THE DUBLIN

75750

UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE,

Α

Literary and Political Journal.

VOL. XLIII.

JANUARY TO JUNE,

1854.

DUBLIN

JAMES MCGLASHAN, 50 UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET.
WM. S. ORR AND COMPANY, LONDON.

MDCCCLIV.

UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE.

No. CCLIII.

JANUARY, 1854. VOL. XLIII.

CONTENTS.

OUR WINTER GARDEN. THE DYING YEAR-THE MEMORIES OF OLD; BY ROBERT

II. BROWN-TWILIGHT; STAR-LIGHT; FIRE-LIGHT-THE LYRIST'S DEATH; BY

H. N. LEVINGE

SIR JASPER CAREW, KNT. CHAPTER XXXIX.-A STRANGE INCIDENT TO BE A
TRUE ONE. CHAPTER XL.-AT SEA. CHAPTER XLI.-LYS

CHILDREN'S PLEASURE-BOOKS

JAMES MCGLASHAN, 50 UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET.

WM. S. ORR AND CO., LONDON AND LIVERPOOL.

SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.

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THE Editor of THE DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE begs to notify that he will not undertake to return, or be accountable for, any manuscripts forwarded to him for perusal.

SCENE. Nowhere in particular. TIME.-Somewhere between sunset and sunrise. The bell (at the hall-door) rings. The curtain rises - that is to say, SLINGSBY opens the inner door, and discovers POPLAR, sitting by the fireside, with a pen in his hand, and a wrinkle on his brow. SLINGSBY gazes silently at POPLAR, but does not enter.

POPLAR. 66

The whiteness in thy cheeks
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woebegone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,

And would have told him half his Troy was burned,
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue.

And I.

Well, in the name of Harpocrates, what's the matter with you, Jonathan? Open your mouth, will you, if 'tis only to show that nobody cut out your tongue?

SLINGSBY." See what a ready tongue Suspicion hath!

He that but fears the thing he would not know,
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from other eyes
That what he feared is chanced

Blessed be the immortal Bard of Avon! He has given me speech when I could find no words of my own. The truth is, I-I-I

POPLAR. "I see a strange confession in thine eye;

Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If thou hast failed me! say so.

SLINGSBY.-Faith, my dear Anthony, 'tis even so. I have done nothing; and now I come, at the eleventh hour, just to tell you as much.

POPLAR.-Well, well, come in, Jonathan, and sit down. There's time enough yet. Visne schnaps?

(POPLAR points with his dextral index to a certain limpid elixir. SLINGSBY sits down, and medicates.)

SLINGSBY. What remarkably cold weather!

POPLAR. What a remarkably profound observation!

SLINGSBY (Snappishly).—More profound than you wot of, with all your sneers. I tell you, this cold destroys a man's intellects. I find my spirits sink just like the mercury in the barometer. I feel all my thoughts and fancy solidify and shrink, descending from my pineal gland down-down to my heels. POPLAR.-Ha! ha! What a ludicrous fancy, Jonathan!

VOL. XLIII.-NO. CCLIII.

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