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archness, that no one could look on it without being ungovernable rage against Phelim Bourke, whom he intempted to smile, even at its quietest expression. Every stantly assailed with a torrent of military rhetoric, comman was the friend of Phelim, and Phelim was the friend manding him to remove from the spot where he sat, and of every Irishman ; every woman admired “handsome threatening punishment for the excess he had already com. Bourke," and Phelin adored the whole sex.

mitted. Phelim disdained to answer; and some of the men Such did Phelim Bourke appear to the dullest observer having explained the occasion of the festivity, Sir Archiwhom his wit quickened, or his gaiety enlivened. But bald thought proper to walk on. “ I see I'm a prodigious to the watchful scrutiny of Norman Macalbin, a young favourite," said Phelim, smiling scornfully, and continu. Scotch volunteer, he presented something far more strik- ing his song. In a few minutes, the drum beat for even. ingia mind of the loftiest order, dallying with its own ing parade, and Phelim hastened to his place. He had conscious powers, and mocking at its petty purposes been under arms all the morning ; the day had been rehanging loose on life, and turning, in half-affected scorn, markably sultry, and he was still warm and fatigued. from that high prize of virtuous achievement, which it When standing at ease, as it is called, Phelim took off his despaired of attaining. Norman could perceive that grenadier cap, and began to fan himself; and, as he was the laughing Carlini of the camp had very serious mo- expected to do nothing like sober people, in performing ments; at which times he treated those who depended for this operation, he displayed all the coquetry and languish. amusement on his wit, or his scenic excellence, with caprice ing airs of an affected lady. Sir Archibald Gordon was equal to any spoiled actress of them all. It could not be now walking along the line, and, the more enraged that he doubted but that, with the blood of his ancestors, he in- durst not vent his anger, he sternly commanded the soldier herited that proud hate which, for centuries, they had che- to put on his cap, enforcing his command with the usual rished against those whom boyish folly had made his mas- accompaniment of oaths, and Phelim obeyed ; but, still ters ;-circumstances alone could reveal, whether this prin- supporting his assumed character, threw into his fine fea. ciple was extinguished, or only smothered in his bosom. tures so exquisite an expression of mawkish languishment, But, in his darkest moods, if the trumpet sounded, or woman that his companions burst into stifled laughter. This was smiled, the intruding phantoms fled, and glory and gaiety throwing the last drop into the cup of Sir Archibald's reclaimed their slave.

wrath. Transported with mingled anger and mortification, The careless laugh of this young Irishman, and his frank he repeatedly struck the soldier; while as fast, and as coand graceful salutation, had ever been peculiarly exhilarat-herently as he could, he cursed what he was pleased to ing to the spirits of Norman, for whom he performed many call his “ damned Irish impudence." It was not easy for little offices of kindness, and whom he treated with all the Bourke to bear a national reflection from this man ; yet he respect a nature so gay and so familiar could shew to any stood with the coolest indifference, till he saw himself struck one, especially since he understood that Norman was neither a second time. Phelim was a saucy, privileged offender; a prince of the blood, nor of the half blood, but, like him- his birth, and his fascinating qualities, had almost dis.. self," an unfortunate gentleman.” They spent many of pensed him from the slavish subordination of a soldier. He their leisure hours together, with much {pleasure, and some still, however, moved neither limb nor tongue to defend improvement.

himself; but, with a look of withering contempt, slightly At this time, there was a little black-eyed girl, a kind blew on his arm, as if to puff away the puny strokes. The of toast among the heroes of the camp, to whom Phelim full force of that emphatic look fell on the exasperated spirit was paying his devoirs, and who had also attracted the of the baronet, and again he furiously showered his blows regards of his colonel. That a soldier should presume to on the soldier. Phelim had, on this occasion, great command rival his colonel, was a thing almost unexampled in mili- of temper; he also knew the pains and penalties of his tary annals ; and for some time Sir Archibald was lost in condition ; yet thus provoked, he haughtily bowed to Sir astonishment. But when Phelim, though well apprised of Archibald, saying, “ Thank you, brave sir; this is the the intentions of his superior, showed no inclination to more generous as you well know I cannot pay you back give up the pursuit, a favourite sergeant was sent to admo- these eight good years." The rage of Sir Archibald was, vish him of his duty. Phelim would not believe that the if possible, redoubled,ếhe rushed upon the soldier ; and articles of war forbade him to make love to Dora Tracey; Bourke being a large and very powerful man, grasped him so he laughed at the messenger, ridiculed the message, and firmly in his arms, threw him down, and spuined him with was more than ever determined on conquest. Sir Archibald his foot! was equally resolved. His vanity and other bad passions, The officers immediately gathered round; Phelim was

now powerfully excited ; from a lover by proxy, surrounded, disarmed, and escorted to prison by a guard of he condescended to woo in person ; and both officers and Englishmen, and followed by many of his countrymen. soldiers anxiously watched the progress of the contending « What has he done, Pat Leary?-_What has he done?" rivals.

was the universal cry. “What the devil has he done, Nature and habit had conspired to accomplish Phelim think ye?" answered the Irishman who was following for enterprizes of this kind ;-his gallantry had ever been Phelim; “Sure it was no great matter to forget he was an found resistless, but he now also contended for the honour English soldier and remember he was an Irish gentleman." of victory, and he proved the happy conqueror. Phelim “ But, Bourke, they say you put off your Irish impu. was not altogether insensible to his triumph ; some of the dence to the Colonel,” cried another soldier. “ Pray, what officers ventured to rally Sir Archibald on his disappoint- sort of impudence may that be?”—“Pat will tell you, ment; and all saw the tempest grow darker and darker replied Phelim; “ he has had most experience."round the head of the thoughtless soldier.

do tell us," cried all the soldiers laughing aloud. “Is it A portentous week passed over; and Phelim, who nei. me?" said Pat; “Why, faith, I fancy, it's much the same ther foresaw, nor dreaded danger, had forgotten every hos- as your Scottish soberness, and not very different from tile feeling, and even the occasion of animosity. On a fine your English sincerity." “ Right, Paddy,” cried Phelim, summer's evening, he sat by the door of his tent, with some smiling in his turn; "all national virtues ! Poor Ireland of his comrades, gaily tossing off bumpers to “Love and has her impudence! Well, England calls her sister ;War," and carolling his last new song:

the sister kingdom !" « Such is the love of a true Irishman,

Pat, who had been anxiously watching his opportunity, That he loves all the lovely, he loves all he can,

pressed up to Phelim, as they drew near the prison-door, With his slips of shillelah," &c. whispering, “ Phelim, jewel, if you would take leg baii Sir Archibald happened to pass. It was the anniversary of for it now, we make you as welcome as ever you was the battle of ; and the officers had taken a holyday to to your mother's milk !_White be the place of her rest !themselves, and given a fête to as many of the soldiers as By the Holy !it's ourselves would compass our ould shis. had been engaged in that affair. Sir Archibald knew no- ter's boys, and by the same token we have done it before. thing about this battle; but he felt his heart boiling with Don't ye mind them." Phelim, thanked his countryman,


4 Ay,

bat he scorned to fly : and, besides, he had more good prin On the day of the second trial, if it may be so called, he eple, than to purchase his own safety by the horror and hovered round the tent in which it was held, with Pheblood which so wild a scheme might have occasioned to its lim's young mistress and her father, a veteran sergeant be. good-hearted, though inconsiderate projectors. When longing to his own regiment. When Colonel Grant left they had seen him lodged in prison, they gave him a fare- the court, the old man accosted him, saying, “ Is there any well cheer, in which they were joined by both the Scottish hope for that poor fellow ?" -“ None, Tracey, none !" and English soldiers, to the great joy of Pat Leary, and cried the Coloncl, in great agitation! “ We have ordered the infinite indignation of Sir Archibald Gordon.

him an additional hundred for his second sally;"_and he Bourke was a great and general favourite; but, in a hastily passed on. The poor girl fell into the arms of her military court, the colonel of a regiment must needs be father ; and Norman hastened to the sea-shore to vent his fearful odds against a private soldier.

feelings in solitude. The sentence of a general court-martial condemned Phelim was now declared able to bear the punishment Boarke to expiate his offence by suffering four hundred he would have died a thousand deaths to avoid ; and, as the lashes! His cheerful and manly spirit was at first com- day drew near, Colonel Grant sent him a private message pletely overwhelmed by the idea of an ignominious punish- by Norman, bidding him be of good heart, as his punishmest ; le reminded the court of his birth,-he pleaded for ment would be very lenient. Does he think it is pain barable death. But he soon appeared to have recovered that I fear ?" cried Phelim, indignantly tearing open his castomary gaiety; and when Norman visited him in his waistcoat and exposing his honourable scars. When prison, on the evening after his trial, and previous to his this was reported to Colonel Grant, his features suffered a suffering, he found him gaily whistling, and caricaturing sudden contraction ; and when the hour arrived which was Sir Archibald Gordon, who at this moment was seen from to expose the lacerated and bleeding back of Phelim to the the windors, exercising the drum-boys in flogging a large eyes of his countrymen, the Colonel contrived to be absent stoue Beurke was working on the prison walls with a himself, though he could not extend the same kindness to

pince of red chalk, which he had ingeniously fixed in his Norman. He was compelled to attend. He saw the man, i kandcuffi; the figures he had sketched possessed great for whom his soul was in agony, brought out heavily | pirit and force of expression, and the explanatory sen- ironed, more dead than alive, and brutally stripped to

traces all the points of Phelim's wit, when in his happiest undergo the most horrid of punishments. Nothing could vein.

make him witness more of this revolting spectacle. He "You are a univerzal genius, Bourke,” said Norman, closed his eyes, but he still heard the soldiers muttering looking with sincere admiration on this bold caricature; around him :-" That is the wound he got in Egypt,” said * but Lais display of your talents will do no good, so you one. “ I tell you no," whispered another, “it is the sabre mest pardon me if I efface it;" and he began to rub out cut he got defending the colours at Maida !” Though sights te line with his handkerchief, while Phelim looked on of this kind are unfortunately too common to be much resmiling " Mr. Macalbin," said he at length, in a grave garded, an awful stillness marked the strong sensation exand earnest tone,“ you are most kind; I have ever found perienced by every individual in the little army when the ja all the soldier and the gentleman, and with my whole signal was at last given, and when the leaden bullet,* han I love and honour you. Were it not for these which he indignantly rejected, was offered to Phelim denned bracelets," and he clashed his handcuffs together, Bourke. A death-like coldness crept through the veins * I hope yoa will permit me, condemned as I am, tó of Norman ; he leaned heavily on his musket ;-in the shake your band, and to bid you think kindly of me, when next moment the rocks of the sea-shore were resounding all is ore with me!" Norman clasped the fettered hands to the strokes of the lash!-he became dizzy and sick, and within his own, saying, “That shall not thwart our pur. heard and saw no more. A. He perceived the sunny eyes of Phelim glisten When he recovered he found himself supported in the Bez a moueat ;-but he again began to whistle, with his arms of a soldier, and at a distance from the circle. mualibogbuless hilarity, and Norman ventured to allude “ Bourke is taken down, sir," said the man, who was to bis punishment. "I am not only happy, but proud to pleased to see so great sensibility to the sufferings of a * yw bear yourself so manfully,” said he; “ you know soldier ; " he had got two hundred, and the flogometer said *** Each you are beloved, you may count on every pos- he must get the rest afterwards.” “ What mean you ?" sille indulgence." Phelim made an involuntary start, said Norman. “Oh, the surgeon who holds a man's pulse, this features changed with fearful celerity, and he replied, to see how many lashes he can take at a time, sir; poor Yes, I know that I am beloved, I have a stout heart Bourke invented that name for him. Well, thank God, he

get many a stouter has dishonour broken,-mine, I never uttered one groan, nor shrunk a bit. Had he shriek. met, will bear me out bravely!"—and he struck his fet- ed, we never could have borne it,-he was always such a hands on the seat of that manly heart; and then, as merry fellow." -“What! do they then shriek ?” cried ankarned of his emotion, added, laughingly, “ I am some Norman. “ Dreadfully, sir, dreadfully!" replied the sol

obliged to knock it up, and ask it how it does.” dier, evidently shocked by personal recollections; “can la a fex minutes Norman left him; and, when locked you doubt but they must ?" men hver dae night, he was still whistling and caricaturing.

At this moment some soldiers were seen bearing the Yen norning Norman heard, with indescribable con- mangled and almost inanimate body of Phelim Bourke hthu Phelim had attempted suicide during the night, across the field to the hospital tent. A few days back, and haing the jugular vein; but that he had been disco- Norman had seen the gallant fellow, so wild with life, so

24 ibat strong hopes were entertained of his recovery. full of talent and enjoyment !_“ My friend, I am faint stand day he was watched, and he did recover. again !" said he to the soldier, and he hid his face in the 44 the time Colonel Grant, an old Scotch officer, re- grass.

to the camp, much dispirited by the result of a cer For three succeeding days Phelim shrouded his head in trala which he had been witnessing. Norman knew the bed-clothes, refusing to look on the light which had albomce of that horrid species of punishment, which witnessed his disgrace, and obstinately rejecting food.

az disgraceful to those who decree, and to those while in this condition Norman knelt by his bed-side, im> ; and he ventured to plead for Phelim, as he ploring that he would speak to him, and take nourishment - and court-martial was to be held, at which the and comfort; but Phelim continued inflexibly silent.

malikely to be present. Colonel Grant knew the Only once did Norman catch a glimpse of his face; and,

of Sir Archibald Gordon too well to give Norman oh! how changed the once fine features and radiant eyes bome; be also knew, that vulgar minds cannot sepa

hea of authority from the person in whom it is
To render the one contemptible, was to degrade In suffering this punishment, a Jeaden bullet is sometimes kept in

"Poor Bourke must suffer," said he ; and Nor- the mouth, that the strong exertion of the teeth on this substance may kelen in bitterness of spirit.

deaden the sensation of excrutiating pain, and perhaps to kcep the soldier from biting through his own tongue in his agony,


of Phelim! He sadly recollected of Captain Drummond of by its aggregate force,-subservient to every impulse of his regiment holding a dispute with the daughter of Colonel perverted power,-the blind instrument of pitiful intrigue, Grant, on the colour of Bourke's eyes, and of that young or lawless ambition ;-an unfortunate, thrust beyond the lady saying, “ They were the colour of gladness." pale of social life, almost prescribed the intercourse of his

Norman, though somewhat astonished to find any thing species ;-the limits which separate him from the citizen so make so deep, and, above all, so lasting an impression on obtrusively pointed out, so rigidly maintained ;-a creahis light and joyous nature, still persisted in attending ture placed beyond the influence of those salutary restraints Phelim, and in attempting to sooth a noble mind, writhing imposed by the customs of society, and the observing eye of under unmerited dishonour. One evening, after having the world, with personal responsibility losing all chance, exhausted every argument to console the poor sufferer, who all desire of acquiring the esteem of his fellow-men. Poor continued dumb and sullen, his head wrapt in the bed fellow : cruelty and force alone employed in enforcing clothes, Norman tried to work on his generous temper by that blind submission, and in exciting that animal ferocity, reproach and upbraiding.

which seem to comprehend the whole of his duties,- duties “ This cannot be that gay good-natured Bourke,” said which are perhaps incompatible with moral influence, since he," whom every one loved. He would not thus sullenly I never, never saw it tried !" reject the sympathy of his friends."

It was some three or four years after this that Norman, “ Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Phelim, in a heart-piercing the young Scot, accompanied the memorable retreat of Sir tone, “I am not that happy soldier!-A dishonoured John Moore to Corunna. During that miserable period, wretch-insulted degraded, -mangled by a scourge,-all he was often employed on foraging parties, and in recon. that is man in me brutally violated. Why, then, should I noitring, for which his education, and the habits of a Highlive? Why, if you love me, do you look on me?” He lander had peculiarly fitted him. immediately relapsed into silence, sullenly turned round, On an expedition of this latter kind, he was despatched and told Norman to be gone. Recommending him to a to some heights on the banks of the Minho, the same mornCatholic priest, who kindly attended him, Norman withing that the troops left Lugo. He rode, and Pat Leary, drew, much grieved, and even alarmed at the strange per- generally a straggler, wandered after him, espying a cotverseness and ferocity which a brutal punishment had tage smoke, round which cottage some fowls might be wrought in the generous mind of this gallant Irishman. straying. At this period, Leary was by no means delicate

Next morning, Phelim Bourke was missing. The whole or confined in his notions of property; he had no scruple encampment was, for some hours, in dismay and confusion; in thrusting into his pouch whatever ammunition he could but the unfortunate soldier was never heard of. His com- find -fowls,-bread,-indeed food of any kind,clothing, rades concluded that he had thrown himself into the sea, -or even money.

Macalbin said stealing-Leary said a catastrophe which had sometimes happened in similar lifting, and on this point they differed, about terms, like

At high water, Norman wandered along the shore, other philosophers. “ Sure we came to sarve them, the with Pat Leary, and some kind-hearted Connaught-men, souls,” said Pat indignantly. " And if we did, shall we in hopes of finding the dead body of their friend. The sea rob them,” said Macalbin ; « I command you not to aprolled in with a heavy wave, but nothing was to be seen. proach that house."--Macalbin had gained the heights, « Ah !" sighed Norman, many a brave heart lies under and Leary was scrambling after him, when both were sudthee. Poor Phelim!"

denly alarmed by a party of the enemy's cavalry, dashing When he returned from wandering on the shore, the down the opposite heights, while, before the rest, one man glories of a resplendent sunset were streaming over the pic- furiously pursued an English officer. He soon far outturesque encampment, and flashing, in a thousand radiant stripped the speed of his fellows, and gained fast on the lines from rows of Alickering spears. Every soft and every fugitive. martial form, caught new grace or grandeur from the rich “ That is Colonel Gordon, I have knowed him by that tints of the evening. Groups of females and of military stump of an ostrich feather ever since we left Salamanca. were every where gliding around; and children, born to war, The Frenchman will give his plumes a trussel any way." frolicked about with the airy grace of their happy age. Careless of personal safety, Leary, with delight he sought At a considerable distance a body of men under arms were neither to suppress nor conceal, enjoyed the probability of still performing their evolutions, and sometimes marching Sir Archibald being made prisoner, while Norman eagerly across the plain, motion measured by a lofty strain of looked round for some bridge, some ford on the rapid river: martial music. In its pause was heard the round, full, but seeing no marks of either, spurred down the steeps, and toned voice of the commander, or that soothing hum of plunged into the stream, struggled with its violence, and mingled sounds which fluctuates on a summer air in a still at the risk of life, reached the opposite bank, saw the evening. Norman gazed on this fine picture with a cold sabre of the French officer descending on the head of Gor practised eye ; and of all the sounds that wooed his ear, he don, and joined the cry he set up for quarter-mercy! Tha heard only the sullen murmur of the heavy wave which voice seemed to arrest the death-stroke that hung over Gor rolled over Phelim Bourke.

don. The Frenchman, however, unhorsed him, tossed hi “ 'Tis a disenchanted scene !” thought he, as he leaned on sword into the river, and exclaimed, “ You are the prisone the entrance of his tent. “ Will they drill these poor fel- of France.” All this passed in the twinkling of an eye lows all night, because they presumed to lament their coun- and before Norman, recollecting for the first time that h tryman? to play the march he loved too,—cruel!”

was in danger of being surrounded by a party of Frenc He stood wrapt in musing sadness, when darkness had dragoons, knew which way to turn. Yet to his prostrat come on, and when the camp-fires ruddied the field, which countryman he instinctively turned and alighted. At thi was still graced by female, and enlivened by infant beauty. moment the officer on whom he had not yet looked, sprun His comrades, gathered around these fires, were enjoying from his horse, dashed sabre and helmet on the froze the passing hour with all the happy, and thrice happy snow, and leaped forward, exclaimingthoughtlessness of their profession.

Look on me, Macalbin ! I am BOURKE! I am a mo “ Who would wish a soldier to be a thinking creature !" again !" sighed Norman. “ Poor Phelim! already is he forgotten ! « Gracious God!" cried Norman, receding one How was he wont to Aing round his jests at an hour like overcome with astonishment to find, not only in life, b this !”

in an officer of the French Imperial Gaard, apparently “ 'Tis a disenchanted scene !" Again the enthusiast be high rank, and decorated with the splendid insignia of u gan to ruminate bitter fancies. “ Poor fellows ! defenders Legion of Honour, his lamented comrade, “ Pheli of their country! How dearly is its defence purchased, if Bourke.". this be the price? A soldier,-a being degraded below the “ Yes, I am that Bourke whom the English for who level of humanity,-a man who has surrendered the high ! fought and bled,—insulted, degraded, mangled wi privileges of his nature, and placed his freedom in another's brutal stripes.-Coward and slave," and he turned fierce power ;-a solitary part of a vast machine, estimated only to Gordon, “ you shrink beneath me now! I am ti


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& Bourke, whose country, kindred, family, and faith, have change may already be perceived in the woodlands. The

for six hundred years suffered at the hands of the English foliage, impaired by the fervid heats of July, now turns dry, every species of cruelty, indignity, and oppression ; mas. rugged, and faintly sallow. The birds have ceased to sing : sacred in hot, murdered in cold blood-proscribed, ex- but the young broods, every where abroad, pleasingly supply iled, tortured ! I am that Bourke who shed my blood for the woodland melody. The starlings now congregate in the destroyers of my race I whose heart lacked gall to make vast flocks, and some of the swallow tribes begin to oppression bitter, till their chains corroded my individual think of migrating, and may be seen wheeling over soul !"

head, “as if exercising their wings, and preparing for their It would neither be agreeable, nor perhaps very prudent long aerial journey." The pre-eminent flowers of this to relate that story of country and family which Bourke month in Scotland are blue-bells and heather-bells. In rapidly and vehemently sketched ; and still less so to detail the gardens are the capsicum, or Indian cress, Afri. all those motives and imaginary necessities by which he can marigold, hollyhocks, golden rods, Guernsey lily, sunlalled his better genius to sleep, and fortified himself in flower, common balsams, convolvoluses, the common error. Yet, let it not be imagined that he thonght himself amaranth, varieties of pinks, several of the finer annuals, a traitor. He said, he vowed, that his heart glowed with and the poetical flower-Love-lies-bleeding. This is the love to Ireland, of which those who live in her bosom can month, when school holydays, too long deferred, commence have but a faint perception; and perverted as was that in good earnest, and when every one hurries to the sealore, Norman could not doubt of its existence. This pas coast; for the healthful enjoyment of bathing, with sail. sion seemed even more ardent than the burning hatred ing, paddling, marine weed-picking, and shell-gathering, which made him pant to avenge his own and her wrongs-pleasures for every age. ed those whom, in bitterness of soul, he termed the THE Glow.WORM, the star of the earth, is often seen in English."

August. In some situations the glow-worms lie as thick Macalbin had much to say, and to inquire ; but the on the banks of hedgerows as stars in the sky. This in. trampling of the horses' feet of that party whom Bourke sect has afforded the poets many fine images. Like the more had out-rode, was now heard rapidly advancing, though brilliant luminous insects of warmer regions, as the lanthe steep banks of the river still screened them from view. tern-fly of the West Indies, and the flying lucciola of Italy, " Hark !" cried Bourke," Fly, Macalbin l-cross the its lustre is lost by day :—as morning

dawns the glow-worm river !-It will not be known that it is practicable. Fly! begins to “pale its ineffectual fires.” The luminous flies & I cannot save you !” He eagerly waved his hand. form beautiful objects in the black profound night of the Norman leaped on horseback, exclaiming as he went—“1 forests of the West Indian settlements. We have read of Lave left a friend in Astorga, the wife of Colonel Monro, a female naturalist there, who imprisoned as many lanin the convent of

See her, protect her, tell her tern-flies in a small cage, as afforded ber light to sketch that her husband is well."-"I will, I swear I will. their own pictures. Fly, Macalbin that is a vile word, gallop though.” Lammas-day-Lammas-tide, the most memorable calen.

Macalbin plunged into the stream, and got over before dar day in August, is presumed to be derived from Lamba
the party came up

Mass, on which certain kirk tenants paid their quit-rents
by a live lamb. Some derive it from Loaf-Mass, i. e. :

Bread-Mass, a feast of thanksgiving for the first-fruits of 1 AUGUST-NOTES OF THE MONTH,

the corn.

Lambs-wool is a kind of beer or sweetened liquor, suppos.

ed to be so named from its softness.—But we have Yule-ale, AUGUST, the eighth month of the year, is so named in Whitsun-ale, why not Lammas-ale ? -- easily corrupted into compliment to the Roman Emperor Augustus. By the Lambs-wool. Rains are frequent and heavy about this

time, Sarons and old English (who were Saxons) it was named and are expected by the name of “the Lammas flood.”

MEMORABILIA.—The 15th of August, 1769, was the Arn, or Barn-moneth, as this with them, was then as now the month of general harvest. In our end of the island birth-day of Napoleon. On the Ilth, the Dog-days, which

On the 12th of August, harvest is from a fortnight to three weeks later than in commence on the 3d July, end. England, as the tardy Spring does not permit so early sow- 1762, George IV. was born. The 15th is the festival of be. Barley harvest, however, is generally completed in the Assumption of the Virgin, to which festival that elegant Sotland before the middle of this month, and all CORN, in creeper, the clematis, which shoots up rapidly, and flowers krourable situations, is in progress of reaping. “It is a

at this season, is dedicated by the name of Virgin's Bower.. addening sight," says Howitt, in his late pleasing book The 24th, St. Bartholomew's Day, will long be memorable & the Seasons, to stand upon some eminence and behold for the most sanguinary scene of atrocity ever perpetrated He fellow hues of harvest amid the dark relief of hedges in the abused name of Christianity. Ten thousand Proand trees, to see the shocks standing thickly in a land of testants were massacred in Paris alone, and ninety thou. pace; the partly reaped fields, and the

clear cloudless

sky sand in the provinces, in consequence of a plan deliberately adding over all its lustre ... The wheat crops shine concerted by the Court, and the higher churchmen, and rein the hills and slopes, as Wordsworth expresses it, “like

morselessly followed up. plåen shields cast down from the sun." This is a sight

THE GLORIOUS TWELFTH OF AUGUST. which may now be enjoyed in high perfection from every einence in and around the city. This, in Scotland, is Glorious 12th ! Mountain holyday! ushered in by a rune sbondant month of fruits the small fruits, are at its ning feu-de-joie from “ Lord Reay's country" even down to

Bencement still plentiful, and apples, pears, plums, Lanark Moor, and the heights of Ettrick.' But we must parbes, apricots, and nectarines, become common, and draw upon other pens rightly to describe the 12th. Take Papes cheaper. The summer flowers disappear, but others first the unfavourable side of the picture from a gentle

ke less beautiful succeed them. The passion-flower in limner :Aroured situations, the tamarisk, the trumpet-flower, and

To man, bird, beast, man is the deadliest foe ledematis, are coming into blossom; and all the heathy

Tis he who wages universal war. fantains and moors of Scotland are waving purple with

Soon as his murderous law gives leave to wound

The heathfowl, dweller on the mountain wild, heather-bells. The grouse are now strong on the wing,

The sportsman, anxious watching for the dawn, the joyous 12th gives the signal for the commencement

Lies turning, while his dog in happy dreams, de animating work of destruction. This is the chief

With feeble bark anticipates the day.

Some, ere the dawn steals o'er the deep blue lake, of insects, and all kind of flies, from the bloated

The hill ascend. Vain is their eager hastekebantie, against whose approaches the careful house The dog's quick breath is heard, panting around

But neither dog, nor springing game is seen runds, to the gay votes which people the sun

Amid the floating mist; short interval
The Highlanders name August the Worm month.

Of respite to the trembling dewy wing.

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Ah! many a bleeding wing, ere mid-day hour,

“ Most lovely Earth! and was it to sustain
Shall rainly flap the purple.bending heath.

This pismire toil; which, bending o'er a heap
Fatigned, at nonn the spoiler seeks the shade

Of shining dust and pebbles, straws and grain,
Of some lone oak, fast by the rocky stream-

Makes for a shrine the mud where it doth creep:
The hunter's rest in days of other years.

And blind to broader paths or fairer views,

Crawls, dull and grovelling, to its last poor sleep-
Let us now reverse the picture :

Thy countless stores of scents, and sounds, and hues,
High life of a hunter! he meets on the hill

Gush forth, and sing, and glow ? was this their noblest use ?
The new-ushered daylight, so bright and so still!

Sacred Dead! whose words
And feels, as the clouds of the morning unroll,

In Memory's solemn pages shine enrolled!
The silence, the splendour ennoble his soul.

Was this the spell that taught your thrilling chords
'Tis his on the mountains to stalk like a ghost,

Their deathless tones, their poet-numbers bold?
Enshrouded in mist, in which nature is lost;

Did drossy streams detile the liquid springs
Till he lifts up his eyes, and food, valley, and height,

Wherewith your eyeballs sprinkled did behold
In one moment all swim in an ocean of light;

Riches of endless space and angel wings,
While the sun, like a glorious banner unfurled,

Covering the face of Heaven! were such your precious things ?
Seems to wave o'er a now more magniticent world.

At the risk of differing with all the admirers of As his eyes in the sunshiny solitude close, "Neath a rock of the desert, in dreaming repose,

pretty verses in periodicals, we call this poetry; and He sees in his slumbers such visions of old

hope that if any Magazine reader feel it too strong As wild Gaelic songs to his infancy told.

for him just yet, he will learn to like it better by-and. O'er the mountains a thousand plumed hunters are borne, And he starts from his dream at the blast of the horn!

by. There are more good verses in this number ; but, So far Wilson's Wild Deer. This is different sport from And now for other matters ;-A Tale by the Author

like wise men, we stick to the best and pass the bonniest. the wholesale unmanly battue in the aristocratic preserve, of the O'Hara Tales The Family of the Cold Feel, where the only glory is the number of birds slaughtered.

with their great progenitor Tony Nugent, a gentleman every way worthy of the pen that sketched the Now

lans. It is interesting, as is every thing which proceeds THE SCHOOLMASTER'S REVIEW, from Mr. Banim; but somewhat inconclusive. The writer

appears to falter in his stern purpose, and bungles his

story, because he has not the heart to make a woman a TAIT'S MAGAZINE, No. V.-August.

fiend. Tony, himself, is a peerless laird's brother :-not

that any thing exactly like him is ever seen in this MR. Tait has just produced his best, or, at all events, country, till one crosses the Highland line, some twenty his most brilliant number. There is, however, still a due miles. Among the other lighter pieces a “ A 'Squire, and mixture of the solid and utilitarian. The opening article, a Whole 'Squire” is a happy hit-off. But the flower an exceedingly just and able one, is on the most momen- of The Family of the Light Wits in this month is beyond teus topic that can at present be discussed ; the qualities all peradventure Paddy Focrhane's Fricassee. Dear and training requisite to fit men for Parliamentary repre-reader, if you at all value humour, or have any percepsentatives. We would recommend its careful perusal to tion of Irish humour,—not the vulgar blunders and brogne, every elector. With the copious contents of this number and bulls, uncouth words, and perverted orthography, so we know not where to begin; nor among so much that is nick-named ; but rich, quiet, genuine Irish humour,-true good, how to make choice. Suppose we give the poets wit, with Irish mannerism, do peruse Paddy Foorhane, precedence :—the number is absolutely rich in verse. A the brief story of a party of “good boys," who, after a jubilee song on the passing of the Bill, by the author of funeral take refuge in a shebeen house, because grief the “Corn Law Rhymes,” is not equal to some of the pro- is dry;" and after a long bout at cards and whisky, are ductions of this extraordinary and gifted person, who might at midnight suddenly seized with that horror, the devil twist. himself be made the subject of a most interesting and edi. There is not a morsel of pig meat nor any sort of meat in fying article, but it is a vigorous strain, nevertheless, the house, and the ravenous guests are not the boys, nor and for the sake of those living Scotch Patriarchs of reform, yet in the humour, to be trifled with. In this desperate who may see the Schoolmaster and not the Magazine, we strait the ready-wit of Paddy Foorhane suggests his im. quote one verse fro the Sheffield workman,-- from Ebene- mortal Fricassee. But is sin to spoil this precious bit zer Elliot--who, in intellectual and poetical power, far which the Schoolmaster may yet make his own. distances immeasurably far, all our rhyming Lords and Among the grave articles, one on Lord Mahon's H'a Esquires put together.

of the Succession, contains an estimate of the moral an Oh! could the wise, the brave, the just,

intellectual character of the modern British nobility, whic Who suffered-died, to break our chains

they would do well to lay to heart. British Taxation an Could Muir, could PALMER from the dust,

Expenditure is a plain political sermon, of which th
Could murdered GERALD hear our strains!
Death would see, and souls in bliss,

Black Book furnishes the text;even down, hard hittin
Unborn ages blessed in this !

the nail on the head, every sentence a new fact, and ever The Magazine boasts a pretty song enough, by Mrs. fact an argument. There is also a good article on Devi Gore; and also a much higher strain, probably from the Punishments—one on Louis Philippe, who, we hope, is n same source,-Stanzas written in Windsor Chapela quite so bad as he is here called ; and another short sensih piece of truly noble musing and moralizing on the vain paper on the Bank Charter follows up those of Sir 1 shows and shadows of a life too high to be happy.-Stan- Parnell on the same subject in former numbers. We ha xas to the Madonna Alla Seggiola is a gem, steeped in the also another chapter of the Late History of the Bull Fami softest dews of the morn of English poetry. It breathes and a Johannic, shewing John's present dangers, from 1 the tender piety, the sweetness and purity of the muse of natural weaknesses of character, and tuft-hunting prope Crashaw; and is almost worthy of the divine painting, a sities. To-day we cannot dip farther, and in this num copy of which has suggested it--a homage worthy of those things are passed over which would have formed the pra “calm-brooding eyes."

Those who have not seen the of ordinary months. No one, we presume, will doubt picture, or arty copy of it, to understand the poem, should success of the New Edinburgh Magazine now ; nor, w be told that the Infant St. John forms one of that heavenly some few will be more prone to question, its claims to s group. Poetry is not done yet, for Auri Panegyricon is cess. It has only to keep up to its own standard. also a poetical piece, and a composition of a very high ... We propose giving such brief notices of new pu order and energetic character noble and dignified flow cations, and particularly of the periodicals, which now of sentiment, sustained by powerful thought. We shall body the very spirit of the time, as may prove both us. all owe Tait's Magazine a debt of gratitude if it proceed and amusing to general readers. But this cannot be d unburrowing minds like that which has poured forth these till our fourth week, in a MONTHLY RETROSPECT verses :


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