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THE DUBLIN

UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE,

A

Literary and Political Journal.

VOL. XLIII.

JANUARY TO JUNE,

1854.

DUBLIN

JAMES M'GLASHAN, 50 UPPER SACKVILLE-STREET.

WM. S. ORR AND COMPANY, LONDON.

MDCCCLIV.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

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.

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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 brou. SLINGSBY gazes silently at POPLAR, but does not enter.

POPLAR.

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

otify for,

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 bath!

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 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
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.

B

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