66 into the hands of each, as they chose the weapons, Of all, there was a store; such is the tumultuous condition of many parts of Ireland. Immediately the centre window was opened, and almost as soon, the long flag-staff thrust forth-up the side of which, the banner, displaying the armed figure of William, on horseback, worked in black upon an orange ground, encompassed by the war-cry of the party, The Glorious Memory 1690," and his family motto, "Je Maintiendray," in shining letters, slowly coiled under the guidance of Hopkins. A cross stick was pushed forth, to steady its corners, and the hooknosed king stood conspicuous with his truncheon, pointed as if in defiance of the crowd, which had at that moment arrived under the window. "There you go," said the operator; "there you go, bless your face. Aye, aye, we'll give them one look at your eye-brow, and scare their cowardly souls, as you did in the old time.-See how they shake. Afraid of them, indeed! Afraid of them! Why, in 98, I held the churchyard of Shanakil, by myself, against three hundred of them, and made them skelp. Look to yourselves, however, my lads, for the Amalekites are beginning to look dangerous." In fact, it was as he said. The mob had suddenly stopped, like a checked wild beast, and stood, tyger-like, in act to spring. Rage, in tenfold rabidity, in consequence of their passions having been excited by the harangue of their great champion, and the intoxication always attendant on numbers, was soon the predominant feeling. Curses, loud and deep, were immediately uttered upon the figure of the victor of the Boyne. The chief, whose title gave the name, and whose recollection, the confidence to their hated antagonists, met their eye, slowly swaying over them in the wind. Their first files were in hasty consultation on what was to be done; whether to commence an immediate attack with missiles, or to batter in the door by the main strength of their dense numbers. The consultation, no doubt, would have been but short, though it is not unlikely that a secret dread, inspired by the old, and long undisputed superiority of the party which offered the insult, and a perfect certainty that they were prepared to defend it to the utmost, operated in making it longer than, otherwise, would have been the case. Within, at the three front win to dows of the upper floor, whence the flag was hoisted, stood the Purplemen, three in cach, screened by the sides of the windows, or crouching under the cover of their bases; every man with his piece cocked, and in readiness to fire at the first symptom of violence against the house. There was every reason expect a bloody result. It would have been impossible to have missed in that immense concourse. Every shot must have told; and if the crowd could have taken courage, after the death of some twenty or thirty of their associates, it would have been equally impossible to have held the house against them. The civil, or military power, was out of the question; the whole affair of the panic, or the victory, would not have lasted five minutes. The counsellor prevented these horrors. It was some time before the check reached his part of the procession, and when it did, those immediately about him could not tell the cause. An inquiry, hastily passed forward from him, and as speedily answered, communicated to him how affairs stood; a hundred hands pointed at once to "The flag! the flag!"-" The flag from the window of Martin the Orangeman." He immediately saw the danger, and jumping up in his chair, stamped eagerly with his foot, and pointed onward with his hand. "On! On!" he cried, in a vehement accent. "On! On! in the name of God and the Virgin! Touch not a stone of the house, or a thread of the silk of that accursed flag. They want you to do it. It will be their greatest triumph. On! On! I implore-I pray --if you love me-if you love your cause if you value your religiongo on." The few men of common sense, in the crowd, added their intreaties to his, and after a dead pause, and a deep silence, the unwilling multitude moved slowly on, darting savage and sanguinary glances at the prey with which they had hoped to have glutted themselves, and at the detested symbol of insult, which hung over them like a pestilence. When they moved forward, the master sprung up from his post. "There they go-the cowardly rascals-there they go; true children of dirt-real followers of filthy James. Here, brethren, send them the charter song after them, like duck shot into their tails. Chorus it at the pitch of your voices. • Sound, sound the trumpet, sound; Beat high your rattling drums, Behold, your hero enters, Your great deliverer comes." The roaring of the multitude soon drowned the utmost exertions of their voices, but they still continued the song; and the crowd moved on, fretful, glowing, agitated, and thirsty for blood, rending the sky with shouts of execration and vengeance. If, for a moment, these were intermitted, the hoarse voices of the nine Purplemen were heard floating above them, like surf upon the sea, chaunting disjointed verses of their favourite anthem. Many a day of blood in Ireland, has resulted from a cause as trifling as what I have related. THE PRESS'S RAGING FURY; HONEST REPORTER'S SUFFERINGS. YE gentlemen of Cockney land, All ye, that be reporters, Must bear a valiant heart, The kickings and the horse-whippings From hostile whip, or scornful lip, We seldom rest secure. Our sleep it is disturbed, By dreams of Barry O 'Mid sheets of roaring blunders, And the bar of Helenar, When the type-fed cases go. NEPTUNE'S RAGING FURY; OR, THE GALLANT SEAMAN'S SUFFERINGS.* Being a relation of their peri's and dan jers, and of the extraordinary hazards they undergo in their noble adventures: together with their undaunted valour, and rare constancy in all their extremities: and the manner of their rejoicing on shore, at their return home.' You gentlemen of England, That live at home at ease, When the stormy winds do blow. Must bear a valiant heart, In hail, rain, blow, or snow, When the stormy winds do blow. The bitter storms and tempests Both day and night, with many a fright, Our sleep it is disturbed With visions strange to know, In claps of roaring thunder, Which darkness doth enforce, When the stormy winds do blow, Sometimes in Neptune's bosom + See Morning Chronicle. See Courier. Which we must contradict, again, In the next post, or so, We belie, low and high, When the type-fed cases go. We laugh at faith, and prayer, Strong lying bears us out. There was poor Lady Lauderdale,* And then with ease, like Beddome's bees,+ While the type-fed cases go. We scribble doughty paragraphs, With many a rare device; While the type-fed cases go. We send lords to the Indies, Who ne'er were destin'd there, Sometimes again, from France and Spain, Get letters past compare. Which in garret high carousing O'er small-beer, all-a-row, We did write, clear and bright, While the type fed cases go. When Parliament is over, And lengthy speeches past, If Cobbett should abuse us, We care not for their scars; We are no cowardly shrinkers, We'll play our parts, like valiant hearts, • Morning Chronicle. Then up aloft she mounteth, And down again so low; "Tis with waves, O with waves, When the stormy winds do blow. "Tis that must bear us out: In closets warm can take no harm, When winter fierce with cold doth pierce, We are sure to endure, When the stormy winds do blow. We bring home costly merchandise, When the stormy winds do blow. We sometimes sail to the Indies, In taverns on a row, Then we sweep o'er the deep, When tempests are blown over, And waves do furious grow, If enemies oppose us, When England is at wars We fear not wounds nor scars; When the stormy winds do blow. We are no cowardly shrinkers, But true Englishmen bred; We'll play our parts, like valiant hearts, And never fly for dread; We'll ply our business nimbly, Where'er we come or go, + Morning Post. Then courage! all, brave gentlemen! To fetch them stuff I know, When we have done our week's work, And if we're let, we'll owe ;+ Then reel home grand, along the Strand, Then, courage! al brave mariners, We ne'er shall want a trade: When the stormy winds do blow. When the stormy winds do blow. SONG FROM THE SPANISH. [Mientres duerme mi nina No la recuerdes. Sopla manso viento Al sueno suave A tu movimiento, &c.] While sleeps my darling, Bring me back, zephyr, Her pearl rows beneath;. Mar not her sleep, while I fear from her eyes. That let you wander O'er such a breast! But still I charge you, Zephyr! breathe lightly, Break not her rest. *Pence, certainly. Gold is out of the question. In the old poem, " And pay before we go." The new reading is evidently much nearer the truth. In the Edinburgh Review, No. lxxviii. is a translation of this Song, which, however, does not keep very close to the original, as any one who compares them will see. ON THE FOLLY OF BOASTING OF HIGH BIRTH; Including Remarks on Moore, Hogg, Cunningham, Jeffery, Sheridan, Lord Glenbervie, Thelwall, &c. &c. THERE is no species of pride more repulsive, than the pride of merely high birth. Now we do not say this, because we ourselves happen to be descended. from three generations of taylors, beyond which we cannot count; but in simple sadness, as we would deliver a problem in Euclid. Your men of really high birth, seldom show their sense of its importance, obtrusively, if they are in any condition to cut a figure in the world in any other way whatever-but when it happens, that they have no other pretensions to distinction, they too often become very clamorous and absurd. nothing can be truer than the old observation, that there is no nobility that is not sprung from beggary, or no beggary that is not descended from nobility. Yet Talent, at all events, does not follow birth; and we were led into these observations, by a conversation we had the evening before last at the Mitre, with some eminent literati on the subject. We could not help remarking, how many of our present literary men arose from humble situations. Tom Moore's father is, or was, a grocer and small cheesemonger, in Fleet-street, Dublin; and we are informed, that Tom's original occupation was 'tending the customers. It was here, we suppose, that while dispensing curry to cooks anticipating the East Indian steam of mulligatawny, he first took a fancy to the land that far away his shoulders, as own man to a stonemason, a post which he has exchanged for that of being head-labourer at Chantrey's, in Pimlico-and is the verse or prose of these eminent men in the slightest way affected by these circumstances? Not in the least. You only remark, when you learn them, that Hogg has so much consistency, as to draw the characters in his novels with the same free pencil, fearless haud, and elegant colouring, as he marks his sheep; and that Allan hammers a story for the London Magazine, with the same delicate touch as he would use in hewing out a headstone for a blind cobler, to be crected in some woeful-looking churchyard, overrun with thistles, and infested with all sort of crawling things. We said that Hogg and Cunningham's original condition in life were well known-but, perhaps, of another great "talented man," of the same country, Mr. Jeffery — it may not be known, that he is, by paternal origin, a barber-Old Jamphrey, as they used to call the name in those days, having exercised the tonsorial art in the Old Town of Edinburgh, with great credit to himself, and much ease to his patients. Poor Lord Byron, when we met him one night at Lady Caroline Lamb's, (about ten years ago) we remember said a pretty fair thing on this point, * You may trace the old blood, James," said he, "at work; you see the varlet is still at the hereditary trade of shaving and puffing." Now who can say, that Mr. Jeffery's barberian descent, in the least particular, injures the brilliancy of his articles? There are few peers of the realm could write any thing so cleverbut Lord Byron, at that time, had taken a great dislike to the "talented man." Sheridan's father was an itinerant lecturer, who picked up the crumbs as well as he could, by shewing that people should call b. a. y. o. n. c. t, bagnet, and s. e. r. v. a. n. t, sarvant, and other pleasant little curiosities; yet, we regret to say, that even Sherry, after he rose in life, had too much of this petty pride, which we are exposing, about him. For when the late Syl. Douglas,-who was a very respectable and decent man, well and honestly employed in various departments, in the course of which he translated a poem called Ricciardetto, |