FOOTNOTES:

"At length the fatal wound,Which spread dismay around,The hero's breast received."

"At length the fatal wound,

Which spread dismay around,

The hero's breast received."

The vocalist was not in view; he was in a side wing, where he was accompanied by pianoforte music, and the shot was simulated by a blow on a drum. Brophy's Nelson was a perfect make-up. He wore an admiral's uniform, presenting an armless sleeve and various decorations, and the green shade overthe pearlon the sightless eye was not forgotten. I recollect one representation, when he fell more against my shoulder than across my arm and knee, but he immediately stood up and exclaimed, "D——n it, that won't do: I must die again."

He was very fond of music, and played the violin frequently, but confined his performances to jigs, reels, and lively Irish tunes. I called one evening, when I was told that he was not at home, but as I was leaving, the servant followed me, and I was informed that he wished me to go down to the lower room of "the return," where he had "a couple of fiddlers." When I entered the apartment, he said that he was glad I came, as I had two legs, and could increase the number amongst them to half-a-dozen. Each of his companions was minus a leg, but their hands were in perfect order, and their music was extremely pleasing.

The late Lord Rossmore was very intimate with Brophy, who was certainly not singular in admiring the many amiable and agreeable qualities invariably evinced by his noble friend. On one occasion Pat had engaged a first-rate player on the Irish pipes named Conolloy or Coneely, to enliven upwards of a dozen guests by his very delectable music. He was totally blind, and was placed on a chair in a corner of the parlour, where he played whilst we were dining, but he had been previously supplied with a plentiful repast. In the course of the evening, Brophy had a small table placed before the piper, and said that he had afforded us very great pleasure, but he should take a little rest, unyoke the pipes, and have a tumbler of punch, which was made by Brophy and put just at his hand. Almost immediately after this arrangement had been effected, Captain Toosey Williams urged Lord Rossmore to take the pipes and favor us with a tune or two. We all joined in the request to "his lordship," and he acceded to our wishes, and played several pieces of exquisitely sweet music, interspersed with most extraordinary imitations. In one, which was named "The Hare in the Corn," he produced sounds very much resembling the cry of harriers, and other tones like the notes of a hunting horn, terminating with two or three simulated squeaks, supposed to indicate the capture of the hare. He then proceeded to play the beautiful Scotch air of "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon," to which we were listening with great delight, when the blind piper rose from his seat, and exclaimed with furious indignation—

"I did not expect such treatment from any people calling themselves gentlemen. It was a most scandalous shame to bring me, a poor dark man, here to be humbugged as you are trying to do, calling onmy lordto yoke my pipes and play for ye. He is as much "a lord" as I am myself; the d——l a lord ever played as he does, he's nothing but a rale piper. It is not honest or decent to try and deceive me, but you can't do it."

Brophy succeeded in pacifying the enraged musician by admitting that the performer was a real piper, and wehad two or three tunes more. Conolly's indignation produced very great merriment amongst us, and no one enjoyed it more than the noble object of his censure.

There was a citizen of high commercial position, who was, I believe, justly reputed to be very wealthy. He was a widower, and had become habituated to take a very copious allowance of grog immediately before retiring to rest. He had a son whose society Brophy highly relished, for he had been an amateur performer in every scene of warfare to which he could obtain access. He had served in Portugal under the standard of Donna Maria, and subsequently joined the foreign legion embodied to contend against the claims of Don Carlos to the crown of Spain. The contests in which he had participated, and the vicissitudes he had undergone, enabled him to relate many interesting occurrences. He was a very agreeable companion, and was always welcome in Dawson Street. Brophy had made a set of teeth for the old gentleman, and when doing some occasional repairs, was informed of the fact, that every night the teeth were placed in a vessel of cold water, where they remained until their own owner restored them to his jaws in the morning. One evening the young man was expressing great dissatisfaction at the dull, tame, and insipid life he was leading, without having any incentive or opportunity to exhibit energy or attempt enterprise; and he added, that although he was well lodged, clothed, and dieted, he was personally penniless, for his father never allowed him any pocket-money.

"I'll get you a little cash," said Brophy. "Slip into his bedchamber, and bring me his teeth; he puts them in a water-basin before he goes to bed." In a night or two the suggestion was adopted, and Brophy immediately made some slight alteration to prevent them exactly fitting their owner, who very soon arrived in a most disconsolate state, and was scarcely able to express articulately the inconvenience and annoyance to which he was subjected. He admitted that he had not been quite sober when he went to bed, but felt certain that he had left the teeth in the basin as usual.

Brophy sympathised with the toothless patient, and told him that he would lose no time in remedying the disaster. He measured the mouth, and then said that there was a set nearly ready for a person who had bespoken them, which, with a little alteration, might fit the present occasion. The teeth were tried, they were a little too tight in one place, and not close enough in another; but these faults were speedily redressed, and the old gentleman was enabled to express distinctly his perfect satisfaction, adding—

"It is all right, Pat. There could not be a better dentist found in the world; and only that they did not fit when you tried them at first, I would most swear thatmy own teeth were back again in my head."

Brophy received twenty pounds, which were immediately transferred to the young fellow, who subsequently went to Italy to fight for the Pope, but never returned.

Patrick Brophy was a widower when my acquaintance with him commenced. At his marriage he had received from the bride's father one thousand pounds in cash, and a bond for a thousand pounds, the interest on which was to be paid half-yearly, and the principal to be liquidated at the death of the obligor. A sudden and very severe indisposition proved fatal to the bride in nine days after her wedding, and in the evening after her interment her husband returned the cash and bond to her parent. Although such conduct was certainly disinterested, and might by many be deemed even generous, he never relished any allusion or reference to it.

I believe that about the commencement of his dentistry pursuits, Brophy had some employment connected with Doctor Steevens' Hospital. I have heard that he used to repair or clean some instruments for the use of the institution; but I know that when he had attained to extensive practice and the incident advantages, he frequently evinced a great desire for the prosperity and advancement of it, and he frequently visited the old hospital, to all the wards of which he had full access. There was a stringent prohibition of the smoking of tobacco by any personwhatever in the wards or passages, and a disobedience or neglect of this order was punishable by immediate expulsion from the premises. James Cusack, who, as a surgeon, was not to be surpassed, was the principal of the professional authorities, and he entertained a peculiar abhorrence of the slightest fume of tobacco being observed on the premises. On an afternoon stroll I accompanied Brophy until we were within a few yards of the building, when Cusack's carriage came rapidly up, and he alighted, and entered as soon as possible the principal male ward, in the most distant bed of which he saw a man in a sitting posture and smoking a pipe. The offender, perceiving that he was detected, reclined back, and drew the bedclothes about his shoulders. Cusack stepped rapidly to the bedside, and said—

"You have been smoking."

"No, sir."

"I saw you, you lying scoundrel."

"No, sir."

Cusack was standing close to the culprit, and turning round, he shouted for the attendants, who hurried to him; along with them Brophy and I entered the ward, when Cusack resumed—

"This man has been smoking tobacco; the pipe was in his mouth when I came into the ward."

"No, sir."

"You have the pipe in the bed with you."

"No, sir."

"Lift this fellow to another bed, and see that he has nothing wrapped in his shirt."

The order was obeyed, and then the vacated bed was strictly searched, the bolster, quilt, blankets, sheets, and mattress separately examined, but no pipe was forthcoming, Cusack repeated his positive assertions, that he had seen the fellow smoking, but he could only elicit another "No, sir." He was retiring from the ward, not perplexed in his conviction of having witnessed the forbidden indulgence, but disappointed and annoyed at the fruitless search. Returning to the offender, he said—

"I promise to forgive you fully, and leave you quite unpunished, if you now tell me where you put the pipe."

"Try your own pocket, sir."

Cusack put his hand in the back pocket of his overcoat, and there found the pipe, which the delinquent had slipped in as the other had turned about to call the attendants.

Great laughter supervened, in which the eminent and amiable James Cusack heartily joined. When we were leaving the hospital, Brophy went into the ward and gave the smoker half-a-crown, and on our way home he remarked that the fellow deserved a reward, as undoubtedly his trick upon Cusack was "as good as a play."

An intimate friend, whom I could also term a schoolfellow, named Vickers, was my companion on a Sunday walk in the summer of 1852, and we happened to direct our course to the Royal Hospital of Kilmainham, and finding that the door of the grounds so long used as a public cemetery was open, we entered, and seated ourselves in the centre of the inclosure, formerly known as "Bully's Acre," or the Hospital Fields, resting ourselves on the remains of an old monument, and enjoying the prospect presented by the varied and undulating surface of the Phœnix Park, and the rich country in its vicinity. My companion had been a medical student in his youth, and he related an adventure which the locality suggested to his recollection, and with the results of which Brophy was stated to have been unpleasantly and unprofitably connected. His narrative was as follows:—

"We had a very stirring row in that corner one night, when I was apprentice to old Aby Colles; for at that time we had generally to provide our ownsubjects, or to purchase them, at a very high price, from men who followed the calling of "sack-em-ups;" and as money was not always plenty, we used to form parties for the purpose of invading this and other burial-grounds, and exhuming the bodies. Brophy, the dentist, had a brother named Maurice, whom he was desirous of putting into the medical profession. He was a manly, generous fellow, and possessed a very strong inclination for anything that denotedenterprise, or promised excitement. Pat had taken a cottage and garden in Rathmines, and for his whim or amusement he went into a shop in Kennedy's Lane and purchased a spade; and having given his address, the seller wrote the name and address on the handle of the implement. The spade was sent home, and upon the same day a party was organised, of which I constituted one, to visit this place and disinter two or three bodies that had been buried in the morning. I mentioned to Maurice the project we had formed, and he eagerly joined in the undertaking. All was arranged; and we drove out to this place, left our cars at a little distance, and entered the ground, determined to work silently and quickly. However, our volunteer friend had provided himself with his brother's spade, and certainly used it with great despatch, although not so noiselessly as might be wished. But we had been watched. We were seen entering the cemetery, and a body of men, armed with every rough weapon that they could procure, came suddenly upon us. We had to retreat, and made a running fight until we reached the wall, and there our associate was attacked by a man who, with fearful imprecations, declared he would have his life. Blows were quickly interchanged; the combatants closed; and a fierce struggle occurred, which was terminated by Maurice urging his antagonist to the wall, and very speedily pitching him over; the depth at the other side was at least ten feet, although where the encounter occurred was only a foot or two lower than the wall top. The man fell, exclaiming that he was murdered. He groaned heavily; and we succeeded with great difficulty, and not without some severe blows from sticks and stones, in effecting an escape from a scene where we felt almost fully convinced that we had left a warm corpse in our attempt to obtain a cold one.

"On reaching Dublin, I accompanied Maurice to the house of his brother, who was greatly alarmed at our appearance, and still more at our narration of the adventure. When it was concluded, he eagerly asked where was the spade, and on being apprised that it had been left in thecemetery, he exclaimed that we would all be hung, or at best transported. 'I knew,' said he to his brother, 'that you would get yourself into an infernal scrape sooner or later; and now your only chance is to set off on foot, and make your way to Naas. I shall have an inside seat taken in the Limerick day-coach for a gentleman who will get in there; make your way to Limerick, and we will try and manage a passage for you from some southern part to get abroad.' Arrangements were made with brief despatch; our companion departed; and the dentist, retired to an uneasy bed, perplexed by fears of coroner's inquest, wilful murder, hue and cry, apprehension, trial, conviction, and execution of his unlucky brother.

"Next morning he had scarcely finished his breakfast when he was informed that M'Donough, the peace-officer, required to see him. He admitted the unwelcome visitant, and was informed that his orders[20]were to bring Mr. Brophy immediately to the Head Police-Office, and to keep him from communicating with any other person before he arrived there. There was no further explanation; and Brophy thought it prudent to refrain from any question beyond asking if he might take a car. This was at once acceded to; and as the peace-officer and hisquasiprisoner were getting on the vehicle, a woman rapidly approached and screamed forth the dentist's name. He ascribed this circumstance to the grief or resentment of a bereaved widow or sister, who thought that she beheld in him one of the murderous authors of her misery; but the car drove off rapidly, and the police-office was reached without any further incident or interruption.

"The office was crowded, and at the table was seated Mr. William Hall, an attorney. Brophy and he were well acquainted, and a salute passed between them as the dentist sat down near the other. The magistrates were in their private room, engaged in some conference or consultation. After the lapse of a few minutes, Brophy ventured a word to Mr. Hall.

"'This is a very unpleasant business, Billy.'

"'Very annoying, indeed,' replied the other, 'I have not met a more unpleasant case for some time.'

"'Billy, would a little money be of any avail?'

"'Why, my dear fellow, thirty pounds would put an end to it altogether.'

"'Thirty pounds! Don't say another word. Here's the money. I depend on you that all will be right.'

"The magistrates[21]entered, and Billy Hall immediately proceeded to express his great gratification that it would not be necessary, or indeed possible, to go any further with the charge then pending before them. 'In fact,' said he, 'it is impossible to continue the prosecution, for the respectable gentleman, whose name was alleged to have been forged, has paid the bill, and it is now my duty to have it handed over to him in your worship's presence.'

"A bill of exchange was delivered, in compliance with Hall's direction, to Patrick Brophy, who found his name written as drawer upon it, in a manner closely resembling his own signature. Evidently surprised, he exclaimed that he thought he had been sent for on another matter.

"'What other matter, sir?' inquired Major Sirr.

"'Oh, nothing, nothing, sir,' said the enraged but fearful Brophy, who felt that an explanation, which would relieve him from the loss just incurred, might involve his brother Maurice in an accusation of dreadful import. 'Perhaps,' said a peace-officer, 'the gentleman knows something about a spade which we have below. We stopped a young vagabond pledging it on the Coombe, and it appears quite new. There was a name and direction on the handle, but the fellow scraped it almost entirely out. We have found, however, on inquiry in Kennedy's Lane, that this gentleman bought such a spade at Bryan Murphy's, yesterday.'

"'That spade,' said Brophy, 'is gone from Dublin. It was bought for a friend, and is forty miles away by this time.'

"'Then, what other business were you thinking of?" resumed the inquisitive Major.

"'Perhaps,' suggested Alderman Darley, 'his anxiety refers to the young woman from Dolphin's Barn, who is charged with concealing the birth of her infant, and who so obstinately refuses to tell who is its father.'

"'Alas! for the depravity of man,' said the Major. 'Shall we never be free from vice and its consequences, sin and sorrow, crime and punishment?'

"'Why, Major,' said Brophy, taking courage, 'I don't think you'll be quite free of them in a hurry; but I'd like to find out the other parties concerned in this darling bill, for, by G——, I'll make some of them pay it if I can.'

"'Fie, sir!' said the Major. 'It is plain that a mistaken lenity has led you to adopt a forgery; and I only hope that there may be more of them in circulation; for now having paid one, you cannot refuse the others; and as it is, I have a strong inclination to fine you for blasphemous swearing.'

"'Don't mind it, Major,' said Brophy, 'I won'tswearany more; but when I get out of this, I think that I'llcursea little.'

"He departed, having paid thirty pounds for a forgery of his own name, and had no consolation beyond discovering, which he did very soon, that the fellow who had been thrown over the wall was not dead, nor even materially injured, and had taken his beating without making much noise about it, once it was over. The spade had been found by some poor vagrant, who sought quietly to dispose of it. Maurice was brought home again, and Pat was forced to acknowledge, amongst his bantering associates, that thespadehad turned up 'a trump' for the forger."

FOOTNOTES:[20]Such orders were not unusual in former times.[21]I have often heard Pemberton and Ross Cox describe the scene as fully remembered by them.

[20]Such orders were not unusual in former times.

[21]I have often heard Pemberton and Ross Cox describe the scene as fully remembered by them.

I took a run to Belfast in 1862, and from thence through Carrickfergus, and along the coast-road to the Giant's Causeway, where I spent two days most agreeably. At the Causeway hotel I met several gentlemen, to one of whom I was known, and by him was introduced to the others. Their society was extremely pleasant; for although they differed in their views and opinions on certain subjects, their conversation was completely free from acerbity. In referring to the preference of certain colors by the inhabitants of northern or southern districts, an anecdote was related of a wrangle between two young fellows who had come from very distant parts of Ireland, to be employed in one of the great monetary establishments of Dublin, and who resided at Sandymount. I have not introduced into my preceding pages any expressions indicative of political or religious preferences, and I think that the "wrangle" may be submitted to the perusal of all parties or sects without offending their feelings or exciting their prejudices. I thought it curious and amusing, and it induced me to attempt to narrate, in a versified form, the antagonistic tendencies of—

GREEN AND ORANGE—ORANGE AND GREEN.

"There is a flow'r I dearly love, and which with pride I bearUpon my head, or next my heart, none with it can compare;It is the Orange Lily, to which glorious memories cling,Of Derry, Boyne, or Aughrim, 'twill the recollection bring.Some roots I have procured to plant, and when their flow'rs appear,I'll hail them as the emblems of the cause I hold most dear."Thus spoke a sturdy Northern lad. A Munster boy was nigh,And heard the words which, he conceived, an insult did imply."I hate, I loathe your gaudy flow'r," disdainfully he cried;"It shall not grow, its tints to show, wherever I abide.Your lily shall be trampled if it ever meets my sight."The blood of both was thus aroused and eager for a fight;An aged man reproved them, bade their bitter taunts to cease,And then suggested that his taste each might indulge in peace."My friend, I'll plant your lily, let its color glad your eyes,No hateful green shall intervene to rival its rich dyes.There's space enough throughout the land where those who love to seeThe verdant hue may freely view the sod, the shrub, the tree."The old man took the lily roots entrusted to his care,With which the rival youths agreed no more to interfere.In genial soil, of aspect warm, at once he planted them,But as each primal leaf arose he nipp'd it from the stem.He said the green must not appear the orange flow'r beside,The blossom bright should meet the sight in undisputed pride.But then the blossom, lone and bare, without the friendly aidOf leaves to shield its rising stem soon wither'd and decay'd.The abortive root unto the youths the old man then display'd."Both colors are essential to the perfect flow'r," he said."You cannot have the orange if the green you take away,The plant affords a lesson—may it reach your hearts, I pray."

"There is a flow'r I dearly love, and which with pride I bear

Upon my head, or next my heart, none with it can compare;

It is the Orange Lily, to which glorious memories cling,

Of Derry, Boyne, or Aughrim, 'twill the recollection bring.

Some roots I have procured to plant, and when their flow'rs appear,

I'll hail them as the emblems of the cause I hold most dear."

Thus spoke a sturdy Northern lad. A Munster boy was nigh,

And heard the words which, he conceived, an insult did imply.

"I hate, I loathe your gaudy flow'r," disdainfully he cried;

"It shall not grow, its tints to show, wherever I abide.

Your lily shall be trampled if it ever meets my sight."

The blood of both was thus aroused and eager for a fight;

An aged man reproved them, bade their bitter taunts to cease,

And then suggested that his taste each might indulge in peace.

"My friend, I'll plant your lily, let its color glad your eyes,

No hateful green shall intervene to rival its rich dyes.

There's space enough throughout the land where those who love to see

The verdant hue may freely view the sod, the shrub, the tree."

The old man took the lily roots entrusted to his care,

With which the rival youths agreed no more to interfere.

In genial soil, of aspect warm, at once he planted them,

But as each primal leaf arose he nipp'd it from the stem.

He said the green must not appear the orange flow'r beside,

The blossom bright should meet the sight in undisputed pride.

But then the blossom, lone and bare, without the friendly aid

Of leaves to shield its rising stem soon wither'd and decay'd.

The abortive root unto the youths the old man then display'd.

"Both colors are essential to the perfect flow'r," he said.

"You cannot have the orange if the green you take away,

The plant affords a lesson—may it reach your hearts, I pray."

I shall venture to offer two or three more productions to the readers of these pages. If my metrical attempts are considered even below mediocrity, they will serve to make others more acceptable. The coarse, homely attire of the peasant is a foil tending strongly to enhance admiration for the courtly costumes of the upper classes; and the weeds that blossom in our hedgerows, or on the sides of our highways, render us unconsciously more appreciative of the floral beauties displayed in the gardens of aristocratic mansions. My own recollections enable me to compare much of the past with the present, and render me desirous of endeavouring to describe some of the changes which have occurred since—

LONG AGO.

Yon tree whose massive timberThe storms assail in vain,I've seen a sapling limberA child might rend in twain;And in the churchyard yonder,It's planter's lying low,Whilst on its growth I ponder,And think ofLong ago.Yon brook that quickly coursesTo turn the busy mill,Then spent its unclaim'd forcesAdown the heath-clad hill.The heather to plantationHas yielded, and below,A bustling railway stationContrasts withLong Ago.The breeze is freshly blowingFull in yon harbour's face,And yet some craft are goingTheir wat'ry way to trace.The adverse wind unheeding,The waves aside they throw;By steam their journey speeding—How changed fromLong Ago.I meet a friend—he mentionsThat news of import grand,O'er half the earth's dimensionsHas reach'd the Irish land.Th' events occurr'd this morning,And now each fact we knowBy an electric warning,Undreamt ofLong Ago.The village school is endingIts labours for the day,Each child, released, is wendingIts joyous homeward way.Blithe be their youthful gambols,Uncheck'd by care or woe,As were my boyhood's rambles,How long, howLong Ago.And as my tott'ring pacesProceed, there's at my sideOne whom for varied gracesI gladly make my bride.Her dark hair then contrastedWith locks now tinged with snow,But still our love has lastedThe same asLong Ago.Thus let it be for ever—Let Youth enjoy its time;Let Age, contented, neverRegret its vanish'd prime.Life's joys, life's hopes, life's duties,Each passing year will show,And retrospective beautiesAppear inLong Ago.

Yon tree whose massive timber

The storms assail in vain,

I've seen a sapling limber

A child might rend in twain;

And in the churchyard yonder,

It's planter's lying low,

Whilst on its growth I ponder,

And think ofLong ago.

Yon brook that quickly coursesTo turn the busy mill,Then spent its unclaim'd forcesAdown the heath-clad hill.The heather to plantationHas yielded, and below,A bustling railway stationContrasts withLong Ago.

Yon brook that quickly courses

To turn the busy mill,

Then spent its unclaim'd forces

Adown the heath-clad hill.

The heather to plantation

Has yielded, and below,

A bustling railway station

Contrasts withLong Ago.

The breeze is freshly blowingFull in yon harbour's face,And yet some craft are goingTheir wat'ry way to trace.The adverse wind unheeding,The waves aside they throw;By steam their journey speeding—How changed fromLong Ago.

The breeze is freshly blowing

Full in yon harbour's face,

And yet some craft are going

Their wat'ry way to trace.

The adverse wind unheeding,

The waves aside they throw;

By steam their journey speeding—

How changed fromLong Ago.

I meet a friend—he mentionsThat news of import grand,O'er half the earth's dimensionsHas reach'd the Irish land.Th' events occurr'd this morning,And now each fact we knowBy an electric warning,Undreamt ofLong Ago.

I meet a friend—he mentions

That news of import grand,

O'er half the earth's dimensions

Has reach'd the Irish land.

Th' events occurr'd this morning,

And now each fact we know

By an electric warning,

Undreamt ofLong Ago.

The village school is endingIts labours for the day,Each child, released, is wendingIts joyous homeward way.Blithe be their youthful gambols,Uncheck'd by care or woe,As were my boyhood's rambles,How long, howLong Ago.

The village school is ending

Its labours for the day,

Each child, released, is wending

Its joyous homeward way.

Blithe be their youthful gambols,

Uncheck'd by care or woe,

As were my boyhood's rambles,

How long, howLong Ago.

And as my tott'ring pacesProceed, there's at my sideOne whom for varied gracesI gladly make my bride.Her dark hair then contrastedWith locks now tinged with snow,But still our love has lastedThe same asLong Ago.

And as my tott'ring paces

Proceed, there's at my side

One whom for varied graces

I gladly make my bride.

Her dark hair then contrasted

With locks now tinged with snow,

But still our love has lasted

The same asLong Ago.

Thus let it be for ever—Let Youth enjoy its time;Let Age, contented, neverRegret its vanish'd prime.Life's joys, life's hopes, life's duties,Each passing year will show,And retrospective beautiesAppear inLong Ago.

Thus let it be for ever—

Let Youth enjoy its time;

Let Age, contented, never

Regret its vanish'd prime.

Life's joys, life's hopes, life's duties,

Each passing year will show,

And retrospective beauties

Appear inLong Ago.

Amongst the pictures which have, within my memory, been exhibited in Dublin, one painted by Paul Delaroche was regarded by me with surpassing admiration, in which feeling I was certainly not singular, for I found it equally appreciated by many others who viewed it at Le Sage's in Sackville Street. It was said to have originated in an extraordinary reverie of the artist, who, whilst suffering from fever, imagined that he beheld the corpse of a young and beautiful female, whose hands and feet had been tightly bound, drifting along a deep and rapid river. On recovering from his malady, Delaroche delineated this vision, and then considered what title he should give the production. On searching the records of martyrdom he could not discover the name of any sainted victim of persecution who had perished in the manner indicated; but finding that the Emperor Diocletian had, about the year of our Lord 300, caused some hundreds of his Christian subjects to be drowned in the Tiber for refusing to abjure their faith, he named the picture "La Martyre Chretienne." It has been engraved, lithographed, and photographed so much, as to evince a general admiration of the conception and artistic power of the painter. I have written some lines on this subject, and have endeavoured to adopt the metre of Ariosto, which I consider not unsuitable to an incident connected with Italy and the ancient days of the Eternal City. The concluding stanza alludes to the lambent circle which, in the painting, appears above the head of—

THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR.

The sedgy margin of his yellow streamBeholds old Tiber rolling to the main,In eddies silver'd by the struggling beam,Wooing the ripples which it can't retain.A mutual mockery, a vap'ry dream,Illusive, unsubstantial, cold, and vainAs human hopes, like ev'rything of earth,Passing, unpausing, dying e'en in birth.That river has beheld the glorious dayWhen chaste Lucretia's wrongs awoke the ireThat freed her country from the Tarquin's sway;Upon that bank Virginia from her sire,Loathing the brutal Appius to obey,When in his breast there raged a base desire,In her pure heart received the fatal knife,Preferring death to a dishonor'd life.Upon that bank in youthful beauty stoodThe virgin Clœlia, when with high disdainShe scorn'd Porsenna's pow'r, and deem'd the floodWas easier to stem than tyrant's chainCould be endured; and there the multitudeOf foes on Cocles fiercely press'd in vain,There, one 'gainst thousands, he maintain'd his post,And foil'd the foremost of Etruria's host.Upon that classic bank did Mutius stand,And in the midst of his astonish'd foesUpon the altar there he placed his handUnshrinking, round it whilst the flames arose,To show th' invader of his native landHow he could scorn the torture's fiercest throes,And that no tyrant's power could be secureAgainst a patriot's purpose, firm and pure.All these were high and noble in their daring,In distant ages were their deeds achieved,But they had earthly motives strongly bearingThem onward in their course, for they believedThat man would honor them. Nor scant nor sparingHas been the classic fame they have received,And history still delights to gild her pagesWith deeds like theirs from Rome's incipient ages.But still old Tiber's course hath onward sped,And other incidents of higher fameHave on his banks a holy lustre shed,There Diocletian did his will proclaim—That to the ancient stream there should be ledHis Christian subjects, and the sacred nameOf Christ should be abjured, or Tiber's waveShould those engulf who own'd His pow'r to save.In youthful innocence a beauteous maidStands 'mongst the victims doom'd with lips compress'd,And eyes already closed—she hath essay'dTo banish earthly thoughts. Upon her breastHer hands are folded—she hath meekly pray'd,And He to whom her pray'r has been address'd,To whom she clings all faithful, gives her pow'rTo meet the terrors of life's closing hour.They bind her hands—she heeds not the inflictionOf cords that sink into her tender limb;She, thinking of her Saviour's crucifixion—Her soul hath flown to Calvary to Him.She meekly hears each heathen malediction,Heav'n seems to ope as earth appears more dim;Her fate severe for thrones she would not barter,And now she sinks—a Christian Maiden Martyr!Her form is slowly gliding to the sea,Her soul to Paradise its way is winging,Upon her pallid face serenityShows that to earth her heart was never clinging;To all the elements her corse may beAbandoned, but the seraph choir is singing,And chaplets fairer than the flow'rs of EdenIn Heav'n shall deck the martyr'd Christian maiden.Still o'er her drifting form a circlet goldenUpon the river sheds its lambent rays,As though it would the lively hope emboldenThe martyr's truth shall shine in future days,And when her bones have moulder'd deep and cold inTheir ocean grave, men shall accord their praiseTo him whose reverie or vision mysticHer suff'rings shall depict with grace artistic.

The sedgy margin of his yellow stream

Beholds old Tiber rolling to the main,

In eddies silver'd by the struggling beam,

Wooing the ripples which it can't retain.

A mutual mockery, a vap'ry dream,

Illusive, unsubstantial, cold, and vain

As human hopes, like ev'rything of earth,

Passing, unpausing, dying e'en in birth.

That river has beheld the glorious dayWhen chaste Lucretia's wrongs awoke the ireThat freed her country from the Tarquin's sway;Upon that bank Virginia from her sire,Loathing the brutal Appius to obey,When in his breast there raged a base desire,In her pure heart received the fatal knife,Preferring death to a dishonor'd life.

That river has beheld the glorious day

When chaste Lucretia's wrongs awoke the ire

That freed her country from the Tarquin's sway;

Upon that bank Virginia from her sire,

Loathing the brutal Appius to obey,

When in his breast there raged a base desire,

In her pure heart received the fatal knife,

Preferring death to a dishonor'd life.

Upon that bank in youthful beauty stoodThe virgin Clœlia, when with high disdainShe scorn'd Porsenna's pow'r, and deem'd the floodWas easier to stem than tyrant's chainCould be endured; and there the multitudeOf foes on Cocles fiercely press'd in vain,There, one 'gainst thousands, he maintain'd his post,And foil'd the foremost of Etruria's host.

Upon that bank in youthful beauty stood

The virgin Clœlia, when with high disdain

She scorn'd Porsenna's pow'r, and deem'd the flood

Was easier to stem than tyrant's chain

Could be endured; and there the multitude

Of foes on Cocles fiercely press'd in vain,

There, one 'gainst thousands, he maintain'd his post,

And foil'd the foremost of Etruria's host.

Upon that classic bank did Mutius stand,And in the midst of his astonish'd foesUpon the altar there he placed his handUnshrinking, round it whilst the flames arose,To show th' invader of his native landHow he could scorn the torture's fiercest throes,And that no tyrant's power could be secureAgainst a patriot's purpose, firm and pure.

Upon that classic bank did Mutius stand,

And in the midst of his astonish'd foes

Upon the altar there he placed his hand

Unshrinking, round it whilst the flames arose,

To show th' invader of his native land

How he could scorn the torture's fiercest throes,

And that no tyrant's power could be secure

Against a patriot's purpose, firm and pure.

All these were high and noble in their daring,In distant ages were their deeds achieved,But they had earthly motives strongly bearingThem onward in their course, for they believedThat man would honor them. Nor scant nor sparingHas been the classic fame they have received,And history still delights to gild her pagesWith deeds like theirs from Rome's incipient ages.

All these were high and noble in their daring,

In distant ages were their deeds achieved,

But they had earthly motives strongly bearing

Them onward in their course, for they believed

That man would honor them. Nor scant nor sparing

Has been the classic fame they have received,

And history still delights to gild her pages

With deeds like theirs from Rome's incipient ages.

But still old Tiber's course hath onward sped,And other incidents of higher fameHave on his banks a holy lustre shed,There Diocletian did his will proclaim—That to the ancient stream there should be ledHis Christian subjects, and the sacred nameOf Christ should be abjured, or Tiber's waveShould those engulf who own'd His pow'r to save.

But still old Tiber's course hath onward sped,

And other incidents of higher fame

Have on his banks a holy lustre shed,

There Diocletian did his will proclaim—

That to the ancient stream there should be led

His Christian subjects, and the sacred name

Of Christ should be abjured, or Tiber's wave

Should those engulf who own'd His pow'r to save.

In youthful innocence a beauteous maidStands 'mongst the victims doom'd with lips compress'd,And eyes already closed—she hath essay'dTo banish earthly thoughts. Upon her breastHer hands are folded—she hath meekly pray'd,And He to whom her pray'r has been address'd,To whom she clings all faithful, gives her pow'rTo meet the terrors of life's closing hour.

In youthful innocence a beauteous maid

Stands 'mongst the victims doom'd with lips compress'd,

And eyes already closed—she hath essay'd

To banish earthly thoughts. Upon her breast

Her hands are folded—she hath meekly pray'd,

And He to whom her pray'r has been address'd,

To whom she clings all faithful, gives her pow'r

To meet the terrors of life's closing hour.

They bind her hands—she heeds not the inflictionOf cords that sink into her tender limb;She, thinking of her Saviour's crucifixion—Her soul hath flown to Calvary to Him.She meekly hears each heathen malediction,Heav'n seems to ope as earth appears more dim;Her fate severe for thrones she would not barter,And now she sinks—a Christian Maiden Martyr!

They bind her hands—she heeds not the infliction

Of cords that sink into her tender limb;

She, thinking of her Saviour's crucifixion—

Her soul hath flown to Calvary to Him.

She meekly hears each heathen malediction,

Heav'n seems to ope as earth appears more dim;

Her fate severe for thrones she would not barter,

And now she sinks—a Christian Maiden Martyr!

Her form is slowly gliding to the sea,Her soul to Paradise its way is winging,Upon her pallid face serenityShows that to earth her heart was never clinging;To all the elements her corse may beAbandoned, but the seraph choir is singing,And chaplets fairer than the flow'rs of EdenIn Heav'n shall deck the martyr'd Christian maiden.

Her form is slowly gliding to the sea,

Her soul to Paradise its way is winging,

Upon her pallid face serenity

Shows that to earth her heart was never clinging;

To all the elements her corse may be

Abandoned, but the seraph choir is singing,

And chaplets fairer than the flow'rs of Eden

In Heav'n shall deck the martyr'd Christian maiden.

Still o'er her drifting form a circlet goldenUpon the river sheds its lambent rays,As though it would the lively hope emboldenThe martyr's truth shall shine in future days,And when her bones have moulder'd deep and cold inTheir ocean grave, men shall accord their praiseTo him whose reverie or vision mysticHer suff'rings shall depict with grace artistic.

Still o'er her drifting form a circlet golden

Upon the river sheds its lambent rays,

As though it would the lively hope embolden

The martyr's truth shall shine in future days,

And when her bones have moulder'd deep and cold in

Their ocean grave, men shall accord their praise

To him whose reverie or vision mystic

Her suff'rings shall depict with grace artistic.

The following lines were suggested by a visit to an extensive paper manufactory at Inchicore, which, I regret to say, is not working at present:—

I stray'd along a village street,And as in listless mood I wander'd,The breeze had wafted to my feetSomething on which awhile I ponder'd.Was it a precious talisman,Whose magic tracings doth unfoldA right by which its bearer canClaim and obtain the treasured gold?Was it a flow'r with tints array'dSuch as the vernal suns bestow,Richer than monarch e'er display'd,Was it a fragrant flowret? No!Was it a feather dropt awayFrom some wild bird of varied hues?From moors whereon the plovers stray,Or groves wherein the ringdove coos?Was it the down the thistle yields,That sails through air like drifting snow?Or fairy flax from fenny fields,Or plume from warrior's helmet? No!Or manhood's locks, or maiden's hair,Wafted by breeze through village street?Nor this, nor these—but lying thereA filthy rag was at my feet.With dirt begrimed, that remnant mean,Crushed in the mire, I saw no more;But yet I mused on what had beenIts various uses heretofore.The great, the humble, grave or gay,Noble or base, whoe'er it clothed,Reject it now, and cast away,'Tis only seen but to be loathed.Such were my thoughts till slumber came,And then by fancy's vivid lightMethought that rag, the very same—Appear'd again before my sight.No longer were its folds defiled,But pure and white it seem'd as snow,And 'neath a roller whirling wild,I saw the worthless fragment go.And bleach'd and clean, by that machine'Twas triturated fast;And when 'twas found completely ground,O'er wires its pulp was pass'd.And on and on that rag hath gone,'Neath cylinders I traced it,And there it roll'd through heat and cold,Whilst giant force embraced it.And I could mark th' electric spark[22]Gleam like a fairy taper;And fair and smooth as the brow of youth,That filthy rag wasPaper.Material fit for Holy WritAnd tidings of salvation—Material grand for a struggling land,When seeking liberation.Material proud to warn aloud'Gainst slavery's subtle meshes—Material true to teach the fewThe many's rights are precious.Material meet for tidings sweetOf distant recollection—Material best to purge each breastOf Bigotry's infection.Material bright to guide and lightThe onward march of Reason—Oh! that old rag has form'd a flagFor man's best thoughts to blazon.Then may its use each day produce,From pen and press united,Each noble thought by which we oughtTo feel our souls excited.May Honor grand, with Virtue bland,Inspire it and direct it,Till wheresoe'er 'tis hoisted, thereThat flag shall be respected.

I stray'd along a village street,And as in listless mood I wander'd,The breeze had wafted to my feetSomething on which awhile I ponder'd.

I stray'd along a village street,

And as in listless mood I wander'd,

The breeze had wafted to my feet

Something on which awhile I ponder'd.

Was it a precious talisman,Whose magic tracings doth unfoldA right by which its bearer canClaim and obtain the treasured gold?

Was it a precious talisman,

Whose magic tracings doth unfold

A right by which its bearer can

Claim and obtain the treasured gold?

Was it a flow'r with tints array'dSuch as the vernal suns bestow,Richer than monarch e'er display'd,Was it a fragrant flowret? No!

Was it a flow'r with tints array'd

Such as the vernal suns bestow,

Richer than monarch e'er display'd,

Was it a fragrant flowret? No!

Was it a feather dropt awayFrom some wild bird of varied hues?From moors whereon the plovers stray,Or groves wherein the ringdove coos?

Was it a feather dropt away

From some wild bird of varied hues?

From moors whereon the plovers stray,

Or groves wherein the ringdove coos?

Was it the down the thistle yields,That sails through air like drifting snow?Or fairy flax from fenny fields,Or plume from warrior's helmet? No!

Was it the down the thistle yields,

That sails through air like drifting snow?

Or fairy flax from fenny fields,

Or plume from warrior's helmet? No!

Or manhood's locks, or maiden's hair,Wafted by breeze through village street?Nor this, nor these—but lying thereA filthy rag was at my feet.

Or manhood's locks, or maiden's hair,

Wafted by breeze through village street?

Nor this, nor these—but lying there

A filthy rag was at my feet.

With dirt begrimed, that remnant mean,Crushed in the mire, I saw no more;But yet I mused on what had beenIts various uses heretofore.

With dirt begrimed, that remnant mean,

Crushed in the mire, I saw no more;

But yet I mused on what had been

Its various uses heretofore.

The great, the humble, grave or gay,Noble or base, whoe'er it clothed,Reject it now, and cast away,'Tis only seen but to be loathed.

The great, the humble, grave or gay,

Noble or base, whoe'er it clothed,

Reject it now, and cast away,

'Tis only seen but to be loathed.

Such were my thoughts till slumber came,And then by fancy's vivid lightMethought that rag, the very same—Appear'd again before my sight.

Such were my thoughts till slumber came,

And then by fancy's vivid light

Methought that rag, the very same—

Appear'd again before my sight.

No longer were its folds defiled,But pure and white it seem'd as snow,And 'neath a roller whirling wild,I saw the worthless fragment go.

No longer were its folds defiled,

But pure and white it seem'd as snow,

And 'neath a roller whirling wild,

I saw the worthless fragment go.

And bleach'd and clean, by that machine'Twas triturated fast;And when 'twas found completely ground,O'er wires its pulp was pass'd.

And bleach'd and clean, by that machine

'Twas triturated fast;

And when 'twas found completely ground,

O'er wires its pulp was pass'd.

And on and on that rag hath gone,'Neath cylinders I traced it,And there it roll'd through heat and cold,Whilst giant force embraced it.

And on and on that rag hath gone,

'Neath cylinders I traced it,

And there it roll'd through heat and cold,

Whilst giant force embraced it.

And I could mark th' electric spark[22]Gleam like a fairy taper;And fair and smooth as the brow of youth,That filthy rag wasPaper.

And I could mark th' electric spark[22]

Gleam like a fairy taper;

And fair and smooth as the brow of youth,

That filthy rag wasPaper.

Material fit for Holy WritAnd tidings of salvation—Material grand for a struggling land,When seeking liberation.

Material fit for Holy Writ

And tidings of salvation—

Material grand for a struggling land,

When seeking liberation.

Material proud to warn aloud'Gainst slavery's subtle meshes—Material true to teach the fewThe many's rights are precious.

Material proud to warn aloud

'Gainst slavery's subtle meshes—

Material true to teach the few

The many's rights are precious.

Material meet for tidings sweetOf distant recollection—Material best to purge each breastOf Bigotry's infection.

Material meet for tidings sweet

Of distant recollection—

Material best to purge each breast

Of Bigotry's infection.

Material bright to guide and lightThe onward march of Reason—Oh! that old rag has form'd a flagFor man's best thoughts to blazon.

Material bright to guide and light

The onward march of Reason—

Oh! that old rag has form'd a flag

For man's best thoughts to blazon.

Then may its use each day produce,From pen and press united,Each noble thought by which we oughtTo feel our souls excited.

Then may its use each day produce,

From pen and press united,

Each noble thought by which we ought

To feel our souls excited.

May Honor grand, with Virtue bland,Inspire it and direct it,Till wheresoe'er 'tis hoisted, thereThat flag shall be respected.

May Honor grand, with Virtue bland,

Inspire it and direct it,

Till wheresoe'er 'tis hoisted, there

That flag shall be respected.

In the pages which I have yet to submit to the indulgent consideration of my readers, it is not my intention to continue the insertion of specimens of my metrical tendencies. The remainder of my reminiscences are chiefly derived from a residence of eighteen months in Paris in 1864-5. That city has been subjected to much suffering amongst her inhabitants, and to the destruction of magnificent palatial and municipal edifices since the time to which my visit refers; and the Imperial dynasty, that then seemed perfectly secure against Bourbon rivalry or republican designs, has experienced a complete extinction, without any apparent chance of its revival. Notwithstanding all the changes which have occurred within the last ten years, I feel convinced that there are many sights which the French capital can still present to the observation of a traveller from this country, and which will remain indelibly impressed on his memory, either through their intrinsic beauty or magnificence, or still more by the marked contrast they exhibit to objects similar in name here, but in which the name is the only resemblance. He who reflects on the presence of some objects and the absence of others, will be frequently more astonished at not seeing than in beholding. I think that this remark can be exemplified. There is a fair in Paris which is held, during the entire month of January, on the Boulevards, extending from the Madeleine to the Placede la Bastille, a distance of about three English miles. It is resorted to by the most respectable classes. There are wooden booths erected at both sides of the Boulevard, on the footways; and the articles offered for sale comprise "everything, and anything else you may wish for." Children have their toys and confections. Hats, lamps, shoes, boots, jewels, hosiery, glass, birds, mountebanks, newspapers, portable baths, guns, groceries, gloves, cutlery, false teeth, false beards, false eyes, false legs, tempt the adults. There are, however, no horses, cattle, sheep, or swine offered for sale, the live stock, consisting only of poultry, rabbits, pigeons, and Guinea-pigs. To an Irishman it is a fair only in name. I visited it frequently, and saw it early and late, but I did not hear an altercation or see a fight, or any person intoxicated. Oh, Donnybrook! how different from your defunct glories! How could a Patlander recognise any resemblance in a scene of peaceable amusement, excited and busy, but without a reel or a blow, to the classic spot, where "batin' was chape as dirt" amongst

"Hearts soft with whisky, and heads soft with blows."?

I was at a review in honor of the Emperor's birth-day, or perhaps it should be termed the "Napoleon day," for it was held on the 15th of August, 1864, the real natal day of the third Napoleon being the 20th of April, and the other day being the anniversary of the first Napoleon's nativity in 1769. There were more than 100,000 troops on the ground, the Champ de Mars, but nearly the half were National Guards. The concourse of spectators was immense. When his Imperial Majesty arrived, there was not a hat raised, neither was there a shout uttered, nor a shot fired. The troops defiled before him in slow and quick time, and then he departed. I must have been afflicted on that day with temporary deafness, for I saw it announced in several newspapers of the following morning,that his Majesty had been received with the loudest acclamations.

Neither at the review to which I have adverted, nor at the ascent of Nadar's giant balloon, where a still greater multitude were assembled, did I see an intoxicated person, or witness any disturbance or altercation. I am far from averring that intoxication does not occur amongst the French, but I believe it to be very infrequent. On a summer's evening, in the Avenue de Neuilly, I observed three workmen, and they were inebriated. Each of them was insisting that the other two should carry him, and they successively tried the experiment, but it terminated always in the tumbling of the three. The spectators were laughing, and the fellows themselves seemed to enjoy the fun, without the slightest asperity towards those who indulged in merriment at their falls. I thought that in my own country there would have been a very prompt offer made, by any tipsy fellows who were laughed at, to supply the company present with an immediate assortment of darkened eyes and ensanguined noses.

Some of our words have been pretty generally adopted by the Parisians. "Sport" is frequently used in reference to hunting and racing, but I never heard it applied to shooting or coursing; and it is remarkable that the word, with the addition of an "e," also signifies the basket of a mendicant friar. LeTurfis, as a racing term, understood in the same sense as amongst ourselves; and the monosyllable by which we express a pugilistic contest, is used to invite or describe an encounter between two combatants who are unprovided with weapons. Outside a wine-house, at Vaugirard, I witnessed a quarrel, and heard the invitation, "Voulez-vous box?" The affair commenced by the parties stripping off their blouses, and then, with raisedarms and open hands, capering before each other, as if watching an opportunity to strike. I did not see a box given; for, after a few feints, one combatant gave the other a fearful kick in the pit of the stomach, which stretched him in the greatest agony, and loud acclamations from amongst the bystanders greeted the conqueror. On another occasion, in the Rue de L'oratoire, after a similar challenge, the parties did not strike or kick, but had a wrestle, which terminated in one getting the other down; he then seated himself on his prostrate antagonist, and proceeded to strike him violently on the head with asabot; or wooden shoe, without any interference or disapproval on the part of the persons present. Asergent de villehaving seen the crowd, came up, and required the victor to cease hammering his foe. He was instantly obeyed, the vanquished party arose and decamped, and the police-officer walked on without taking any further notice of the affair. A bystander expressed his sympathy with the conqueror, by remarking, that after having gone to the trouble of getting the fellow down, it was a pity that he was not allowed to punish him.

I did not at any time in Paris see two persons in attendance on any vehicle used in the conveyance of liquor. One man took charge of a long, narrow dray, on which a number of barrels were placed in two, or perhaps three, tiers; they were secured by ropes passing from rere to front, and there tightened by a kind of capstan, with bars and a catch-bolt. There was also a hinge between the shafts and the body, which allowed the front to be elevated and the rere to be lowered. One man managed this machinery, and could deliver the entire or any part of the load with safety and despatch. The adoption of similar vehicles in the liquor traffic of our country would be decidedly economical; but additional labour would be required to lower large casks into underground cellars, a description of store which is very uncommon in Paris.

In one of the early productions of my schoolfellow and frequent playmate, Samuel Lover, he narrates an anecdote of two Dublin hodmen, one of whom expressed doubts as to the capability of the other to carry a hod, heavily laden, up a ladder to the roof of a high house. This produced, on the part of the other, a wager of a gallon of porter, that he would carry the very man who had taunted him, in a hod, and deliver him over the parapet, five stories above the street. The bet was made, and one fellow seated himself in the hod, and was carried by the other safely to the roof; he then acknowledged that he had lost, but added, "When you were about five rungs of the ladder from the top, I thought you were getting a little weak, and thatI had a fine chance of winning the gallon." I do not think such a dangerous wager could arise in Paris, for although very extensive buildings were in progress during my sojourn, I never saw such an implement as a hod there. All the materials were hoisted up by ropes, pulleys, and windlasses. Horse labour was very much used, and small steam-engines were occasionally employed. The lives and limbs of the Parisian workmen were consequently safe from the risks incident to a false step or a rotten rung.

The French occasionally train animals to exhibit amusing tricks and tendencies; and the surprise of a spectator is not excited so much by what he sees done, as by the conjectures he forms or hears expressed by others, as to the means adopted in bringing animals to the observance of extraordinary habits, or the habitual performance of prescribed duties. When the Messieurs Pereire were building the magnificent structures which form the Boulevard Malesherbes, a large black English horse was employed to raise materials by rope and pulleys. He worked kindly at his laborious task; but as soon as thebell rang for breakfast, dinner, or the termination of the day's work, he stopped, and would not resume until the usual time for feeding or rest had elapsed.

At the corner of the junction of the Rue de Castiglione with the Rue de Rivoli, a shoeblack plied his humble vocation, and derived great assistance in obtaining employment from a poodle dog, that had been trained to run, with paws purposely soiled, across the feet of persons coming towards his master's bench and brushes. The dog was, perhaps, the greatest curiosity in the locality, for he never attempted to renew his trespass on the boots or shoes of those who had spent two sous in having them polished by his proprietor. I have frequently seen him actively engaged; but he confined his attentions to the male sex; and I can add, as a circumstance very creditable to those on whom his avocation was exercised, that I never saw him kicked or struck. His daily duties were of a very extraordinary nature; but far more extraordinary must have been the training by which he was qualified for their performance.

On the Esplanade des Invalides I witnessed a most extraordinary exhibition. A very aged man appeared, drawing a small four-wheeled truck. He stopped and rang a handbell for some minutes. When a number of spectators had collected, he opened a slide on the top of the truck, and in the most endearing terms invited his pets, his darlings, to come forth. The darlings came at his call, and consisted of about three dozen rats, mostly of a white or cream color, with red eyes. They crept up his legs, crowded on his head and shoulders, nestled inside his vest, and eagerly fed on some fragments of cheese and some Indian corn, which he produced from a dirty old bag. He then took a tin box, in the lid of which there was a hole, sufficient to admit one rat at a time; and having given the word of command, the "darlings" proceeded to enter. It seemed too small to contain the entire number; but he insisted on their entrance, scolded them, and swore vehemently at their tardiness. At length all had disappeared, and I then perceived that the bottom of the box wasfastened to the upper part by hooks, which the old man drew back, and raising the box he displayed a compact mass of rats, packed almost in a square. He gave the word and they separated, and having got some water, re-entered the truck, and the old fellow sent round the hat to collect a few coppers from the spectators. I could not refuse a trifle for an exhibition which I considered very curious, but very disgusting. I looked with loathing upon the intimacy between the nasty vermin and their pauper master; and I should have seen, with great satisfaction, the entire school consigned to the attentions of half-a-dozen terriers.

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