he added, "but sure the ladies can talk without spaking; and they manage to spake first for all that, d'ye see?"

Being asked to explain such an apparent paradox, the wandering minstrel, who we afterwards were informed had been in his younger days not remarkable for fixed principles, took a large gulp of his punch, and declared, with all the air of a better born roué, that "love before marriage was the height of divarsion, that love after marriage went very well on the pipes for them that could pay the piper; but with most poor people that he knew, it was all Drive

on the cart."

"And what's that?" was the anxious query which proceeded from many quarters of the room.

The Tityrus of Kilkenny then took up his instrument, to tell us all about it, which he did in the following verses, not exactly after Virgil or Theocritus.

DRIVE ON THE CART.

Come all ye roving bachelors, that wish to get good wives,

Be sure ye be right wary afore you change your lives;

For the women are as various as the fishes in the say,

And ten times more precayrious than the spring or winter's day.

When you think you have them on, 'tis then, kind sir, your work's begun ; For, not content with one young man, they kiss and coort with all they can. Then all ye roving bachelors, that wish to get good wives,

Be sure you be right wary afore ye change your lives,

Sing fol-de-rol fo-le-ro, sing fol-de-rol-de-ree!
Ri-fol-lol lol-le-ro, ri fol-de-rol! d'ye see!

DRIVE ON THE CART!

[With a monstrously disagreeable accompaniment of the chanter, or bass cleff of the instrument.]

There was a victim in a cart a going for to be hanged;

But a reprief, d'ye see, from his Majesty, tould the crowd and cart to stand
And said the man must marry, or else that he should die--

"Oh, why should I corrupt my life," the victim did reply.

"There's people here of every sort, and why should I debar their sport? The bargain's bad on every part, but the wife's the worst-DRIVE ON THE

CART!"

Then all ye roving bachelors, who wish to get good wives,

Be sure you be right wary afore ye change your lives.

Sing fol-de-rol, &c.

DRIVE ON THE CART!

Which we all joined in, not excepting the merry-hearted girls, who enjoyed the joke the more as it was, this time, against themselves. Sallying forth with the kind adieux of our hospitable entertainers, we proceeded to beat up till morning the quarters of various other voters, in various parts of the county, with various success, till as the pale and interesting Lady Cynthia began to sink towards the Connaught side of the country, we arrived at Ballyragget, where the chief innkeeper of that far-famed village and his household were roused up from their slumbers by something louder and less agreeable than

"The breezy call of incense-breathing morn."

The incidents of the eventful day which now broke forth upon the world, and the pranks of the political roysterers, in those parts, I may tell in another chapter.

* Danaumque dolos.

QUEEN POMARE.

AN IMAGINARY POEM.

REFT of her realms, defrauded of her throne,
Her subjects murder'd, helpless, and alone,
Queen Pomare, protected by her flight,
Breathless, ascended to the craggy height
Which overlooks Matavai's* circling bay,
Where, treacherous in repose, the squadron lay,—
That hostile squadron, which awhile before

Had drench'd her country's pleasant fields with gore
Graceful she stood, yet, with a haughty look,
That could misfortune's utmost terrors brook;
And as the clouds unveil'd her airy form
She seem'd a guiding spirit of the storm.
In deep anxiety she turn'd around,
And on a sudden saw the fatal ground
Where war its fiercest ravages had made,
Mark'd by the mangled corses of the dead.
There fell her king and husband; still his hand
Grasped the long spear, to save his sinking land;
Still frown'd the gather'd features of his face,
Though lock'd in stiffness and death's last embrace.
Beside him, useless, lay his bow and shield,
Broad as his manly breast, that scorn'd to yield,
Whilst, circling round him, clamorous birds of prey
Shadowed with flitting wings the rocky way.'
At that sad sight her heart with sorrow rent,
Pour'd to the winds and waves this last lament.

Our isle was the fairest that ever was seen;
Our hills were so lofty, our valleys so green;
Our streams that gush'd out in the shade of the trees,
Whilst our cocoa-nuts rock'd in the swell of the breeze.
Tahiti Tahiti! I never shall see

An island so beauteous, so lovely as thee!

Our daughters were chaste, and each chieftain was brave,
And as free as the sea-bird that floats on the wave;
'Neath his high arching plume, flash'd his dark rolling eye,
As keen as the arrow he shot through the sky.

Tahiti Tahiti! I never shall see

An island so beauteous, so lovely as thee !

'Twas sweet in the woods at the break of the morn,
When the dewdrop still spangled the plantain and thorn,
To hear their loud shouts, whilst from dingle and dell
Clear echo repeated each blast of their shell.

Tahiti Tahiti! I never shall see

An island so beauteous, so lovely as thee!

'Twas sweeter at eve, in the close of the day,
When the west's purple light was fast fading away,
To see the young lovers so graceful advance,
Whilst the aged sat round to encourage the dance.
Tahiti Tahiti! I never shall see

An island so beauteous, so lovely as thee!

With what pride I beheld the long, stately canoe
Launch forth full of warriors, courageous and true;

* The great western bay of Otaheite.-Vide Captain Cook's Voyages.

Whilst the King brandish'd high his pattoo* and his spear.
And the gales seem'd to whisper success in his ear.

Tahiti Tahiti ! I never shall see

An island so beauteous, so lovely as thee!

On one sultry noon, as we stood on the hill,

When all sounds were hush'd, and tired Nature was still,
We saw a white vapour pass over the bay,
Then sink in the distance, and vanish away.

Tahiti! I ne'er thought that vapour would be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

We deem'd it deception, or else but a storm
In its rack, which had gain'd a fantastical form;
But it soon rose again, when whate'er it might be,
It surprised us in beauty, in size, and degree.

Tahiti! I ne'er thought that beauty would be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

We fear'd to approach it, and shouted aloud,
And we thought it a giant bird dropp'd from a cloud,
Or our forefathers' spirits to earth come again,

Nor guess'd, like ourselves, they were warriors and men.
Tahiti! I ne'er thought those spirits would be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

It slowly moved onwards, when, oh! what a sight
Struck us all with amazement, with awe, and delight;
It look'd like an island of tall, stately trees,

Which was torn from the forest, and sail'd on the seas.
Tahiti! I ne'er thought that island would be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

At length it was still, and a beauteous canoe
Came off to our shore; and as nearer it drew,
To our hills as a refuge we instantly fled,

And abandon'd our huts and plantations with dread.

Tahiti! I ne'er thought that landing would be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

But we soon at their signals of friendship return'd,

When each chieftain, and warrior, and young maiden burn'd
For the gifts which amongst them the stranger men shared,
Whose sight and whose presence no longer they fear'd.
Tahiti! I ne'er thought that those gifts would be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

We row'd to their ship, and we curiously gazed

On that mountain of wonders, and, wildly amazed,

We saw their great chiefs in their war-dress array'd,

And we heard the sweet sounds which to please us they play'd.
Tahiti! I ne'er thought those sweet sounds would be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

They gave us strange liquors, which joyous and mad

First made us-then left us forgetful and sad.

They call'd themselves Christians, and brothers, and friends;
But their friendship they proved was to serve their own ends.
Tahiti! I now felt their friendship might be
A source of misfortune and sorrow to thee!

We went to the beach, and we plainly descried

They were quitting our coast on the surf of the tide,
And their tall, taper vessel, so gracefully bent,

Seem'd as if on the cloud's snowy bosom it leant.

Then I hoped, O Tahiti! their friendship would be
No longer a source of suspicion to thee!

* Pattoo-the name of a war-club at Otaheite.-Vide Captain Cook's Voyages.

Ah! how short was that hope, for they still were in sight,
When we found to our horror, distress and affright,
They detain'd some young men and young women as slaves,
To convey them away o'er the far distant waves.

Tahiti! their friendship proved death to thy fame,

To thy nation, thy language, thy country, and name!

Then loud were the groans, quick and piercing the cries,
Whilst affection's warm tears trickled down from our eyes;
Our youth shook their spears with resentment and rage,
And the blood rush'd anew to the cold brow of age.

Tahiti their friendship proved death to thy fame,
To thy nation, thy language, thy country, and name!

For they now are return'd to our island again,
And our king, and our people, and children have slain,
And have planted their banners with tyrannous hand,
And they claim to be chiefs of this ill-fated land.

O fields of my fathers, that once were my king's,
Your sight and remembrance no happiness brings,
But regret and despair to this desolate heart,
Ah! soon from your shades and existence to part!

There are none left my bones with my husband's to lay
Side by side on the turf in the silent Morai.*
There are none left, when life from this body is fled,
To mourn for their Queen in the garb for the dead.

O thou Sun, that shin'st over us, darken thy rays

From these spoilers, that come o'er the seas' trackless way
In pity, O Moon, hide thy face in a cloud,

Nor shed thy pure light o'er the cruel and proud.

O ye stars, that to earth shoot from heaven's high bow,

Strike their masts, and their sails, and their vaunting prows low

Close o'er them, ye waves, in Eternity's sleep;

And receive them, ye rocks, in the caves of the deep.

Thus, as she spoke, a thick and sudden cloud
Burst from each vessel, pealing long and loud;
With vivid flash, th' incessant cannon's roar
Shook the wide bay, and thunder'd round the shor
She paused awhile, and, as in madness, smiled,
As if these sights and sounds her heart beguiled.
She shriek'd, and threw her trembling arms on high,
As to implore some unknown Deity;

Then, with convulsive grasp, she closely press'd
Her bursting heart within her heaving breast;
Then, with a searching look, that would devour,
She bade adieu to every tree and flower,

And, pointing forwards to the deep recess
That skirts the gorge of the lone wilderness,

;

She rush'd impetuous, and no more was seen;

Save round the path where waved bananas green,
She reappear'd in momentary light,

And into darkness vanish'd from the sight.

W. B.

• Morai― the name of their burying-place at Otaheite.-Vide Captain Cook's Voyages.

THE GAOL CHAPLAIN;

OR, A DARK PAGE FROM LIFE'S VOLUME,

CHAPTER XLVIII.

"DRINK !"

Ir were better for a man to be subject to any vice than to drunkenness ; for all other vanities and sins are recovered, but a drunkard will never shake off the delight of beastliness; for the longer it possesseth a man the more he will delight in it, and the elder he groweth, the more he shall be subject to it; for it dulleth the spirits, and destroyeth the body as ivy doth the old tree, or as the worm that engendereth in the kernel of the nut.-SIR WALTER RALEIGH,

"A LOWER figure this time, Governor!" said the Matron, handing in, as she spoke, a rosy, middle-aged woman, dressed in the costume usually adopted by the sisters of the sect styled "The Plymouth Brotherhood." She curtsied as she made her appearance in the Board Room; then applied her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared wholly overpowered by the severity of her misfortunes. "We get more moderate, I observe, as we grow older," continued the female official; "only eight and forty squares on this occasion! The last commitment was for smashing fifty-four!"

Mr. Croak's virtuous sensibilities were in immediate exercise.

"What a distressing, what a humiliating, what an alarming position for you, Nurse Larum, a person of education, and, outwardly, of high religious professions! What can induce you to give way to such a disgusting habit as intemperance ?"

"Ah!" cried the culprit, with a lengthened groan, "I'm like many more! I see the best: and yet the worst pursue!""

"And a Plymouth Sister!" reiterated Mr. Croak. "What will the Brethren say to you?"

"I left the Brethren," cried Nurse Larum exultingly, "months ago. There was nothing sustaining in their principles: they were too abstemious. I'm now joined to the Primitive Methodists."

"You're joined to the bottle: that's your real meaning."

Mrs. Larum looked at the Governor reproachfully, drew a deep sigh, and then remarked with dignity, "I am in the body, Mr. Croak, and I have my infirmities."

"And very remarkable ones they are; that when you are in your cups nothing will serve you but smashing panes of glass right and left, especially those belonging to the workhouse."

"A delusion!" observed the Nurse, in a deprecating tone. "A delusion! violent, but soon over."

"Of frequent recurrence, however," persisted the Gaoler. "This is the seventh time you have been committed here. Woman, for shame! Learn to do better."

"I ought," cried the "Primitive.” "I lack not information. I have all the late Sister Pawson's notes, thoughts, and explanations: a precious body of divinity! Piles upon piles of it; only written in short-hand, and in a kind of short-hand so cramped that no living soul can make aught out of it."