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are roasted whole, no conduits flow with wine, but the whole business is passed over as silently as if the blessing of the Priest on honorable and faithful love was a thing to be ashamed of. The narrator, indeed, states that the King gave away the hand of Lady Eleanor, and that the Queen and the Marchioness supported her through the pleasing agitation of the ceremony. He tells us that Lester officiated as bridegroom to De Lacy, but not one word does he mention of the "lovely dears" who performed that office of delightful anticipation for Lady Eleanor: whether the bride rustled in stately silk or brocade-swam dignified in rich folds of velvet, or, as we more commonly have it now adays, "looked lovely in a veil and robe of matchless lace," is for ever lost, sunk in the abyss of the past. Should, therefore, any of the brilliant orbs of "heavenly hue" which we trust will skim over these pages to relieve the langour of having nothing to do, seek an elucidation of this mystery of omissiveness, we must refer them to their mirrors in that pleasing moment when, equipped to their mind, and not a grace left unimproved, they are armed for conquest.

With regard to any gentleman, young or not young, or among that numerous class who forget and would have others forget that they are old, who may have a similar curiosity, he may probably gratify it by an examination of Sir Peter Lely's portraits of the distinguished Beauties of those days, and, perhaps, stumble on that of the fair cause of this digression. There was a feature of the marriage ceremony which was not forgotten to be recorded, and which was too valuable not to be remembered. The officiating Priest on the occasion was-not Father Denis, for the Winchesters were as good and staunch Protestants as they were Royalists, but -the celebrated Jeremy Taylor, who, at that time, was in attendance at the Court, and not the less esteemed by

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Charles because he occasionally and fearlessly uttered home truths from the pulpit without respect of persons, and indulged in hard flings at Popery notwithstanding the presence of the Queen. But Jeremy was no fanatic; to avoid the abomination of contact with the Harlot of the Seven Hills, he would not fly to the extreme of independence, and, to use the words of Shakspeare, "it would puzzle the will" to find out which he hated most, the Papist or the Roundhead, but still he was actuated by the Christian Charity of the modern Orangeman, whose creed, spiritual and political, is combined of the word of God and the law of the land. At the conclusion of the marriage ceremony, the eccentric and talented Jeremy thought fit to give to the wedded pair, and all those in attendance, a lecture or exhortation suited to the occasion, and which he afterwards enlarged into the sermon now known in his published works under the title of "The Wedding Ring." Of its effect upon the good Divine's auditory, the tale furnishes no evidence, but that his frequent quotations from the Greek and Latin classics were, by the young Cavaliers present, considered a pedantic bore, (the feeling, but not the terin, was known then as it is now) and the Ladies blushed and tittered behind their fans, being under the impression that he was giving advice or reproof which could not be conveyed in plain downright English “to ears polite."

Shall we leave the imagination of our readers to dwell at this pleasant place of rest? Shall we part from them at this "Leaf of the Old Almanack," margined with the glow of blushing happiness; or, mingling the cypress wreath with the marriage garland, carry them on to that ensanguined page which tells of the consummated crimes of democracy—false statesmen, a rebel people, and a martyr King? No, we let the curtain fall-our tale of "Love and Loyalty" ends here.

TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE.

LIB. I. CARMEN 30.

AD VENEREM.

O Venus, regina Gnidi, Paphique,
Sperne dilectam Cypron, et vocantis
Thure te multo Glyceræ decoram
Transfer in ædem.

Fervidus tecum puer, et solutis
Gratiæ zonis, properentque Nymphæ,
Et parum comis sine te Juventas,
Mercuriusque.

TO VENUS.

Oh! leave thine own lov'd isle, Bright Queen of Cyprus and the Paphian shores! And here on Glycera's fair temple smile, Where vows and incense lavishly she pours.

Waft here thy glowing son;

Bring Hermes, let the Nymphs thy path surround,
And Youth, unlovely till thy gifts be won,
And thy light Graces with the zone unbound.

LIB. III. CARMEN 18.

AD FAUNUM.

Faune, Nympharum fugientum amator,
Per meos fines et aprica rura
Lenis incedas, abeasque parvis
Equus alumnis :

Si tener pleno cadit hoedus anno,
Larga nec desunt Veneris sodali
Vina crateræ, vetus ara multo
Fumat odore.

Ludit herboso pecus omne campo,
Quum tibi nonæ redeunt Decembres :

Festus in pratis vacat otioso

Cum bove pagus:

Inter audaces lupus errat agnos:
Spargit agrestes tibi silva frondes
Gaudet invisam pepulisse fossor
Ter pede terram

TO FAUNUS.

Faunus! who lov'st the flying nymphs to chace
Oh! let thy steps with genial influence tread
My sunny fields, and be thy fostering grace
Left on my nursling groves, and borders shed:

If at the mellow closing of the year,

A tender kid in sacrifice be thine
Nor fail the liberal bowls to Venus dear;
Nor clouds of incense to thine antique shrine.

Joyous each flock in meadow herbage plays,
When the December feast returns to thee;
Calmly the ox along the pasture strays,

With festal villagers from toil set free.

Then from the wolf no more the lambs retreat,

Then shower the woods to thee their foliage round,

And the glad labourer triumphs, that his feet
In triple dance have struck the hated ground.

LIB. II. CARMEN 3. 1. 9 to the end.

AD DELLIUM.

Huc vina, et unguenta, et nimiùm brevis
Flores amænos ferre jube rosæ,
Dum res, et ætas, et sororum
Fila trium patiuntur atra.

Cedes coemptis saltibus, et domo,
Villâque flavus quam Tiberis lavit :
Cedes; et exstructis in altum
Divitiis potietur hæres.

Divesne, prisco natus ab Inacho,
Nil interest, an pauper, et infimâ
De gente, sub divo moreris,
Victima nil miserantis Orci.

Omnes eòdem cogimur: omnium
Versatur urna ; seriùs ociùs

Sors exitura, et nos in æternum
Exilium impositura cymbæ.

(IMITATED.)

TO DELLIUS.

Bring wine, bring odours to th' embowering shade,
Where the tall pine and poplar blend on high;

Bring roses exquisite, but soon to fade,

Snatch every brief delight, for thou must die; Must bid thy groves farewell, thy stately dome, Thy fair retreat on yellow Tyber's shore,

Whilst other inmates revel in thy home,

And claim the piles of wealth, thine own no more; He who relents not, dooms thee soon to tread

The shore whence none return-the country of the dead.

BETA.

AN OLD MAN'S STORY.

It is now something more than fifty years since I was an undergraduate of Trinity College I know not why it is that I look back with peculiar fondness to the days that I passed under the fostering wing of Alma Mater, and in the retrospect of three score years and ten, my mind pauses with peculiar regret on the time during which I shared in the frolics, the fun, the studies, and some of the honours, too, that attend a College life. Excuse, gentle reader, an old man's vanity for mentioning the honours, but I could not help just telling you that I was a premium man, and if you will at any time come and pay me a visit in my little study, where I can assure you of a welcome, you will see the little oak bracket, with a neat glass door hung up against the wall, and half a dozen gilded volumes religiously preserved as the memento of my youthful proficiency; the bracket was made by my only brother, who went to sea just as I had taken my degree, and having a very mechanical turn, left this specimen of his handy work as a keepsake to me, and my mother insisted that my College Premiums should be placed in it, and that it should be hung up in the parlour in full view of every visitor, to show off the talents of her two sons. I have never since turned it from its use. My mother has long since paid the debt of nature, and my brother, poor fellow, was shot in the battle of Trafalgar, and so I keep the little book-case and its contents as a memento of old times, and now, as I sit in my own chair, which I have placed so as to have a full view of them: the tears come into my old eyes when I let my mind follow up the associations they excite; but I will not write much if I weep; so, reader, if you will just wait until I wipe my spectacles that are dimmed by the tears that have fallen involuntarily, I will turn my eyes away from the bracket, and will give you an account of what occurred to myself when I was young. An old man has no imagination to draw on, and I wish, just for auld lang syne," to write something for the Uni

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versity Magazine; politics I don't trouble myself much with, though I knew enough at the last election to make me give an honest Protestant vote for Mr. Shaw and Mr. Lefroy,) and as to general literature, why I know nothing of it unless from the literary annuals, and God knows, to judge from that specimen, I have no loss in not increasing my acquaintance, so as I must have a paper in the Magazine I must take the only romantic adventure of my life, and if I can just put down upon paper what I saw and heard, without either addition or subtraction, I may make out a story as good as most of those I see in Magazines; at least I will set my reader's sagacity at work, and he will wonder at the whole thing as much as I do myself, that is, if he be possessed of much curiosity, or if he be given to the solving of mysteries, and have a desire for finding out hidden things.

It was a lovely evening in the May of the year 17, I had strolled out after my tutor's evening lecture, to enjoy the pleasures of a solitary walk and wandered out of the smoke and noise of the city, to inhale the fresh sea breeze along the shore at Clontarf. I was insensibly led on to prolong my excursion until I found myself at the distance of about three miles from College. I was heated by my walk, and seating myself upon a rock, I amused myself by watching the little waves breaking at my feet, and dashing up the shells and pebbles upon the strand. The last rays of the setting sun were throwing their gold and purple tints upon the hills of Killiney and Howth, and there was a stillness in the air, broken only by the murmuring plash of the waves upon the shores, or the song of the curlew or sea-mew, as they skimmed the edge of the water. I leaned my head upon my hand, and looked across the blue expanse that was spread out before me-I felt something of the poetry of nature in the enchantment of the hour, and taking out my pocket-book and pencil, I attempted to embody my feelings in ver

ses-but alas, I could only get as far as the first rhyme-I could not for the life of me make a second, and after having scribbled over an entire page of my pocket-book with

φλοίσβοιο θαλασσης and λευσσων επί οινοπα TOYTOY.' I gave up the vain attempt, believing that in these two simple phrases of my favourite bard, there was more genuine poetry than I could infuse into a thousand couplets.

But my meditations were soon interrupted in a way that I confess was not very disagreeable. The sound of a light step upon the sand near me attracted my attention, and upon looking up I beheld a lovely female hurriedly passing along. She was alone as I was partly concealed by the rock behind which I sat, she did not perceive me until she was close to me, and I had a full view of her countenance. Light flaxen ringlets hung upon her neck, and the blue of her eyes was like the softest tint of the sky. She blushed upon perceiving me, but immediately turned away her head and quickened her step- rose and almost instinctively followed her. I could not tell why; but she was going my way, and the closing shades of evening reminded me it was time to return home.

As she walked before me I gazed in admiration on her sylph-like form-and certainly she equalled all of female loveliness that my dreams of beauty ever had pourtrayed. I felt from the first instant I had seen her, sensations such as I had never known before, and such as I could neither account for or define; and I was disappointed and vexed when, after a short time, she turned off the road, and went into a cottage which appeared to be her home. I stood for some minutes gazing after her, and then with a sigh left the place, and walked back to College. Now, reader, I said that mine was a romantic adventure, and to be sure there was nothing very romantic in all this nothing but what probably has often happened to most young men that they have seen a pretty girl taking her evening walk, felt their heart to beat quicker at the sight of her beauties, followed her home, and then gone away and thought no more of her.This last part of the story is not true, however, in my case-for some days after I could think of nothing else I would take up my books, but my mind

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wandered back to the lovely stranger. Wherever I went I felt as if I expected to meet her-even at church the next Sunday, my eyes wandered about as if in search of her, and often was my pulse fluttered by imagining that I saw her. In short, I was in love for the first and last time of my life.Some strange impression rested on my soul that she was made for me. It was perhaps a madness; but if all the feelings of our hearts, and actions of our lives, that are tinged with insanity were removed, how small would be the sum of the remainder. Philosophers, I am told, say madness is but a thing of degree-perhaps, philosophers for once are right; and I must admit it was a higher degree of it to feel thus, for one whom I had seen but for a few minutes, and of whose name and character I was ignorant. But there was a something in the single glance she gave towards me that spoke a language of its own. To my heart it told that her destiny and mine were linked together. Is there no other way for spirits to hold communication with spirits than through the dull and shackling medium of verbal intercourse. was mad, my madness was the reasoning of the heart.

If I

It will be believed that I frequently made Clontarf the direction of my excursions; and it so happened that I never went without meeting her sometimes alone, generally with an elderly lady, whom I concluded to be her mother, and whenever we met there was an agitation in her manner which convinced me that there was a something of reciprocity in our feelings, but yet I dared not to attempt an expression of my sentiments. I was too much awed by the dignity of purity with which she was invested, in my mind, to presume to offend her delicacy by a rude obtrusion on her notice; and thus I loved-I longed to pour into her ear the avowal of my soul. She, too, as I afterwards discovered, sympathized with my desires; and yet we metwe parted without even a sign of recognition being interchanged. We guessed-we knew each other's feelings, and yet were silent in each other's presence, bound down by the fictitious trammels which society imposed. Accident, at length, brought us together. One evening I watched her in one of her solitary walks, and followed

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