haps they were wise and well, but still they were "not the less a pain ;" and how sad indeed will it be if all these evils shall have been endured, and if no commensurate advantage shall be found to follow! It is because we are convinced that our future destinies hinge at the present moment upon the infusion of new capital, enterprise, and vigour into the inane and sickly frame of Irish society, and that we stand in need, not of vaunting patriots, orators, and heroes, but of patient, industrious, calculating utilitarians, that we have striven particularly to point out to the intelligent capitalist the advantages our country offers, with an anxious desire, at the same time, to enlist in our favour every patriotic Irishman for so good a work; the more so as we know that there is no country in the world so disparaged by its own inhabitants as Ireland, particularly by the section of its people in most constant communication with the English-the absentees, who having become apostates to their own fatherland, hate it as only apostates can hate. We cannot expect that the foregoing observations have been sufficient to animate the weak and desponding, or to deter the parties personally interested in the perpetuation of our misfortunes and misery from future efforts to aggravate, by false alarms, present suffering; nor can we expect that we have been so fortunate as to banish all the anti-Irish prejudices entertained abroad for so long a period; but we do hope that we have, in some degree, succeeded, and that many a "Saxon," who might have exiled himself in the Antipodes, far from all he loved and cared for on earth, will now, ere he does so, visit Ireland, and examine and judge for himself. We promise him if he comes-not as a stranger to view the nakedness of the land-not as an inspector of poor relief or famine, to fatten upon our miseries-but as a brother, to link his fate with our country, and to blend his destinies with ours, a generous welcome, and all the blessings of a warm-hearted and grateful people. Here, amidst all the exquisite variety of scenery with which heaven has adorned our isle, and amidst the pure beauties of nature, he will be best able to preserve his health and spirits, and develope all the energies of body and mind. What are the events of the last few years? Crime has almost ceased, the poor-rate is decreasing, civilisation is spreading, education is advancing, our manufactures are making gigantic strides, our rich mines are unappropriated, and our lands ready to yield their grateful produce; capital only is wanting. Is ours, then, a declining country? is our star on the wane? Certainly not; everything is such as to inspire confidence in those who can discern the signs of the times; and we feel assured that the patience with which we have endured past suf ferings will not be without its reward, and that the time is not far off when "The liquid drops of tears that we have shed Shall come again transform'd to orient pearls; Advantaging their loss with interest, And tenfold double gain of happiness." UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. No. CCXXIV. AUGUST, 1851. VOL. XXXVIII. CONTENTS. FRUITS AND FLOWERS-A SYMPOSIUM IN SUMMER. JULY-A TOXOPHOLITE THE BRITISH OFFICER . THE LINE OF THE LAKES CHATTERTON-A STORY OF THE YEAR 1770. CHAPTER II.-THE ATTORNEY'S Page 127 144 159 TO LONDON 178 PENDENNIS 193 MAURICE TIERNAY, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. CHAPTER XL-" THE 206 223 IRISH RIVERS.-No. VIII. SPENSER'S STREAMS-THE MULLA AND ALLO. JAMES M'GLASHAN, 50 UPPER SACKVILLE-ST. WM. S. ORR AND CO., LONDON AND LIVERPOOL. SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. The SCENE. A Villa at Dalkey, overlooking the Sea. Time, Evening. Moon in her third quarter. POPLAR, SLINGSBY, and BISHOP are discovered sitting amid the debris of fruit and flasks; in the midst of the table stands "the red leather box.” BISHOP.-Throw open the window, Anthony, and let us breathe the fresh air of the evening. POPLAR (Rises and opens the window). Heavens! what a glorious twilight! What piles of clouds in the west, still blushing like coy beauties from the recent kissings of the Sun's rays, and now paling timidly with a sense of shame, and tearful, withal, as if sorrowing for the flight of the day god. See the haze on the placid sea, and the tiny silver ripples just heaving to the white moonshine. BISHOP. By the nine muses thou art growing poetical, dear Anthony. Well, well, I often warned you what would come of grog and cigars. SLINGSBY.-Tush, tush, Jack, let the man have his way. Nature is working in him and will out. Go on, Anthony. POPLAR.-See how sweetly pensive sails the dwindling moon in the wide expanse of heaven's hazy blue; and you can trace the dim outline of her dusky orbit where the sun's rays fall not on it, like the shadowy tracery of past joys which memory leaves on the brain. Is not the salt breeze from the sea delicious? Hark! to the muffled dash of the long low wave upon the rocky strand, and the plash of the oars of the home-wending fisherman's skiff. Beautiful, beautiful, is all this tranquil world, when the strife and struggle of busy day is passed from her! BISHOP.-The man is going clean daft. A song, a song, Jonathan, if you would not have me apply to the Chancellor for a writ "de lunatico inquirendo." SLINGSBY.-Song of mine shalt thou not have this night, Jack. There are other spirits that shall minister to our delectation. Come, dear Anthony, see what thou hast got for us in thy casket. POPLAR.-Reach me over yonder box, Jack, and I will give thee that which shall content thy heart. (POPLAR opens the box and draws forth at a venture., Now may fortune favor me. Ha! said I not soothly. Here is something to the very matter. Are we not now in the midst of bright and beautiful July? Listen, then, how one of the bards of Maga celebrates it for us. (Reads):— VOL. XXXVIII.-NO. CCXXIV. K JULY. | 1. THOU art here, young lord of summer! Lo, thy golden sunlight tinges All the eastern forest fringes, And thou flingest, glad new-comer, Welcome, welcome, lord of summer! II. Over meadows, moor, and valley III. Not a single cloud is drifting As throughout the twilight starless, And behold thy glories shifting, IV. When the light green leaves are kissed Cometh down the village maiden With thy whitest roses laden, And her sweet eyes softly glisten As thy pride she sees, And she stays thy voice to listen V. Welcome then, young lord of summer! Stay awhile, O happy angel! Sing to us thy glad evangel: We will hymn thee, gay new-comer, Welcome, welcome, lord of summer! BISHOP. Most delectably melodious! The words absolutely sing themselves. Wait a moment, till I get to the piano, and I will thrum you off an air incontinently to them. (Plays.) Now, then, Jonathan, what do you say to that? Shall we not have the song for our next symposium at Sackville-street? SLINGSBY.-Happy thought, by Apollo. How say you, most potent Poplar? POPLAR. Content, say I, and let it be ere we lose "beautiful July." Jonathan shall celebrate the "lusty hay month" with a chant of his own? |