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Literary and Political Journal.
JANUARY TO JUNE,
JAMES M'GLASHAN, 50 UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET.
WM. S. ORR AND COMPANY, LONDON.
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 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 brou. SLINGSBY gazes silently at POPLAR, but does not enter.
The whiteness in thy cheeks
Well, in the name of Harpocrates, what's the matter with you, Jonathan?
He that but fears the thing he would not know,
Blessed be the immortal Bard of Avon! He has given me speech when I could
Thou sbak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If thou hast failed mel 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, Jonatban, and sit down. There's time enough
down, and medicates.)
What a remarkably profound observation !
VOL. XLIII.-NO. CCLIII.