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selves from slavery? Some of you are perhaps intimidated by the army which Tarquin now commands. The soldiers, you imagine, will take the part of their general. Banish so groundless a fear. The love of liberty is natural to all men. Your fellow-citizens in the camp feel the weight of oppression with as quick a sense as you that are in Rome: they will as eagerly seize the occasion of throwing off the yoke. But let us grant there may be some among them, who, through baseness of spirit, or a bad education, will be disposed to favour the tyrant. The number of these can be but small, and we have means sufficient in our hands to reduce them to reason. They have left us hostages more dear to them than life. Their wives, their children, their fathers, their mothers, are here in the city. Courage, Romans, the gods are for us: those gods, whose temples and altars the impious Tarquin has profaned by sacrifices and libations made with polluted hands, polluted with blood, and with numberless unexpiated crimes committed against his subjects. Ye gods, who protected our forefathers, ye Genii, who watch for the preservation and glory of Rome, do you inspire us with courage and unanimity in this glorious cause, and we will to our last breath defend your worship from all profanation.

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.

A BRACE of sinners for no good,

Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine,
Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,
And in a fair white wig look'd wond'rous fine.

Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel,

With something in their shoes much worse than gravel;
In short, their toes so gently to amuse,

The priest had order'd peas into their shoes.

A nostrum famous in old Popish times,

For purifying souls that stunk of crimes:

A sort of apostolic salt,

Which Popish parsons for its power exalt,

For keeping souls of sinners sweet,

Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.

The knaves set off the self-same day,

Peas in their shoes, to go and pray;

But very different was their speed I wot,

One of the sinners gallop'd on,
Swift as a bullet from a gun;

The other limped as if he had been shot.

One saw the Virgin soon-peccavi cried-
Had his soul white-wash'd over all so clever;
Then home again he nimbly hied,

Made fit, with saints above to live for ever.

In coming back, however, let me say,

He met his brother rogue, about half way

Hobbling with out-stretch'd bum, and bending knees,
Damning the souls and bodies of the peas;

His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat,
Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.

'How now?' the light-toed, white-washed pilgrim broke, You lazy lubber ?'.

'Odds curse it!' cried the other, 'tis no joke

My feet, once hard as any rock,

Are now as soft as blubber.

'Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear

As for Loretto I shall not get there;

No! to the devil my sinful soul must go,
For dam'me if I ha'nt lost every toe.

But, brother sinner, pray explain,

How 'tis that you are not in pain;

What pow'r hath work'd a wonder for thy toes:
Whilst I, just like a snail am crawling,

Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,
Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes;

How is't that you can like a greyhound go,

Merry, as if that nought had happened-burn ye!'
'Why,' cried the other grinning, you must know
nat just before I ventur'd on my journey,

To walk a little more at ease,

I took the liberty to boil my peas.'

YORICK'S DEATH.

A FEW hours before Yorick breathed his last, Eugenius stept in with an intent to take his last sight and last farewell of him. Upon his drawing Yorick's curtain, and asking how he felt himself, Yorick, looking up in his face, took hold of his hand-and after thanking him for the many tokens of his friendship to him,

for which, he said, if it was their fate to meet hereafter, he would thank him again and again; he told him, he was within a few hours of giving his enemies the slip for ever. -I hope not, answered Eugenius, with tears trickling down his cheeks, and with the tenderest tone that ever man spoke- -I hope not, Yorick, said he.- Yorick replied, with a look up, and a gentle squeeze of Eugenius' hand- -and that was all- -but it cut Eugenius to the heart.- -Come, come, Yorick, quoth Eugenius, wiping his eyes, and summoning up the man within him-my dear lad, be comforted- -let not all thy spirits and fortutude forsake thee at this crisis, when thou most wantest them ;-who knows what resources are in store, and what the power of God may yet do for thee ?- -Yorick laid his hand upon his heart, and gently shook his head; for my part, continued Eugenius, crying bitterly as he uttered the words- -I declare I know not Yorick, how to part with thee, and would gladly flatter my hopes, added Eugenius, cheering up his voice, that there is still enough left of thee to make a bishop-and that I may live to see it.I beseech thee, Eugenius, quoth Yorick, taking off his night-cap as well as he could with his left hand-his right being still grasped close in that of Eugenius I beseech thee to take a view of my head.—I see nothing that ails it, replied Eugenius. Then, alas! my friend, said Yorick, let me tell you, that it is so bruised and misshapened with the blows which have been so unhandsomely given me in the dark, that I might say with Sancho Pancha, that should I recover, and "mitres thereupon be "suffered to rain down from heaven as thick as hail, not one of "them would fit it."- Yorick's last breath was hanging upon his trembling lips ready to depart as he uttered this;--yet still it was uttered with something of a Cervantic tone ;as he spoke it, Eugenius could perceive a stream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment in his eyes ;-faint picture of those flashes of his spirit, which (as Shakspeare said of his ancestor) were wont to set the table in a roar !

-and

Eugenius was convinced from this, that the heart of his friend was broken: he squeezed his hand-and then walked softly out of the room, weeping as he walked. Yorick followed Eugenius with his eyes to the door-he then closed them-and never opened them more.

He lies buried in a corner of his church-yard, under a plain marble slab, which his friend Eugenius, by leave of his executors, laid upon his grave, with no more than these three words of inscription; serving both for his epitaph and elegy.

66 ALAS, POOR YORICK!"

Ten times a day has Yorick's ghost the consolation to hear his

monumental inscription read over with such a variety of plaintive tones; as denote a general pity and esteem for him : footway crossing the church-yard close by his grave-not a passenger goes by without stopping to cast a look upon it—and sighing as he walks on,

ALAS POOR YORICK!

THE IRISH DRUMMER.

A SOLDIER, so at least the story goes,

It was in Ireland I believe,

Upon his back was sentenc'd to receive
Five hundred cat-o'-nine-tail blows;
Most sagely military law providing,
The back alone shall suffer for backsliding.
Whether his crime was great or small,
Or whether there was any crime at all,

Are facts which this deponent never knew;
But though uncertain whether justly tried,
The man he knows was to the halbert tied,

And hopes his readers will believe so too.
Suppose him, then, fast to the halberts bound,
His poor companions standing silent round,
Anticipating ev'ry dreadful smack;

While Patrick Donovan, from Wicklow county,
Is just preparing to bestow his bounty,

Or beat quick time upon his comrade's back.
Of stoics much we read in tales of yore,

Of Zeno, Possidonious, Epictetus,

Who, unconcerned, the greatest torments bore,
Or else these ancient stories strangely cheat us.

My hero was no stoic, it is plain :

He could not suffer torments and be dumb,
But roared, before he felt the smallest pain,

As though ten rusty nails had pierc'd his bum.
Not louder is the terror spreading note,
Which issues from the hungry lion's throat,
When o'er Numidian plains in search of prey,

He takes his cruel, his destroying way.

The first two strokes, which made my hero jump,

Fell right across the confines of the rump;

On which he piteously began to cry,

• Strike high! strike high! for mercy's sake strike high l

Pat, of a mild, obliging disposition,

Could not refuse to grant his friend's petition;

An Irishman has got a tender heart,
And never likes to act a cruel part;
Pat gave a good example to beholders,

And the next stroke fell on his comrade's shoulders!
Our suffering hero now began to roar

As loud, if not much louder, than before;
At which Pat lost all patience, and exclaim'd,
While his Hibernian face with anger flam'd,
'Perdition catch you!-can't your tongue be still?
There is no plasing you, strike where one will!'

ROLLA'S ADDRESS TO THE PERUVIANS.

My brave associates-partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame!-Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies which inspire your hearts ?-No! you have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. Your generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and our's. They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and extended rule-we, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate-we serve a monarch whom we love, a God whom we adore. Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress! whene'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error:-Yes; they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride!They offer us their protection :-yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs-covering and devouring them. They call upon us to barter all the good we have inherited and proved, for the desperate chance of something better, which they promise. Be our plain answer this: The throne we honour is the people's choice-the laws we reverence are our brave father's legacy-the faith we follow teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hopes of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this, and tell them too, we seek no change; and, least of all, such change as they would bring us.

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