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Yet he was troubled by the thought from dreams, themselves, to their of intruding too long on the hospitality origin, on which subject he and the of his new friends; and he said, in a doctor could not agree; and Edward hesitating manner

and his visions were left in peace at “ Yes! but I must try how far last. But when every one had de

That you shall not do,” inter- parted, each to his daily occupation, rupted the Baron. " The road is Edward followed the Baron into his always bad, and in a thaw it is really library. dangerous. It would go against my “ I answered in that manner,” he conscience to allow you to risk it. said, “ to get rid of the doctor and his Remain with us : we have no shoot- questioning. To you I will confess ing-match ball

to offer you,

the truth. Your room has exercised but

its mysterious influence over me." “ I shall not certainly regret either,"

- Indeed!” said the baron, eagerly. cried Edward, eagerly.

“I have seen and spoken with my “ Well, then, remain with us, Lieu. Ferdinand, for the first time since his tenant,” said the matron, laying her death. I will trust to your kindness hand on his arm, with a kind, mater- —your sympathy—not to require of nal gesture.

“You are heartily wel- me a description of this exciting come; and the longer you stay with vision. But I have a question to put us, the better shall we be pleased.” to you."

The youth bowed, and raised the Which I will answer in all canlady's hand to his lips, and said- dour, if it be possible.”

** If you will allow me-if you feel “Do you know the name of Emily certain that I am not intruding—I will Varnier" accept your kind offer with joy. I • Varnier!—certainly not.”. never care much for a ball, at any “ Is there no one in this neighbourtime, and to-day in particular”—He hood who bears that name ?" stopped short, and then added, “In “No one; it sounds like a foreign such bad weather as this, the small name.” amusement

“In the bed in which I slept I . Would be dearly bought," inter- found this ring,” said Edward, while posed the Baron.

"Come, I am de- he produced it; and the apparition of lighted you will remain with us.” my friend pronounced that name.

He shook Edward warmly by the • Wonderful! As I tell you, I know hand.

no one so called - this is the first time “You know you are with old I ever heard the name. But it is friends."

entirely unaccountable to me, how the “ And, besides,” said the doctor, ring should have come into that bed. with disinterested solicitude, “it You see, M. von Wensleben, what I would be imprudent, for M. de Wens- told you is true. There is something leben does not look very well. Had very peculiar about that room ; the you a good night, sir ?”

moment you entered, I saw that the Very good,” replied Edward. spell had been working on you also, “ Without much dreaming ?” con- but I did not wish to forestall or force tinued the other, pertinaciously.

your confidence.“ Dreaming ! oh, nothing wonder- “ I felt the delicacy, as I do now ful,” answered the officer.

the kindness, of your intentions. Those “ Hem !” said the doctor, shaking who are as sad as I am can alone tell his head, portentously. “No one yet the value of tenderness and sympathy."

Edward remained this day and the “ Were I to relate my dream,” re- following at the castle, and felt quite plied Edward, you would under- at home with its worthy inmates. He stand it no more than I did. Con- slept twice in the haunted room. He fused images

went away, and came back often ; was The Baroness, who saw the youth's always welcomed cordially, and always unwillingness to enlarge upon the sub- quartered in the same apartment. ject, here observed

But, in spite of all this, he had no 6. That some of the visions had been clue, he had no means of lifting the of no great importance—those which veil of mystery which hung round the she had heard related, at least." fate of Ferdinand Hallberg and of

The chaplain led the conversation Emily Varnier.

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The following attempt to throw into metrical form, without departing from the
southern Irish idiom, a legend of the troubles of '98, was itten for a dear and
gifted relative, and with a view to recitation, for which the author feels it to be
much better suited than for presentation in cold type to a critical public. He
relies, however, upon their good nature at least as much as he dreads their
justice ; and is also comforted by the following considerations : The friend
whom he has mentioned gave a copy of the ballad to our fellow-countryman,
Samuel Lover, immediately before his departure for America, and there, aided
by those talents which make Mr. Lover's entertainments so delightful, its suc-
cess was at once so flattering and decisive as to induce the author to place it
at the disposal of his old friend, Anthony Poplar. It is unnecessary to say
that bad not the unlucky coincidence of the name of the hero and the subject
of the ballad with certain incidents in the melancholy history of the last two
years, made it unavailable, with propriety, for the purposes of public recita-
tion in Ireland, the author would immeasurably have preferred sending the
legend before his countrymen with the great and peculiar advantages it en-
joyed at the other side of the water.
Such as it is, however, it is heartily at their service :-

Jist afther the war, in the year '98,
As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate,
'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got,
To hang him by thrial-barrin' sich as was shot.
There was trial by jury goin' on by day-light,
And the martial-law hangin' the lavins by night.
It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon :
If he missed in the judges_he'd meet a dragoon ;
An' whether the sogers or judges gev sentence,
The divil a much time they allowed for repentance.
An' its many's the fine boy was then an his keepin',
Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin’;
An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned to sell it,
A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet
Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day,
With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay.
An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all
Was Shamus ('Brien, from the town iv Glingall.
His limbs were well set, an' his body was light,
An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white.
But his face was as pale as the face of the dead,
And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red ;
An' for all that he wasn't an ugly young bye,
For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his

So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so bright,
Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night;
An' he was the best mower that ever has been,
An' the illigantest hurler that ever was seen.
In fincin' he gev Patrick Mooney a cut,
An' in jumpin' be bate Tim Malowney a fut ;
For lightness iv fut there was not his peer,
For, by gorra, he'd almost outrun the red deer;
An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare,
An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare ;
An', by gorra, the whole world gev it in to him there.
An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught,
An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought,

An' it's many's the one can remimber right well
The quare things he done ; an' it's otion I heerd tell
How he freckened the magisthrates in Cabirbally,
An' escaped through the sodgers in Aherloe Valley;
An' leathered the yeomen, himself agin' four,
An’ stretched the two strongest on ould Galtimore.
But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest,
An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best.
Afther many a brave action of power and pride,
An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side,
An'a thousand great dangers and toils overpast,
In the darkness of night he was taken at last.

Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon,
For the door of the prison must close on you soon,
An' take


last look at her dim lovely light, That falls on the mountain and valley this nightOne look at the village, one look at the flood, An'one at the shelthering, far-distant wood. Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill, An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still ; Farewell to the patthern, the hurlin', an' wake, And farewell to the girl that would die for your sake. An'twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough gaol, An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail. The fleet limbs wor chained, an' the sthrong hands wor bound, An' he laid down his length on the could prison ground. An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there, As gentle an' sost as the sweet summer air ; An' happy remembrances crowding on ever, As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river, Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by, Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye. But the tears didn't fall, for the pride of his heart Would not sufler one drop down his pale cheek to start ; An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave, An'he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, By the hopes of the good, an' the cause of the brave, That when he was mouldering in the cold grave His enemies never should have it to boast His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost; His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry, For undaunted he lived, and undaunted he'd die.

Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone,
The terrible day iv the thrial kem on;
There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand,
An' sogers on guard, an' dhragoons sword-in-hand;
An' the court-house so full that the people wor bothered,
An' attorneys an’criers on the pint iv bein' smothered ;
An counsellors almost gev over for dead,
An' the jury sittin' up in their box over head;
An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big,
With his gown on his back, and an illigant new wig;
An' silence was called, an' the minute it was said
The court was as still as the heart of the dead.
An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock,
An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock.
For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng,
An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong,
An' he saw that he had not a hope, nor a friend,
A chance to escape, nor a word to defend :
An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone,
As calm and as cold as a statue of stone;

And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste,
An' Jim didn't undherstand it, nor mind it a taste.
An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, an' he says,
Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase?"

young, have

An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread,
An' Shamus O'Brien made answer, and said,
“My lord, if you ask me, if in my life time
I thought any treason, or did any crime
That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here,
The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear,
Though I stood by the grave to receive my death blow,
Before God and the world I would answer you, no;
But if you would ask me, as I think it like,
If in the rebellion I carried a pike,
An' fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close,
An’shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes,
I answer you, yes, an' I tell you again,
Though I stand here to perish, its my glory that then
In her cause I was willing my veins shoul run dhry,
An' that now for her sake I am ready to die.”
Then the silence was great, an' the jury smiled bright,
An' the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light;
By my sowl, it's himself was the crabbed ould chap,
In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap.
Then Shamus' mother in the crowd standing by,
Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry,
“Oh, judge, darlin', don't, oh, don't say the word,
The crathur is

mercy, my lord ;
Ile was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin'-
You don't know him, my lord, oh, don't give him to ruin-
He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted-
Don't part us for ever, we that's so long parted.
Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord,
An' God will forgive you, oh, don't say the word !
That was the first minute that O'Brien was shakei,
When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken ;
An' down his pale cheeks at the words of his mother,
The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th’other.
An' two or three times he endeavoured to spake,
But the sthrong manly voice used to falther and break;
But at last by the strength of his high-mounting pride,
He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide,
“An',” says he, “mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart,
For sooner or later the dearest must part;
And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear
On the bleak, trackless mountains among the wild deer,
To lie in the grave where the head, heart, and breast
From thought, labour, and sorrow for ever shall rest.
Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more,
Don't make me scem broken in this my last hour,
For I wish when my head's lyin' undher the raven,
No thrue man can say that I died like a craven !"
Then towards the judge Shamus bent down his head,
An' that minute the solemn death-sintence was said.
The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high,
An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky-
But why are the men standin' idle so late ?
An' why do the crowds gotler fast in the street ?
What come they to talk ot? what come they to see?
An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree?



Oh! Shamus O'Brien pray fervent and fast,
May the saints take your soul, for this day is your
Pray fast an' pray strong, for the moment is nigh,
When sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die.
An' fasther an' fasther the crowd gathered there,
Boys, horses and gingerbread, just like a fair ;
An' whiskey was selling, an'cussamuck too,
And ould men and young women enjoying the view.
An' ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark,
There was’nt sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark;
An' be gorra 'twas thrue for him, for divil such a scruge,
Sich divarshin and crowds was known since the deluge.
For thousands was gothered there, if there was one,
Waitin' till such time as the hangin' id come on;
At last they threw open the big prison gate,
An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state,
An'a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it;
Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute.
An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien,
Wid prayin' and blessin, and all the girls cryin';
A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees,
Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' thro' trees.
On, on to the gallows, the sheriffs are gone,
An' the cart an' the sodgers goes steadily on;
An' at every side swellin' around of the cart,
A wild sorrowful sound that ’id open your heart.
Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand,
An' the hangman gets up wid the rope in his hand;
An' the priest having blest him, goes down on the ground,
An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look round.
Then the hangman dhrew near, and the people grew still,
Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turn chill ;
An' the

bein' ready, his neck was made bare,
For the gripe iv the life-stranglin' cord to prepare:
An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer.
But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound,
And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground;
Bang, bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres,
He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him neighbours.
Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,
By the heavens he's free! than thunder more loud
By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken-
One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang,
But if you want hangin', its yourselves you must hang ;
To night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,
An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him again.
The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that,
An' father Malone lost his new Sunday hat;
An' the sheriffs wor both of them punished severely,
An' fined like the divil, because Jim done them fairly.


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