Exceeds the most inhuman.

Jan. Peace, my son.

I thought by learning thou hadst been made wise;
But I perceive it puffeth up thy soul:
Thou tak'st a pleasure to be counted just;
And kick against the faults of mighty men.
Oh, 'tis in vain! the earth may even as well
Challenge the potter to be partial
For forming it to sundry offices.
Alas, the error of ambitious fools!

How frail are all their thoughts, how faint,
weak!

Those that do strive to jostle with the great,
Are certain to be bruis'd, or soon to break.
Come, come; mell with our osiers: here let's rest;
This is old homely home, and that's still best.

She enters, and thus, most affectingly, pleads against any harsh verdict on her husband. This gentle deceit this pious falsehood-what a divine

truth there is in it!

Gri. He gave me gentle language, kiss'd my cheek;

For God's sake, therefore, speak not ill of him.
Tears trickling from his eyes, and sorrow's hand
Stopping his mouth, thus did he bid adieu,

Whilst many a deep-fetch'd sigh from his breast flew :

Therefore, for God's sake, speak not ill of him.
Good lord! how many a kiss he gave my babes,
And with wet eyes bade me be patient;
And, by my truth (if I have any truth)

I came from court more quiet and content,
By many a thousand part, than when I went;
Therefore, for God's love, speak not ill of him.
Lau. Oh, vile dejection of too base a soul!
Hast thou beheld the paradise of court,
Fed of rich several meats, bath'd in sweet streams,
Slept on the bed of pleasure, sat enthron'd,
Whilst troops, as saint-like, have adored thee,
And being now thrown down by violence,
Dost thou not envy those that drive thee hence?
Gri. Far be it from my heart from envying my lord
In thought, much less either in deed or word.
Lau. Then hast thou no true soul; for I would
curse,

From the sun's rising to his western fall,
The marquess and his flattering minions.

Gri. By day and night kind Heaven protect them all!

What wrong have they done me? what hate to you?
Have I not fed upon the prince's cost,

Been cloth'd in rich attires, liv'd on his charge?
Look here: my russet gown is yet unworn,
And many a winter more may serve my turn,
By the preserving it so many months.

THE GRAVE OF MOZART.

And let's forget these wrongs as never done.

One extract more and we have done. It is from the scene in which poor Grissil is recalled to witness the pretended second marriage of her lord, but in reality to receive the reward of all her suffering. The young girl of twelve years old, presented to her as the bride, is in reality her own daughter. In these most lovely lines the whole spirit and lesson of this famous tale are quietly and richly enshrined :

Mar. How do you like my bride?
Gri. I think her blest

To have the love of such a noble lord.
Mar. You flatter me.

Gri. Indeed, I speak the truth:
Only I prostrately beseech your grace,
That consider of her tender years,
you
Which, as a flower in spring, may soon be nipp'd
With the least frost of cold adversity.

Mar. Why are not you then nipp'd? you still seem fresh,

As if adversity's cold icy hand

Had never laid his fingers on your heart.

Gri. IT NEVER TOUCH'D MY HEART: adversity Dwells still with them that dwell with misery, But mild content hath eas'd me of that yoke; Patience hath borne the bruise, and I the stroke.

Such writing as this wins at once the appreciation of all men. It is of the healthiest order of the great Elizabethan school. It is simple, manly, full to overflowing of feeling and of thought. What a race of men they were! What brain in their heart, and what a heart in their brain. All honour and glory to them, now and for evermore.

Some passages of the underplot in this comedy offer such curious illustration of the mere manners of the time, that it is possible we may find an oppor tunity of returning to them. Meanwhile let us again congratulate the Shakspeare Society on the honour they have achieved, in being enabled to give increased circulation to so rich and hitherto so rare a legacy from the great days of English letters.

"WE were all very 'pipe-clay,' I freely confess,
Though I see not why that should alarm ye :
It's tolerably clear, if ye dine at a mess,
You'll now and then hear of the army:

And, in fact, for naught else will you ever find room,
Nor e'en a sly syllable cram,

While they rave of Barossa and Bergen-op-Zoom, Salamanca, Seringapatam.

"What a noise! what a din! what a Babel!-I'm sure
That no one e'er heard such a racket:
One old general's describing the siege of Namur,
And an older, the fight of Malplaquet.

But the glories of Spain, and of Portugal, too,
Have nearly eclipsed old Malbrook :'
And if any one whisper the word Waterloo,
We rise with three cheers to the duke."",
THE MESS, A POEM.

NOTICE, LIMINARY OR PRELIMINARY.

"MY DEAR LORRequer,

"As there is no possibility of even guessing how far your 'Irish impudence' and the good nature of the public may lead you, a number of us have resolved on swimming with the current we cannot stem, and, as you seem determined to take our lives,' we feel the best thing we can do is, to offer them to you freely.

"A little knot-some on full, some on half, some on no pay-of every age and rank in the service, from the lieutenant-general to the junior ensign, of every arm from the sepoy to the sapper, have agreed to form a reunion under the name of 'OUR MESS,' where, meeting together, we can chat over and communicate such incidents of our early days as possibly might amuse the public, and, at all events, will prevent our being presented to their notice with more follies, faults, and absurdities than we can just ly lay claim to.

"I need not tell you that our number was soon made up; some liked the gossip of the thing, others the jollity; one was pleased with the publicity, another with the punch, and not a few were frightened by the fate of Monsoon.

"We give you, then, all right and title to our memoirs and reminiscences; you have carte blanche as to style and every other matter of book-making, of which, we suppose, you understand something, and we are convinced we know nothing; and have only MARCH, 1842.-MUSEUM.

52

one parting injunction, which is, to treat us as tenderly as the trade will permit.

"Believe me yours, my dear Lorrequer,
"TOM O'FLAHERTY.

"Badajos Lodge, Windermere.

"P. S.-We have a stray Adonis or two among us, who would prefer it if your friend Phiz could come down here for their portraits, instead of trusting to chance, or, worse still, your vile descriptions; try if this could be managed.

"P. S. 2.-Don't you think it would be a polite attention to send us the thing as it comes out monthly? T. O'F."

This free-and-easy epistle, most kind public, we present to you verbatim, with the double object of showing to what indignities we are exposed for your sake, and also of explaining the motive of the present publication.-To maintain with you an intimacy which is at once the pride and pleasure of our life; to continue, on any terms, an acquaintance which to us has been but a source of unceasing satisfaction, we have put our honest indignation in our pocket, and accepted our friend's proposal.

Taking "OUR MESS" as our title, we purpose to give you the memoirs of its members, suffering each man to tell his story, if he have one, in his own way. We shall interfere little with their claims to authorship, while we indulge the solitary hope that they may prove as agreeable in type as we have known some of them at table.

We remember once, in a ramble through the clas sic precincts of the liberties of Dublin, to have assisted in a species of lottery, in which, for the payment of one shilling, you had a dive into a sack sup. posed to contain wigs of every shape and colour, from the "judge" to the "jasy." The disappointment and dismay of the luckless candidates, who, by the fickleness of fortune, invariably drew forth the opposite to their wishes-the spruce apprentice falling upon a "scratch," while a cobbler flourished a full bottom that had figured in Chancery-diverted us for a considerable time.

The lesson, however, has lingered in our memory, and shall not be lost. Adopting the same method with our manuscripts, while we utter the honest invitation of our predecessor,-No favour or affection, gentlemen; all fair, and only one shilling--we draw forth at random, what comes first to our hand, and here present you with

SP. OF MAG.

2 c

“After all, miladi, it is not so bad as you think, in the provinces; I once spent three weeks in Brittany, very pleasantly indeed: oui, pardieu, it's quite true. To be sure, we had Perlet, and Mademoiselle Mars, and got up the Précieuses Ridicules as well as in Paris."

The application of this very apposite fact to Ireland, was clearly satisfactory to my mother, who smiled benignly at the speaker, while my father turned upon him a look of the most indescribable import.

"Jack, my boy!" said he, taking me by the arm, "were I your age, and had no immediate prospect of active service, I should prefer Ireland to any country in the world. I have plenty of old friends on the staff there. The duke himself was my schoolfellow-"

"I hope he will be properly attentive," interrupted my mother. "Dear Jack, remind me, to-morrow, to write to Lady Mary."

"Don't mistake the country you're going to," continued my father; "you will find many things very different from what you are leaving; and, above all, be not over-ready to resent, as an injury, what may merely be intended as a joke: your brother officers will always guide you on these points."

"And, above all things," said my mother, with great earnestness, "do not adopt that odious fashion of wearing their hair. I've seen members of both houses, and particularly that little man they talk so much of, Mr. Grattan, I believe they call hiin” "Make your mind perfectly easy on that head, my lady," said my father, dryly, "your son is not particularly likely to resemble Henry Grattan."

My cousin, Julia, alone seemed to relish the tone of sarcasm he spoke in, but she actually bestowed on him a look of almost grateful acknowledgment.

"The carriage, my lady," said the servant, and at the same moment my mother, possibly not sorry to cut short the discussion, rose from her chair.

"Do you intend to look in at the duchess's, general ?"

"For half an hour," replied my father; "after that I have my letters to write. Jack, you know,

- leaves us to-morrow."

"Tis really very provoking," said my mother, turning at the same time a look towards the count. "A vos orders, madame," said he, bowing with an air of most deferential politeness, while he presented his arm for her acceptance.

"Good night, then," cried I, as the party left the room; "I have so much to do and to think of, 1 shan't join you." I turned to look for Lady Julia, but she was gone, when and how I knew not; so I sat down at the fire to ruminate alone over my present position, and my prospects for the future.

These few and imperfect passages may put the reader in possession of some, at least, of the circumstances which accompanied my outset in life; and, if they be not sufficiently explicit, I can only say, that he knows fully as much of me as at the period in question I did of myself.

At Eton, I had been what is called rather a smart boy, but incorrigibly idle; at Sandhurst, I showed more ability and more disinclination to learn. By the favour of a royal duke (who had been my godfather) my commission in a marching regiment was exchanged for a second lieutenancy in the Guards; and at the time I write of, I had been some six

months in the service, which I spent in all the whirl and excitement of London society. My father, who, besides being a distinguished officer, was one of the most popular men among the clubs; my mother, a London beauty of some twenty years' standing, were claims sufficient to insure me no common share of attention, while I added to the number what, in my own estimation at least, were certain very decided advantages of a purely personal nature.

To obviate, as far as might be, the evil results of such a career, my father secretly sued for the appointment on the staff of the noble duke then Viceroy of Ireland, in preference to what my mother contemplated,-my being attached to the royal household. To remove me alike from the enervating influence of a mother's vanity, and the extravagant profusion and voluptuous abandonment of London. habits, this was his object. He calculated, too, that by new ties, new associations, and new objects of ambition, I should be better prepared, and more desirous of that career of real service to which in his heart he destined me: these were his notions at least; the result must be gleaned from my story.

CHAPTER II. THE IRISH PACKET.

A FEW nights after the conversation I have briefly alluded to, and pretty much about the same time, I aroused myself from the depression of nearly thirty hours' sea-sickness, on hearing that at length we were in the bay of Dublin. Hitherto I had never left the precincts of the narrow den, denominated my berth; but now I made my way eagerly on deck, anxious to catch a glimpse, however faint, of that bold coast I had more than once heard compared with, or even preferred to, Naples. The night, however, was falling fast, and, worse still, a perfect down-pour of rain was falling with it; the sea ran high, and swept the little craft from stem to stern; the spars bent like whips, and our single topsail strained and stretched as though at every fresh plunge it would part company with us altogether. No trace or outline of the coast could I detect on any side; a deep red light appearing and disappearing at intervals, as we rode upon or sank beneath the trough of the sea, was all that my eye could perceive: this, the dripping helmsman briefly informed me, was the "Kish;" but, as he seemed little disposed for conversation, I was left to my unassisted ingenuity to make out whether it represented any point of the capital we were approaching or not.

The storm of wind and rain increasing at each moment, drove me once more back to the cabin, where, short as had been the period of my absence, the scene had undergone a most important change. Up to this moment my sufferings and my seclusion gave me little leisure or opportunity to observe my fellowtravellers. The stray and scattered fragments of conversation that reached me, rather puzzled than enlightened me. Of the topics which I innocently supposed occupied all human attention, not a word was dropped; Carlton House was not once mentioned; the St. Leger and the Oaks, not even alluded to; whether the Prince's breakfast was to come off at Knightsbridge or Frogmore, no one seemed to know or ever care: nor was a hint dropped as to the fashion of the new bearskins the Guards were to sport at the review on Hounslow. The price of pigs, however, in Ballinasloe, they were perfect in. Of a late row in Kil something-where one

half of the population had massacred the other they knew every thing, even to the names of the defunct. A few of the better-dressed chatted over country matters, from which I could glean that game and gentry were growing gradually scarcer: but a red-nosed, fat old gentleman, in rusty black and high boots, talked down the others, by an eloquent account of the mauling that he, a certain Father Tom Loftus, had given the Reverend Paul Strong, at a late controversial meeting in the Rotunda.

- Through all this "bald, disjointed chat," unceasing demands were made for bottled porter, "matarials," or sperits and wather, of which, were I to judge from the frequency of the requests, the consumption must have been awful.

There would seem something in the very attitude of lying that induces reflection, and thus, stretched at full length in my berth, I could not help ruminating upon the land I was approaching, in a spirit which, I confess, accorded much more with my mother's prejudices than my father's convictions. From the few chance phrases dropped around me, it appeared that even the peaceful pursuits of a country market, or the cheerful sports of the field, were followed up in a spirit of recklessness and devilment; so that many a head that left home without a care, went back with a crack in it. But to come back once more to the cabin. It must be borne in mind that, some thirty odd years ago, the passage between Liverpool and Dublin was not, as at present, the rapid flight of a dozen hours, from shore to shore; where on one evening you left the thundering din of wagons, and the iron crank of cranes and windlasses, to wake the next morning with the rich brogue of Paddy floating softly around you: far from it; the thing was then a voyage. You took a solemn leave of your friends, you tore yourself from the embraces of your family, and, with a tear in your eye and a hamper on your arm, you betook yourself to the pier, to watch, with an anxious and a beating heart, every step of the three hours preceding that heralded your departure. In those days, there was some honour in being a traveller; and the man who had crossed the channel a couple of times, became a kind of Captain Cook among his acquaintances.

The most singular feature of the whole, however, and the one to which I am about to allude, proceeded from the fact that the steward in those days, instead of the extensive resources of the present period, had little to offer you, save some vile brandy and a biscuit; and each traveller had to look to his various wants with an accuracy and foresight that required both tact and habit. The mere demands of hunger and thirst were not only to be considered in the abstract, but a point of far greater difficulty, the probable length of the voyage, was to be taken into consideration; so that you bought your beefsteaks with your eye upon the barometer, and laid in your mutton by the age of the moon. While thus the agency of the season was made to react upon your stomach, in a manner doubtless highly conducive to the interests of science, your part became one of the most critical nicety.

Scarcely were you afloat, and on the high seas, when your appetite was made to depend on the as pect of the weather. Did the wind blow fresh and fair, you ate away with a careless ease and a happy conscience, highly beneficial to your digestion. With a glance through the skylight at the blue heaven; with a sly look at the prosperous dogvane, you helped yourself to the liver-wing, and took an extra glass of your sherry. Let the breeze fall, however;

let a calm come on, or, worse still, a tramping noise on deck, and a certain rickety motion of the craft betoken a change of wind, the knife and fork fell listlessly from your hand, the uplifted cutlet was consigned to your plate, the very spoonful of gravy you had devoured in imagination, was dropped upon the dish, and you replaced the cork in your bottle, with the sad sigh of a man who felt that, instead of his income, he has been living on the principal of his for

tune.

Happily, there is a reverse to the medal, and this it was to which now my attention was directed, The trip, as occasionally happened, was a rapid one; and while under the miserable impression that a fourth part of the journey had not been accomplished, we were blessed with the tidings of land. Scarcely was the word uttered, when it flew from mouth to mouth; and I thought I could trace the elated look of proud and happy hearts, as home drew near. What was my surprise, however, to see the enthusiam take another and very different channel. With one accord a general rush was made upon the hampers of prog. Baskets were burst open on every side. Sandwiches and sausages, porter-bottles, cold punch, chickens, and hard eggs, were strewn about with a careless and reckless profusion; none seemed too sick or too sore for this general epidemic of feasting. Old gentlemen sat up in their beds and bawled for beef; children of tender years brandished a drumstick. Individuals who but a short half-hour before seemed to have made a hearty meal, testified by the ravenous exploits of their appetites to their former forbearance and abstemiousness. Even the cautious little man in the brown spencer, that wrapped up the remnant of his breakfast in the Times, now opened his whole store, and seemed bent upon a day of rejoicing. Never was such a scene of riotous noise and tumultuous mirth. Those who scowled at each other till now, hob-nobbed across the table; and simpering old maids cracked merry thoughts with gay bachelors, without even a passing fear for the result. Thank Heaven, said I, aloud, that I see all this with my sense and my intellects clear about me. Had I suddenly awoke to such a prospect from the disturbed slumber of sickness, the chances were ten to one I had jumped overboard, and swum for my life. In fact, it could convey but one image to the mind, such as we read of, when some infuriated and reckless men, despairing of safety, without a hope left, resolve upon closing life in the mad orgies of drunken abandonment.

Here were the meek, the tranquil, the humbleminded, the solitary, the sea-sick, all suddenly converted into riotous and roystering feasters. The lips that scarcely moved, now blew the froth from a porter-cup with the blast of a Boreas: and even the small urchin in the green face and nankeen jacket, bolted hard eggs with the dexterity of a clown in a pantomime. The end of all things (eatable) had certainly come. Chickens were dismembered like felons, and even jokes and witticisms were bandied upon the victuals. What if, even yet, thought I, the wind should change. The idea was a malicious one, too horrible to indulge in. At this moment the noise and turmoil on deck apprised me that our voyage was near its termination.

The night, as I have said, was dark and stormy. It rained, too-as it knows only how to rain in Ireland. There was that steady persistance, that persevering monotony of down-pour, which, not satisfied with wetting you to the skin, seems bent upon converting your very blood into water. The wind