) In that pure spring the bottom view, Clear, deep, and regularly true, And other doctrines thence imbibe Than lurk within the sordid scribe Observe how parts with parts unite In one harmonious rule of right; See countless wheels distinctly tend, By various laws, to one great end; While mighty Alfred's piercing soul Pervades and regulates the whole.

Then welcome business, welcome strife Welcome the cares, the thorns of life; The visage wan, the pore-blind sight, The toil by day, the lamp by night, The tedious forms, the solemn prate, The pert dispute, the dull debate, The drowsy Bench, the babbling Hall, For thee, fair Justice, welcome all!

The wrangling courts, and stubborn law, To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw ; There selfish faction rules the day And pride and avarice throng the way; Diseases taint the murky air, And midnight conflagrations glare; Loose revelry and riot bold

In frighted streets their orgies hold
Or when in silence all is drown'd,
Fell murder walks her lonely round,;
No room for peace, no room for you-
Adieu, celestial Nymph, adieu!

Shakespeare no more, thy sylvan son, Nor all the art of Addison,

Pope's heaven-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease,
Nor Milton's mighty self must please :
Instead of these, a formal band

In furs and coifs around me stand,
With sounds uncouth, and accents dry,
That grate the soul of Harmony.
Each pedant sage unlocks his store
Of mystic, dark, discordant lore;
And points with tottering hand the ways
That lead me to the thorny maze.

There, in a winding, close retreat,
Is Justice doom'd to fix her seat;
There, fenced by bulwarks of the Law,
She keeps the wondering world in awe;

And there from vulgar sight retired, Like Eastern Queens, is much admired.

Oh! let me pierce the secret shade Where dwells the venerable maid! There humbly mark, with reverent awe, The Guardian of Britannia's Law; Unfold with joy her sacred page, (The united boast of many an age, Where mix'd, though uniform, appears The wisdom of a thousand years,) In that pure spring the bottom view, Clear, deep, and regularly true, And other doctrines thence imbibe Than lurk within the sordid scribe; Observe how parts with parts unite In one harmonious rule of right; See countless wheels distinctly tend, By various laws, to one great end; While mighty Alfred's piercing soul Pervades and regulates the whole.

Then welcome business, welcome strife Welcome the cares, the thorns of life; The visage wan, the pore-blind sight, The toil by day, the lamp by night, The tedious forms, the solemn prate, The pert dispute, the dull debate, The drowsy Bench, the babbling Hall, For thee, fair Justice, welcome all !

Thus, though my noon of life be past,
Yet let my setting sun at last

Find out the still, the rural cell
Where sage retirement loves to dwell!
There let me taste the home-felt bliss
Of innocence and inward peace;
Untainted by the guilty bribe,
Uncursed amid the harpy tribe;
No orphan's cry to wound my ear,
My honour and my conscience clear;
Thus may I calmly meet my end,
Thus to the grave in peace descend.

CANDOUR OF AN IRISH DEPONENT.

In a very excellent series of articles, entitled "Sketches of the Irish Bar," which have lately appeared in a periodical publication, we meet with the following highly ludicrous statement in the affidavit of a " process-server."-" And this deponent further saith, that on arriving at the house of the said defendant, situate in the county of Galway aforesaid, for the purpose of personally serving him with the said writ, he, the said deponent, knocked several times at the outer, commonly called the Hall-door, but could not obtain admittance; whereupon this deponent was proceeding to knock a fourth time, when a man, to this deponent unknown, holding in his hands a musket or blunderbuss loaded with balls or slugs,