not without a volley of abuse at the "Dublin Jackeens," as he was pleased to call us, whose only guilt was a hearty laugh at his ludicrous contour. "Who is that ?" I asked. "O'Kelly, the poet, sir; the crossest ould devil you ever knew. He is bothering me this month about some pome-book or other, which they say he's sending to the king.” "What king?" "Faith, sir, the king of England; and if he did, 'twasn't the first time." And he gave us an account of O'Kelly's interview with George IV., which is a fact; and as it is not generally known, and most deserving of record, we shall strike off the sketch for the information of our readers. Killarney is distant yet about an hundred and fifty miles, bearing south by west. O'Kelly, by some occult means, limped his way into St. Patrick's Hall, on the first grand levee held by George IV. Surrounded by the good and bad blood of the land, the merry monarch moved about, dispensing "wreathed smiles," as he well knew, when his eye fell suddenly on O'Kelly. He drew back with astonishment, and well he might. There stood the poet fine as silk, and as sweet as honey. Well may I say with Horace, Exegi monumentum.'" The king smiled. In the progress of the discourse he alluded to O'Kelly's lameness. Here the poet's pride was awakened. "Yes, your majesty, the three of us were lame-it is the accident of genius." "What three?" asked the king. "Why, to be sure, Scott, Byron, and O'Kelly!" The poet's eulogy of himself did not terminate with this very favourable comparison, which would have been quite sufficient for ordinary bards. To take rank with Byron and Scott would have sufficed intellects less towering than the Irish's laureate's, for in the following lines, delivered extempore at the request of his majesty, we find hin throwing Pope and Moore into the scale, and making the whole four "kick the beam.” "Three mighty poets in one century born, pounds for the poet, with the respectable First. 66 AN APOLOGY. His figure such as might his soul proclaim, One eye was twinkling, and one leg was lame; and that, too, fastened by a leather strap to an oaken stump. In one hand he clenched a hazel stick, mounted with the arc of a ram's horn; for, as he said, he loved every. thing pastoral, and with the other he dived occasionally into his waistcoat pocket for the brother horn, to take snuff, for the glitter made him sneeze. He wore a brown ratteen coat-a waistcoat, originally black, but then steeped in all the hues of the rainbow, Shade of Scott! thou who, like a loadnot unlike a painter's apron; his trouser and a half of the like material and colour, and star, didst draw unto thee the admiring eyes to crown the poetic picture, his flat skull of mankind, and with the fine cord of symwas surmounted by a bob-wig, made of split bristles. Behold him now, en tout, his dingy beaver in one hand, the cane in the other, while his body fell back quite at ease on the oaken stump. The king questioned Sir Benjamin Bloomfield, and the answer made him smile. He was introduced by the master of the ceremonies. pathy didst bind all hearts to thine-thou who didst reveal the mysteries of the human spirit, and, by unfolding the operation of our passions and prejudices, didst teach man that self-knowledge and self-subjugation whereby they might walk forth full of an amiable and universal love to all and to each other!—who, like thee, could sound the blackest depths of the heart, or, like thee, cover with a beautiful light, as with a veil, follow-its gentle weaknesses and affections? Calm be thy sleep in the cold vaults of Dryburgh. "Quicquid ex te amavimus-quicquid mirati sumus, manet-mansurumque est in animis hominum-in eternitate temporum—famâ re "Your majesty-Mr. O'Kelly." The king made a very low bow, while O'Kelly gave a very stiff nod. The ing conversation took place : 66 'O'Kelly, I have heard of you ere now." "Thank yer majesty, so I thought. True poets are for all countries, and though I don't say it, my Causeway' and 'Eudoxologist' will live for ever. There are two lines in the 'Causeway' that I defy the world to produce their equal, though I don't say it. Did your majesty notice that sublime line "Too rude for art-too elegant for chance ?" "I regret to say I never read the poem which you allude." "Five thousand lines, your majesty to as rum. Alios, velut inglorios et ignobiles oblivio obruet-tu, posteritati narratus et traditus, superstes eris." "Tis indeed a merciless profanation to connect even in mirth thy name with his! And thou too, grand and gloomy spirit, who didst run through the world with the speed and tricity of one of those great erratic lights, which thou didst resemble in the splendour and briefness of thy career,-of thee I ask pardon for the unhallowed union. Yet it eccen teaches a memorable lesson, that presump-| tuous ignorance is callous to a sense of its weakness, or as Pope, for whom also I ask pardon, much better expressed it "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." Moore fortunately lives to defend himself. CHAPTER II. Cork is not a handsome town-it is far inferior in architectural beauty to Dublin, and even Limerick; but it is finely situated on the banks of a noble river, surrounded by one of the most fertile districts in Ireland, and attaining to great commercial prosperity, which would seem to verify an ancient prophecy, which was in great vogue in our younger days "Dublin is--Limerick was, And Cork will be, The greatest seaport of the three." jangling did we hear in or out of tune. The pleasant waters of the river Lee." pleasant driver-road in fine order. We went on at a slow but agreeable pace, having time to glance at the country, which from Cork to Macroom is a rich limestone soil, tolerably well wooded, and interspersed with the ruins of numerous towers. Every eminence almost is crowded with the ivied relics of ancient architecture, but we did not see a single round tower. Macroom is a poor inland town, governed by a very inveterate politician and sportsman, a Mr. Hedges Eyre, whose castle and ample demesne are at least an ornament to the village. From Macroom the road is uninteresting, till you arrive at Ballyvourney, where the magnificent pass of Glenflesk commences. This village enjoys a twofold celebrity in its potheen whisky, and the valour of its inhabitants, who deserve a nobler chronicle than we are able to give. Their only rivals in history are the Castlebar cavalry. Maxwell has immortalised the courage of his countrymen, and as no native has stepped forth to do justice to the heroes of Ballyvourney, the pen of a stranger will render that tribute in the pages of the " Metropolitan." If the magnanimity of the Ballyvourney men be at all questionable, none will doubt their discretion. What a very exquisite triplet, but most likely to be realised. We are not about to enter into a history of its trade and statistics, for we are very little acquainted with the number of its firkins of butter, or sacks of corn, or the amount of its slang-devoured population; but we may state that Cork, from its favourable position, at no distant day, will have no rival in the empire but Liverpool. Lady Chatterton, in her delightful rambles, has rendered no more than justice to the picturesque beauty of the Lee. From Passage to Cork is unsurpassed in Europe. The scenery on the Seine has been much admired; but give us the Lee, with its bold, broad, placid sheet of water, reflecting in its clear bosom for ten miles the rich cultivation and architectural elegance of Blackrock and Glanmine. The whole is like a magnificent panorama, exhibiting at every change fresh and vari- During the agrarian insurrection of ed grandeur, combining the trim neatness 1822, some soldiers were stationed in the of an English lawn with the wild and rich village, and after a night's excursion they luxuriance of nature. We sailed down to captured some suspicious persons, and Cove, or rather steamed it, per the petit brought them to the barracks to await expacket Waterloo, and amply were we re- amination. The insurgents resolved on a paid for our shilling. Believe me, reader, rescue, despatches were forwarded through it is unparalleled, and if ever you should the country, and two thousand determined visit the "beautiful city called Cork." spirits assembled. All being arrangeddon't forget the Lee. Father Prout, a very first, to liberate their companions, and good authority, says, that the chime of the next to take Cork by a coup de main, they Shandon bells on a calm evening swells marched in three divisions to the scene of admiration into rapturous devotion. Un-action. The first column was commanded fortunately, the musicians suspended their most sweet voices during our voyage, and though we often looked to the sombre square tower looming over the city in which the choristers are imprisoned, not a by General Tim Casey. Tim had often proved his prowess at faction fights; för twelve years his head was as bare as a Chinese bonze's, in order, as he said, "that he mightn't be for ever troubling his memory. He has given up all feuds and factions-drinks no whisky-returns early home from fair and market, and advises all young men to take counsel of the laws, and listen to the advice of O'Connell. Our readers, we are sure, will congratulate Tim for his good sense, no matter how light they hold his valour. honour, the apothecary!" It was a beau- and the red coats were too green in his tiful study for a Spurzheimite, being sunk into cavities, varying in depth from a half to two inches. He headed the musketeers, Major Doherty, the spade and scythe men, and Brigadier Boulge, the Koρúvnτai, or eleh alpeen bearers. On they marched, garrulous as Phrygians, not to the sound of flutes and soft recorders, but the strains of a bagpiper, borne on the shoulders of two men, who heralded them to death or victory, with the spirit stirring tune of the "White cockade." Some, however, had their misgivings, and among them the general, who never liked a red coat, though he cared no more for Peelers than rushes. To banish apprehension, Tim bade the piper play up the Shan van Voght, and all sang in unison, 66 My father has an ass, says the Shan van Voght, But the boys that goes to mass, says the Shan The entry to Killarney by Glenflesk is a fine preparation for the feast to come. The glen through which the Flesk flows into the lakes is a narrow defile nearly eight miles long, flanked on both sides by a continuous range of barren but picturesque mountains. On our right, the paps, steeped in rich sunlight, raised their lofty cones to the clouds. Smooth and round, in the distance they certainly bore a strong resemblance to the exquisite prototypes whence they derive their name; and, to complete the verisimil itude, they are surmounted by the ruins of two ancient structures, marvellously like nipples. Here we were shown the course of the famous spout, which is painfully remembered by the inhabitants of the glen. On a fine summer day, when not a cloud was in the heavens, or a breeze on the hills, a fearful explosion was heard in the direction of the paps, like the thunder of a thousand pieces of artillery. The villagers never before heard anything like it; the tumult neared rapidly, swelling and roar. ing most fearfully, and at length a huge column of water came down, devastating and tearing up everything in its progress. It rushed into the glen with awful fury, spreading from mountain to mountain; and had it not in some degree been checked by falling into the deep bed of the Flesk, which was then dried up, thousands would have perished. As it was, twenty lives were lost, and the villager who in the morning smiled on his flocks and waving fields of corn, before the close of that melan choly day beheld all the labour of his past life, and the hope of the future, annihilated, One farm was shown us, or rather what had been one, where immense masses of rock were piled on each other, which were whirled down from the mountains for miles. In our opinion, nothing short of the universal deluge could have stirred them. As we emerged from the glen, we got a view of the Mangerton, looking dark and sullen Let them pursue their retreat. Perhaps in the distance. All the light was concenyou may humanely say, why should not the trated on that beautiful mountain at his poor fellows run when a regiment of sol-feet, most unoccidentally called Turk, diers were cracking at their heels? A regiment! 'pon our word-only five-and not a ball did they fire! Whoo-hurra-five pounds for a sog. er's head!" and no sooner did Tim raise the exhortatory shout, than it was replied to by a volley of musketry from a ruined cabin on the road-side. Sauve qui peut, if not the word, was the immediate feeling; the musketeers wheeled and fell back on the scythe men, who in turn pressed on the eleh alpeen men, and the rout commenced in good earnest. Heels were never before turned up with such alacrity-the pace was truly killing. But where was Tim? Like a good officer at the head of his troops, in retreat as in advance. 6. Stand, ye devils, and shoot the sogers!" And so they did, if going at the rate of ten Irish miles an hour could be called standing. Tim was as swift-footed as Achilles; and though he did not run for the life of the steed-taming Hector, he had a more powerful stimulant, for he ran for his own, and no man could do it better. Since the start he never once turned his head till he reached Poul Gurrum (or the Blue River,) about eight miles from the battle field. He then ventured, with speed still unabated, to address Major Doherty, who hung close on his rear. "Blood an' ouns, Jack, are they beating us, or are we beating them?" whose bright and joyous appearance strongly contrasted with the sad heavy look of his majestic sire. "Is it not strange, So have we faithfully chronicled the sir," said Cowley, a highly entertaining valour of the Ballyvourney men; and it" rider on the rapid wheel," and full of the may be right to say that, in our progress through the glen, the residence of the general was pointed out to us, and a comfortable, well-ordered cottage it was. He returned to his allegiance, and though often solicited during the tithe explosion to take the command of a company, the race legendary lore of the country, one of the FLOWERS. WOULD Ye had tongues, sweet flowers, that ye might tell, of sorcery which we have wholly forgotten; sons which may palliate even so rash a step; but we remember, on looking round, that judge for yourself, dear Miss Frances." He the paps were bathed in light, and Manger- put his hand in his pocket as he spoke, and ton continued sombre as ever. We direct- Frances felt convinced that he was going ed his eyes to the contradiction of the to hold a pocket mirror before her eyes, marvel, but he refused to be persuaded, which would have been a gallant and poetand very seriously brought his yarn to a ical manner of signifying his meaning; but close. Another hour, and we were safely he only produced a letter very badly folded, landed at the Kenmure Arms, where, with sealed with red sealing-wax, bearing the imyour permission, kind reader, we will rest pression of a huge head, and having several, ourselves for a while. Do you now agree apparently, cabalistic characters traced on with us, that "the way hither was full of the back, which Frances considered might pleasant adventure?" denote it to be an eastern love-charm. She eagerly tore open the mysterious document. Alas! although miserably written and worse speit, it was couched in only too plain English : itwas signed by the name of "Martha Clayton,' " and came from the gamekeeper's cherry-cheeked daughter, who had been privately married to Clayton six months before. Frances was undecided whether to faint, or fly in a passion; but the sudden announce. ment of morning visitors preserved her from the necessity of doing either. Clayton caught up the erudite epistle of his bride, and made his escape; and Frances, ever after, ordered the footman to inform Mr. Clayton, if he inquired for Miss Frances Moreland, that she was engaged. She appeared, however, less likely than ever to be engaged in the most desirable sense of the word; and had not Josephine's admirer just then come pointedly forward, the sisters of the house of Moreland would have stood a fair chance of realising my mother's floating idea of a Protestant nunnery. Josephine had not hitherto been fortunate in attracting individual attention; the piano was always crowded by gentlemen whenever she sang, but they appeared rather disposed to greet her with the burst of applause due to a public performer, than to whisper the soft accents of love in her ear. Josephine never condescended to sing an English ballad, otherwise she might have given with great spirit and effect the popular ditty, In voices tuneful as your buds are bright, How greeted back the sun when first he fell How ye have woo'd the butterfly's young Enticing him with fragrance-breathing spell, Then might ye speak of her-the smiling maid That queens it o'er this wilderness, and say How she has bent your balmy breath to prove, Requiting you with hers,-ye well repaid! I to the tale would list the livelong day, And cheat the hours that keep me from my love. Queen's, Oxford. THE YOUNGER SISTER.* BY MRS. ABDY. W. T. FRANCES was amazed at his inaccuracy in dates; he had only been acquainted with her three months. She made no reply, and a short silence ensued. "A clandestine marriage," said Clayton, at length, "is a measure very much to be blamed and deprecated." "Why don't the men propose, mamma?" To do her justice, however, she seemed very indifferent on the subject; the feelings of the woman were, in her, completely merged in those of the prima donna, and the gentleman who could dexterously turn over the leaves of her music-book, and cry "bravo" in the right place, wanted nothing else to entitle him to her approbation; she had no wish to listen to love-speeches, unless love could be made in recitative as it is on the boards of the Italian Opera-house. Josephine, however, became introduced to Sir George Dalton, a wealthy amateur; music with him, as with her, was the first object of existence; he gave several private "Very much so, indeed," replied Frances; concerts every year on a splendid scale, and she could not well say otherwise, when her expressed a hope that in the forthcoming lover had so completely given her the key-spring Josephine would grace them with her note' for her response." presence and her talents: in the mean time rea- he earnestly recommended her to take lessons of the most celebrated Italian singer of the day. Josephine complied with his re "Yet," pursued Clayton, "there are Continued from vol. vii. p. 388. VOL. VIII. · state of great languor and weakness. The evening arrived. I dressed quickly, and hastened to her room; she was never very tedious. at her toilet, and was already completely arrayed, but I was shocked at the expression of pain which her countenance wore, and her cheeks appeared to me to resemble, in whiteness, the jessamine wreath in her hair. quest, and her exquisite voice and taste cer- | succeeded in removing the evil of which she tainly derived still further excellence from complained, although it reduced her to a the judicious instruction of the signor, who spoke of her in all societies as his favourite pupil, and lamented most deeply and teel ingly that she was not poor enough to require an engagement at the Opera-house. Everybody in the family was perfectly pleased with the aspect of affairs but myself; but I had always feared that the exceeding fragility of Josephine's constitution was very unequal to the demands made upon it by her unremitting vocal exertions; she had increased her hours of practice since the attendance of the signor, and was generally, in the My observation was a very unfortunate intervals of her labours, stretched on the one; the thought of half an hour's leisure sofa in a state of complete exhaustion. I immediately inspired Josephine with the wish earnestly recommended rest and quiet, but of practising once more the fatal bravura. my mother and Josephine both dropped some My remonstrances were unavailing, and I slightly personal hints, that "it was very slowly and unwillingly followed her into the easy for those who were of no consequence drawing-room. She placed herself at the in society to advise others to shun it, or sub-piano, and began to sing in so faint and faltermit to insignificance in it ;" and was si- ing a voice, that I rose from my seat for the lenced. "Our sisters will not be ready for half an hour, Josephine," said I; "do repose in the mean time on the sofa." purpose of entreating her to desist ; she proCards were issued for Sir George Dalton's bably anticipated my intention, for, by an first concert. He had whispered to a lady evident effort, she threw forth the whole volof our acquaintance, that he should probably ume of her magnificent voice, and executed offer his hand to Josephine shortly after the succeeding passages in a style of surwards; and she could not help imagining passing, and I may almost say tormenting that on her success on this important night brilliancy. Suddenly she ceased, and sank might, perhaps, depend the crisis of her ma- back in her chair. I flew to support her; trimonial fate. So probably thought the blood was streaming from her mouth; medi signor, for, a few days before tha: fixed on cal aid was instantly procured; she was for Sir George's concert, he brought Jose- carried to her bed-room, and we of course phine a manuscript bravura, just forwarded excused ourselves from the splendid enter to him by a popular composer in Italy. He tainment which was to have enriched us anticipated that it would meet with unbound severally with a son-in law, a brother-in-law, ed applause when introduced by a profes- and a husband. Josephine was soon prosional pupil of his in a forthcoming opera; nounced out of danger, but she remained a but promised Josephine that no eye decided invalid: her physicians were of should rest on it, and no ear hear it, till it opinion that her attack was brought on by had been sung by herself at Sir George Dal- her over-exertions in singing, and they would ton's concert. Josephine consequently toil- have prohibited any further transgressions ed incessantly to make herself mistress of its of the kind, but that at present it was quite difficulties, and completely succeeded; after unnecessary to do so, since her voice was all, it was, in my opinion, far from being an not only incapable of song, but scarcely attractive air; it had scarcely any melody amounted to a loud whisper in speech. We in it, but appeared a mere combination of in- were all prepared for the defection of Sir tricate and bewildering passages; however, George Dalton, who was exactly the sort of 1 knew the taste of Sir George Dalton and man to realize the old lines,-" Love that's his musical clique so well, that I rejoiced that caught by a voice, may be cured by a cold." Josephine possessed such a powerful talis He called and sent several times to inquire man to win her way to the inmost recesses of after Josephine's health; but when he had his heart. I was not generally so sanguine definitively ascertained that her beautiful as my mother and sisters, but Josephine's voice was "like sweet bells jangled, out of success appeared to me to be almost certain time and tune," he absented himself from our there was no fear that Sir George would be house, and we soon heard that he was regu enticed by fortune like Lord Stanton, or en-larly to be seen in the green-room of the slaved by beauty like Mr. Clayton; coffers Opera-house, paying unremitting attention of gold would be valueless to him, if their to the new female singer, the signor's proowner were destitute of notes; and the fessional pupil, who had just dazzled and brightest eyes in the world would fail to astonished the town with the manuscript dazzle him, if they were unable to read bravura, the acquisition of which had cost music at sight. poor Josephine so dear. On the eventful morning of the concert, Josephine was desired to keep herself perJosephine awoke with a slight hoarseness. fectly quiet; and for once she found her I prescribed barley-water and silence, but inclination coincide with the advice of her she persisted that it would best be removed medical attendants. Society offered no by practising a series of running exercises temptation to her, if she could not enchant for the voice, and the experiment actually it by her melody. I could almost have |