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-and he was flattered, praised, read, bought, republished, perched up for immortality in stucco and in stone ;-and yet did he go down to the grave profoundly unaware, incurably unqualified to understand what this wreck of civilization was, whereon he has so elaborately pin-picked his name.

"'Twas the solemnest epoch in the lifetime of man-that, when the civilization of two thousand years,-unionized into one gigantic fabric by the power of Rome, so that the whole trust and worth of nations was by compulsion made to rest thereon—began visibly to break down. 'Twas the sultriest hour of time. The sweat drops of terror fell, and made echo in their fall. The loosing of the chariot-steeds of barbarism was heard afar, and men knew not what it meant, for they had never heard the like before. Vague feelings of their helplessness and danger-vague forebodings of unknown evils overcast their sapless hearts. They had time to fly-but whither? They had hands and brains, but the hands were nerveless, and "the formidable pilum, which had subdued the world, dropt from them;"-the brains were crammed full of controversial logic, so that there was no room in them for manly thoughts. Men had been bent and bowed for centuries to believe the lie, that one arch of power is enough for all mankind, that it is safest and best for many nations to trust all to one. All rivalry or competition was not only dead, but it was a thing forgotten; it had come to be a rude, uncivilized, unenlightened thing. There stood but one world spanning arch,—but one only tolerated or known bridge over anarchy. Suddenly the waters rise, surge high, swell beyond all ordinary bounds; the antiquated masonry is giving way; battlement after battlement fell in; help!-help!-we perish! But there is no help: only a too late consciousness is heard whispering-ye have cut away all other arches-all other ways of escape, save this one of empire :-crowned kings of men, ye too must even perish !"

This closes the extracts which we are enabled to make, and which we trust will serve to excite, not satisfy the curiosity of our readers respecting the work from which they are taken. It is a gratifying fact that the only work in the English language upon the subject to which it relates, should have been produced by an Irishman, and addressed to an Irish auditory. It is at once an indication of what has been done during the past, and an omen of hope for the future.

There are in several passages of this book, quaintnesses of style, and peculiarities of expression, which with many will pass for affectation, and which certainly do not seem natural to the author, for the most eloquent and earnest passages are perfectly free from them; indeed they occur but at rare intervals, and seem introduced there from mere waywardness, as if the author were tired of the style which is natural to him. He has a passion also for new compounds, for forcing the English language into unused combinations, and occasionally he loves to coin words not always the most successful. What beauty or merit for example could he possibly see in the word "feudaldom" to induce him to claim for it a place in future dictionaries. This coining of words is a privilege which the public are naturally somewhat jealous of. They do not concede it, save to those who have acquired for themselves the right to be considered as the kings of literature, and even their coinage requires the public approbation before it can obtain currency or be admitted among the treasures of the nation. A young author, therefore, should be particularly careful how he assumes any prerogatives in this respect, before he

is rightfully invested with them by the popular voice. The public do not lightly pardon a wilful encroachment upon their privileges.

But enough of these trifling defects; we hope to meet the author again in the field of literature; he has now placed upon record the evidence of his own ability, and if we are to judge by his previous career, he is not likely to let that ability be wasted in idleness or trivial pursuits. We trust that hereafter we shall be able to say of him,

"His youth gave promise of a glorious morrow, and his riper years
Have seen it all fulfilled."

MACKLIN; OR, THE SON'S SACRIFICE.

CHAP. XVIII.—A SEARCH For Evidence.CAUTHLEEN'S DISCLOSURE. WE left Mr. Butler taking his departure for the inn, as directed by Cauthleen, in search of the information, which, according to the opinion of the hag, would produce such important results, either by actually breaking down the evidence of the soldier, or by casting such doubts upon its truth, as would tend to destroy its credit with the jury. We shall now overtake his footsteps, and continue his close companions during a visit of so serious and interesting a character.

When he entered the apartment, the state and occupants of which we have taken some pains in a former chapter to describe, despite his visible anxiety to come at once into contact with the individuals he sought, he was so struck with surprise at the scene before him, that he seemed as if for some moments he almost forgot the objects of his mission, he gazed so long and silently around him with a wondering and enquiring eye. But when, as it were in searching for an explanation of the novel spectacle, his glance fell upon the knot of jovial souls, who for that night, at least, by mirth, good-fellowship, and a reasonable supply of social comforts, had resolved to defy the want of sleep and its collateral inconveniences, he at once, from their position, recognized them as the party he sought, and instantly his thoughts were recalled to the important business upon which

he came.

Had he known the persons before him, he need not have felt any delicacy in immediately approaching and taking his place amongst them; but this not being the case, he had no sooner advanced a few steps towards the table, than he suddenly paused and hesitated how to address them, doubtful of the manner in which his advances would be received. But one of those nearest the door, hearing the footfall, and perceiving a stranger standing before him, whose manner expressed an evident desire to join them, yet exhibited an embarrassment how to effect his object, at once rose from his seat, and with all the genuine courtesy and kindness of his country, in a tone whose free and easy welcome showed a constant

familiarity with hospitable treatment, begged of him "to come forward and take a place at their social board." At the same time, by a quick and ingenious disposition of the chairs, he soon procured him a comfortable seat, to which he led him with a grace and well-bred bearing, which strongly contrasted with his rough and somewhat home-spun appearance. When the social circle was again formed, Mr. Butler begged he might not be the cause of interrupting the conversation which was taking place at his entrance.

"Why, sir," said one of the gentlemen, who was addressed by his companions under the familiar name of Dick Maybery, "our talk for some time has been on the topic of this trial, and it may be a question now whether its continuance be of any interest to you."

"Interest me!" exclaimed Mr. Butler in a tone of surprise, mingled with a passionate earnestness, which showed, that in the sudden warmth caused by the implied doubt which the random observation of the speaker seemed to cast upon the depth and sincerity of the anxiety which occupied every faculty of his mind, and strained every nerve in his body; he for a moment forgot his habitual coolness and the strange company among which he spoke. "Interest me! nothing on earth-no transaction or occurrence of this life ever had such a hold upon the pulses of heart and brain as this self-same and extraordinary trial. Life, fortune -even hopes so dear to me, that to mention them wrings my very soul: all would I cheerfully surrender for one ray of truth and light which might illumine the darkness and misery in which all things are surrounded.

"Pardon me," he added, after a short pause, in which he could not but perceive the somewhat astonished look of those about him; "pardon this rather uncalled-for out-burst of feeling, but the stake I have in this man's fate is life's happiness-life's every comfort;-I care not if you should suspect who I am: it matters little now; and it is a harrowing thought to anticipate so enormous a loss as the ignominious end, while you firmly believe in the innocence, of the victim, upon whose fate the die is to be irrevocably cast against you. But a truce with this-with your leave I will claim your promise to resume the conversation."

For a moment there was something like an awkward silence, and one of the party ventured to whisper, in a tone however which did not reach the ear of the individual named,

"Mr. Butler, for a five-pound note."

An indignant "hush" from all about him followed the expression of the adventurous guess, and the conversation was at once resumed to do away with the unpleasant effects, if any had been produced.

"Well then, sir," said one of the company, "since you are so interested in the events of this trial, you will not only lend your best attention to the course which our conversation has already taken the substance of which I shall briefly recapitulate for you-but be pleased to follow also the channel in which it is likely to flow, on its present resumption. Before

1812.-JULY.

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you entered the room, the gentlemen on either side of you, who have an intimate acquaintance with the locality in which the murder was committed, have both been taxing their knowledge and experience to prove that the soldier never could have wandered accidentally from the high road; that he must have had a practised guide with him, to reach the house in safety; and that for all this he must have had a main purpose of his own to induce him to brave such dangers, and at such a time to visit a place —a mansion and inhabitants who bore so gloomy and unenviable a character as the Tracys. Our friend on the right, Mr. Mark Cassidy, was just describing the situation of the ground when you joined us."

"Will you, sir," said Mr. Butler, turning to the gentleman named, in a tone in which earnest entreaty mingled perceptibly with his habitual polite reserve, "be pleased to continue your observations ?"

"Oh, with the greatest pleasure in the world," replied Mr. Cassidy. "See here, sir! From the direction of the town, from which it appears the soldier came on the evening in question, it would take the devil himself to reach Tracy's house, without being either smothered or drowned. In this way (and Mr. Cassidy began to draw a map of the place with punch-stains on the table) runs what is called the 'dancing bog,' on which if man or beast set his foot unwarily, he is lost beyond power of recovery. Beyond this, a little more to the right, are the deep holes, called 'the dead man's pools', and there again to the left, stretching all across the front of Corrib-house, lies the large leaden-coloured mass of water, called 'Mrs. Clerney's hole,' almost undistinguishable in day light. Now, I ask my friend, Dick Maybery here, who knows every spot in the barony better than the county surveyor, and has shot over that same bog this five and thirty years past, if any man 'could stray' across it in safety as the soldier says he did?"

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By George," said Mr. Maybery, "I would not take the best horse I ever crossed, to walk three steps in it after dusk. It is the most murdering place I ever met with. I am sure hundreds have perished there whose fate has been attributed to other causes."

"But," said a gloomy looking gentleman at the fire-side, "it is provable that the soldier was at the town of on the evening in question, and it is beyond a doubt that he arrested Macklin on the very spot where he rashly attempted to conceal the body, and it is also a fact to be remembered, that Macklin himself passed from the self-same town on that evening through this identical bog, and reached the house of his stepfather Tracy."

"Pooh, pooh," quickly replied an elderly gentleman, with a rather sarcastic expression of countenance, "will you never cease your doubts, especially as they always tend to display your ignorance of the subject upon which they are expressed. Sir, hearken to this, and it will do away at least with the last objection. The village where Macklin spent all his early life until he trod upon the very verge of manhood, lies but a mile and a half to the back of Tracy's house, and the pathway across

the bog, which he of course travelled with practised footsteps from the experience of youth, was, in times past, the only direct communication with the town. Macklin, therefore, from the recollections of his boyhood, could travel over it with ease and safety, while it would be certain death to a stranger."

Right, by the Lord Harry," exclaimed Mr. Cassidy, "and now since our friend lately arrived seems so interested in our conversation, I propose that Maybery gives him a full description of the place, with his reasons for that conviction which is so fixed upon his mind for disbelieving the soldier's evidence, which not only he, but I myself am ready upon oath to give expression to."

It is not our intention to continue a report of the conversation which followed; suffice it to say, that it seemed to prove of the highest moment to Mr. Butler, for he not only took copious notes of the observations made, but also himself supplied questions which tended to bring forth subjects only half hidden or half expressed. The sober gray of the morning began to steal in through the chinks of the shutters, ere their discourse was brought to any thing like a close. Upon the appearance of light, however, Mr. Butler rose from his seat, and shaking hands with each individual of the party, thanked them for their kind attention towards, and hospitable welcome of him; but especially turning to Messrs. Cassidy and Maybery, he said,

"You will then, my kind, good friends, be present to day during this trying emergency. I have hopes, great hopes indeed, that your statement may have a most beneficial effect. I will see that your accommodation is well looked to. Farewell, until we meet on the issue of life and death."

"Be not too sanguine, be not too trustful in what you heard to night," eagerly called out the gloomy gentleman, "those who have been speaking to you for some time past, have been through life the victims of an over-reaching and over-reached credulity. Be assured, good sir, and I say it for your benefit, there is not the slightest chance of escape for the prisoner."

Mr. Butler, who had by this time reached the door, waved his hand with a smile to his gloomy adviser, and left the apartment.

Having obtained all the information to be gleaned in the quarter from whence he came, he was now naturally anxious to ascertain how matters had proceeded at his own mansion during his absence. He had left his beautiful daughter strangely attended-alone, with that old, forbidding, dauntless hag, whose youth seemed to have been one of excessive crime, and whose age was certainly not one of repentance. Could she, he thought, have had any devilish intent in thus getting him out of the way? Could shebut here his doubts and suspicions checked themselves. Every thing she had prophesied, every tittle she had asserted proved to be correct, and was he not returning home lighter in heart and fresher in spirits than he had been for some time? Away then with the

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