known, that if the wounded Cornelius were found by the rebels on entering the town, he would be barbarously butchered, they procured a little "low backed car," as it is called in Ireland, a kind of rural carriage, then and since much in vogue amongst the peasantry, and which, it may be mentioned by way of parenthesis, seemed contrived, with admirable Hibernian ingenuity, to carry the least possible weight with the greatest possible difficulty to the horse. Upon this, the wounded young man was placed, in an apparently dy ing state, and towards evening departed in the rear of the troop for his father's mansion, which, however, he was not destined to reach.

Perhaps the reader will recollect the situation of the house at which Cornelius stopped in the morning, in the joy and gladness of his heart to salute his sweetheart Mary Kelly, and from which he galloped away with love and vengeance in his heart, rejoicing in his strength, and meditating slaugh

ter.

The little day was not yet done, and he now approached it again, a wounded, dying man, trembling with pain and fear of dissolution, while bewildering and horrid recollections of the day's business swept in hurried and unconnected train through his mind, and disposed his soul to any thing but peace.

Just as the troop reached the point where Cornelius had leaped the ditch in the morning to ride over to Kelly's house, a large party of rebels who had arrived there, by the same short cut as he had used in the morning to overtake his companions, suddenly rushed with loud shouts and yells upon the soldiers, and a smart skirmish took place, which, however, lasted but a short time, as the rebels, after the first onset, retired to wait for their companions who were coming up, which reason was the strongest possible for the soldiers, or "army,"-for that was the distinguishing designation of the king's troops in the rebellion of ninety-eight, however small their numbers,-not to wait, but to push on with all the rapidity they could towards head-quarters at the castle. In the assault of the rebels, it happened that they forced themselves between the troop of yeomanry, and the car in which poor Cornelius was lying, and he would probably have fallen into their savage

hands, but for the timely intervention of Mary Kelly's brother Phil, who was a witness of the affray taking place before his father's house.

He saw the imminent danger in which his friend Cornelius was placed, and whilst the combatants were too busy to attend to what he was doing, he guided the car round to the lane which led to his father's hay-yard, and placed the wounded man beyond the reach of further and immediate mischief. When the "army" retreated therefore, Cornelius was left behind,→→ he was not even thought of at first, and when they missed him, which they did in a very few minutes, they concluded with a "poor fellow!" that he had fallen into the hands of the rebels. The danger, however, of his situation, was only momentarily postponed. The rebels after the skirmish occupied Kelly's house, not in hostile fashion, for through Fitzpatrick's agency he had come to be considered almost as one of them, though he did not bear arms along with them; but in the most friendly manner they de youred his bacon and potatoes, and drank his whisky, broke the ceiling of his parlour with their long pikes, and cursed and swore against all orangemen and yeomen, more especially against young Corny MacCooney the butcherin' young bastard, whom they threatened with the most savage vengeance whenever they got an opportunity.

Phil Kelly listened to all this with no slight apprehension for his friend's safety-he saw at once it would be necessary to hide him, and that was no easy task to accomplish without observation. It was, however, requisite to make the attempt without delay, and he returned to Cornelius, whose car was drawn by the back way into the yard, and placed behind one of the hay-stacks, where, favoured by the twilight of evening, it had as yet remained unnoticed. "What will we do, Master Cornelius?" said Phil, acquainting him with the extent of his appre hensions.

"Oh Phil," said the wounded sufferer, "take me and lay me anywhere, that I may die quietly, an' don't leave me to be cut to pieces by them villains' pikes. It won't last long wit' me anyhow, I'm afraid, for I'm very wake, Phil, an' perishin' wit' thirst.'

"Don't be afear'd-don't be afear'd," said Phil, endeavouring to be as consolatory as he could. "I'll take you up in my arms to the loft above, and make a bed of hay for you to lie upon, behind the ould oat bin, where no one 'll take notice, an' then I'll get you a drink of water; an' plase God, if we can keep you safe till mornin', you'll be better, an' come round afther all." "Ah, Phil," said Cornelius, "I'm afraid it's too little I've done to plase God all my life time; but I hope he'll reward you just the same for this kindness to a fellow-creature in the miserable state that I am in. I must trust everything to you, and I'll go where ever you like to put me."

The hay was spread behind the oat bin, and the young man carried up with great pain and difficulty, and placed upon it. The refreshing cup of cold water too was given, which seemed to revive him a little.

"An' now I must lave you," said Phil," for fear'd I'd be missed, and some one 'id come here to look for

"You'll come back to me, won't you, Phil," said the sick man, in a supplicating tone.

Yes, before we go to bed, I'll come an' see how you are, if I can come unknownst," (unnoticed).

"God bless you, Phil. Does Mary know I'm here in this condition?" added Cornelius, in a lower and more tremulous tone.

"No, not a word," said Phil; "I hadn't an opportunity to tell her yet,

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but I will now when I go in; only I'm afraid she'll be makin' some work about it, that 'll let them know somethin's the matter wit' her. I'll manage it the best way I can." So saying, he left the wounded man, and finding an opportunity, told his sister in a whis per of the fate of her friend, "Master Cornelius," and his present situation. The poor girl was bitterly grieved at the sad intelligence, and cried in secret, while the noisy riot of the rebels went on around her. She would have gone to see poor Cornelius-Start not at the indelicacy, ye fair ones of higher station, for poor Mary's mind knew not the nicer rules which regulate, and justly regulate, the state of society for which they are framed-She would have gone to nurse him, and speak comfort to him, but she knew that to attempt to do so, while so many men were loitering about the house, must lead to his instant discovery. Their gallantry, or rudeness, call it which you will, would not, as she well knew, have suffered them to let a young woman go alone into the farm-yard, particularly at that twilight hour, so fa vourable to that peculiar kind of eloquence which Irishmen are said to possess, how truly, I shall not pretend to say. So she was obliged, for the present, to hide her grief and her anxiety in her own breast, trusting that when night and darkness came, she might have an opportunity of stealing unperceived, to the comfortless hiding-place of her unfortunate and unhappy lover.

THERE may be many more, but for the present we shall assume, that the classes of verse-writers are in rerum natura-Six. May we be permitted to characterize them, chiefly for the benefit of those more immediately concerned, the ladies and gentlemen themselves clambering up, or down, or round about, the base of Parnassus, often in profuse perspiration, and for the behoof also of the pensive Public. The First Class comprehends a vast multitude of the youth and age of both sexes, who are-why mince the matter? -absolute and utter born-idiots. No talents, or abilities, powers, faculties, feelings, opinions, sentiments, notions, ideas, doctrines, dogmas, maxims, or apophthegms, of any one sort whatever, have they under the sun. It would be unfair to a very worthy order of human beings to call them Blockheads. Blockheads we know-many-who have not only some, but considerable gumption. Blockheads often surprise you by communicating excellent and useful, nay, uncommon and amusing knowledge of men and things, whence and how acquired it is not for us to say, for verily it is a great mystery. Blockheads often rise, step by step, for there is no very great difficulty in putting the one foot before the other, to the top of their profession-witness the army and navy, the bar and the bench. Blockheads die rich, and shine with a grave and solemn lustre in obituaries. It would, therefore, be at once unfeeling and unjust to throw the slightest slur or stigma on the pretensionless character of a crowd of humble and high individuals, many of whom we are happy to number among our dearest and most honoured friends. Neither are the versewriters of the first class, Ninnies-at least not what we understand by the word ninnies. Ninnies are persons of weak intellects, it is true,- -as the etymology of the word-of which, however, we profess ourselves ignorantno doubt denotes or implies; but then, ninnies, within their own small circle,

provided you can keep them within it by smiles or frowns of face and fist, are often far from being unacquainted with the graces and charities of life,are seen fond of their wives and children; and, when the grey mare is the better horse, why, really ninnies look remarkably well indeed as husbands and as fathers; and, extraordinary as it may seem to physiologists, have been known even to beget senior wranglers. We beg, therefore, all the blockheads and ninnies of our acquaintance, to believe, that we mean nothing personal to them in this article-quite the contrary, we assure them-for, independently altogether of the genuine regard we entertain for such worthies, we make a point of never insulting subscribers or contributors to the other magazines. The authors whom we have in our eye, and who deal extensively in odes, lines written on an Et Cetera, addresses to big people centres of their own circles, and sonnets to one another, which are not even scannable nonsense verses, may be designated by a term of which, we confess, we do not very distinctly understand either the origin or signification-but which seems characteristically opprobrious-Nincompoops.

The Second Class comprehends a numerous assortment of ladies and gentlemen to whom nature has been something kinder, inasmuch as, if you look at their eyes, mouths, and noses, you do not immediately discern any want either of understanding or of feeling-their eyes being grey, blue, brown, or black, and by no means altogether inexpressivetheir mouths being of the commonrun dimensions, wide, narrow, prim, pursy, blubber-lipped, rose-leaved, or cherry-ripe-their noses, Roman, Grecian, or cocked, just like their neighbours-and face, in general, such as you ordinarily see belonging to por traits in exhibitions. They have a natural taste, and even genius for words, of which they have always plenty at command; and, did they only

know the principles on which words ought to be formed into sentences, so as to give a meaning not only to the separate parts of speech, but to whole passages and paragraphs, why, they could not well fail of being rather agreeable writers. Their ears are long and fine, and delighted with jingle. Some of them are wire-drawers, some haminermen, and some bell-hangers; all working very industriously, and whistling, humming, or singing at their work all day long, on their small stock of raw material, borrowed, or purchased on credit, or by bills at a long date. Their verses, when finished, have sometimes very much the appearance of poetry. But their articles are all plated-glittering very prettily, till you begin to rub or furbish them up, when they have chanced to get a little dim, and then you discover the take-in, and peer upbraidingly on the bit of tin or brass, of which the whole service is composed, and which, in utmost need, would be rejected at the pawnbroker's. They do not belong to that wicked set, who hate the light, because their deeds are evil; but, on the contrary, light, in all its hues, is what they love above all things else in heaven or on earth; and all their compositions are either resplendent with radiance, splendour, lustre, beams, and rays, or are shadowed with gloom, glimmer, thunder-clouds, and midnight darkness. Astronomy and meteorology are their favourite sciences, which they treat popularly; and they would think it sacrilege to indite a verse without a sun, a moon, or a star. They like to lose themselves occasionally in a mist, and "their hearts leap up when they behold a rainbow in the sky"-the sight is so pretty and so are its many appellations, too: the showery bow, heaven's aerial bow, the radiant arch, the glittering sky bridge, the blended glory, the blue, yellow, violet apparition, the shining segment, the prismatic wonder, and so on, with many other epithets equally original and encomiastic. To commit to memory twenty lines of any such composition would have baffled Julius Scaliger. In they go at one ear or rather eye-and out at the other, without touching one single phrenolo gical faculty, except now and then, very slightly, the organ of lower individuality; and though you might not think it, they set you very soon asleep.

To borrow the language of the school, just like the motes glimmering in the noon-tide sun before the half-closed eyes of a man or woman, lying in a soporific posture, with evident intentions of forgetting all the affairs of this life. "Fair as a star, when only one is shining in the sky," you see them glittering yet surrounded with a dewy halo-in the Poet's Corner of an Evening Paper-or through the mists of the Melancholy Magazine.

In Class Third, which, in point of numbers, is to the second as the se cond is to the first, may be seen per sons puzzled what to make of the white and brown matter that is stirring in their brains; and who possibly might produce something not entirely unrememberable, did they only know how to set about it. But then they answer that description of Christians of whom Wordsworth says, "Oh many are the poets that are sown by Nature," but "wanting the accomplishment of verse!" Of verse certainly they have no notion-probably from having skulls in which the organ of number is poorly or not at all deve loped; and hence, being naturally incapacitated for counting either their verses, feet and toes, or yet their own hands and fingers,-so that their lines are lame and halt, and hobble away dot and go one, after the fashion of wooden-leg or crutches. Call them not stupid. To count your fingers with the utmost accuracy-ay, with out missing a single one of the whole on either hand, from both thumbs and little fingers inclusive,-may, to you, who have little or nothing else to do, be an easy task,-with nothing to disturb or distract your full powers of attention; which powers were, in fact, all that distinguished Sir Isaac Newton from other men ;-but to a poet, a bard with eyes in a fine frenzy rolling, and who scarcely knows, perhaps, whether he is standing on his head or his heels, as if he were looking at himself through an inverted telescope, the enumeration of his di gits is a work often beyond the reach of the most respectable powers of inspired arithmetic; and in such cases, how seldom do we see it successfully achieved, even by a lineal or collateral descendant of Joseph Hume! Hence the poetry of such persons can only be reduced, or worked out into me lody by the rule of three, or in the

more difficult questions, by vulgar or decimal fractions. Yet to persuade them that there is any error in the account-any mistake of fingers or figures-even a single cipher misplaced, is beyond your eloquence and your logic." See the blind beggar dance-the cripple sing!"

Class Fourth, again, provides both promise and performance. Its denizens have sometimes drunk-not perhaps at the well-head of Hippocrene, but from springs in its neighbourhood, and fed from it; or from streams meandering from Hippocrene itself, away down into the lower grounds, within whose range it is still the privilege but of genius to stray. Yet, the wanderers through those enchanted grounds and gardens, are seldom, if ever, permitted to inhale a full draught of the water seeming airwoven-their thirst, however, though not fully gratified, is no painful, but a most pleasurable feeling-they sip away, not disappointed, but delighted, and in their hymns there is often the spirit of beauty as well as of gratitude. Though not masters of the lyre-their fingers frequently play delicately and sweetly among its strings-making the low notes, especially, discourse excellent music-and strains, and breathings, and broken fragments of uncompleted airs, do sometimes attest how genuine was their inspiration. As the world goes now, has gone, and ever will go, it is no small praise-no small honour-not to be sneezed at-to belong to this train, "trailing some clouds of glory as they come;" although, in their less happy hours, their effusions may "die away into the light of common day.”

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In the Fifth Class, behold the True Poets! to whom nature has given both "the vision and the faculty divine," and the os magnasonaturum!" To them, from very earliest youth, were given glimpses of the glory yet to be-aye, even in those forgotten days and nights, when, between their eyes and the outward and inner worlds of the material senses, and of those finer senses still that own no kindred with the matter within which they dwell in their inscrutable mystery, was drawn the veil of infancy, in it self gorgeous as that other pictured veil, that of old floated before the eyes of Greece in the Parthenopean procession youth-led to the Temple of Minerva. As they grew" in sta

ture and in grace," this very world on which we tread became "an unsubstantial fairy place that was fit home for them." To them, under transfiguring imagination, it grew daily dearer and more dear-even than it ever could be to the common brotherhood of men, who loved it only with passions of flesh and blood, growing to life, clinging and clasping it with a thousand nerves and fibres, closer and more eating-in than those with which the ivy clings to, clasps, and kills the oak, when, plumed like a Prince or a King among the people, he falls in the midst of the forest. They are the MAKERS! "The great globe itself, and all that it inherit," are the materials of their new creations, on which the Eternal, seeing that it is good, looks well pleased! "Tis theirs to beautify the earth-'Tis theirs to glorify the Heaven. Their souls are the shrines of natural religion. It was so of old-in Judea and Palestine-the Holy-the Ever-Holy Land,

"When Chaldean shepherds, ranging trackless fields

Beneath the concave of unclouded skies, Spread like a sea, in boundless solitude, Look'd on the Polar Star, as on a guide And guardian of their course that never closed

His steadfast eye. The planetary Five With a submissive reverence they beheld, Watch'd from the centre of their sleeping flocks

Those radiant messengers, that seem'd to move,

Carrying through ether, in perpetual round,

Decrees and revolutions of the Gods;
And by their aspects, signifying works
Of dim futurity to men reveal'd!
The Imaginative Faculty was Lord
Of observations natural; and thus
Led on, those shepherds made reports

of stars

In set rotation passing to and fro, Between the orbs of our apparent sphere And its invisible counterpart, adorn'd With answering constellations, under earth,

Removed from all approach of living sight, But present to the dead! who, so they deem'd,

Like those celestial messengers, beheld All accidents, and judges were of all."

It is so now, even when the Race have had another revelation-and let the same Mighty One still speak of the