EDMUND RYAN. IT has been said that a similarity of feeling exists between the music and poetry of Ireland, as, in common, both excel in the expression of plaintive sorrow : "And sure if to thy harp belong One dearer-one exclusive tone, Proclaims the chord of grief thy own." Hence the Irish elegy is considered to be superior to heroic compositions, from the variety of tender and endearing appellations with which the language abounds. Amongst the elegies given by Miss Brooke, that ascribed to Edmund Ryan, or Ned of the Hills as he was familiarly styled, is worthy of being better known. Ryan, according to tradition, was one of the partizans of James II., and the confiscation of his estate followed the defeat of that monarch at Boyne. Obliged to retire before the victorious forces of William, Ryan headed a party of freebooters termed Rapparees. To a mind capable of producing compositions of exquisite pathos, how revolting must the asso VOL. I. D ciation with a gang of lawless plunderers have been! Many songs are still extant in Ireland, attributed to Ned of the Hills, and a beautiful popular melody is distinguished by his name. The following elegy, translated by Miss Brooke, is addressed by Ryan to his mistress, who appears to have forsaken him on his loss of fortune. "Bright her locks of beauty grew, Oh how soft-how heavenly glowing! Ah! poor plundered heart of pain, When wilt thou have an end of mourning? This long, long year I look in vain To see my only hope returning. Why art thou false to me and love? (While health and joy with thee are vanish'd) Is it because forlorn I rove, Without a crime, unjustly banish'd ? Why do I thus my anguish tell Why pride in woe-why boast of ruin ? Oh! lost treasure, fare thee well, Lov'd to madness-to undoing! Yet, oh hear me fondly swear-- Thou alone should'st be my chosen ! Every scene with thee would please, Would lose their gloom if thou wert nigh me. * Such, O Love! thy cruel power, Fond excess and fatal ruin; Such, O Beauty's fairest flower, Such thy charms and my undoing!" THE DEATH-BLOW. MADAME DE MAINTENON was one of Racine's greatest friends. He had, one day, represented to her, in very strong terms, the miseries which the expensive wàrs of Louis XIV. had entailed upon his people. She was much struck with the power of his reasoning, and the force of his description; and desired him to draw up for her a memorial on the subject. This she shewed to Louis, who was much displeased at it, and insisted on knowing the author. She had the imprudence to tell him, when he immediately exclaimed, "What! because he knows how to write good verses, does he pre tend to know every thing else; and because he is a great poet, does he think himself capable of being a great minister?"-On being told of this, Racine exclaimed, "I am a dead man!" ran into his bed-chamber and took to his bed, forgetting what he had advanced in the tragedy of Esther. "What business has that man at Court Who cannot many a slight support; Nor knows each feeling to beguile, And hide those griefs in many a smile, Which his sad aching heart oppress With ev'ry pang of wretchedness ?" He went, afterwards, to Court, at the request of Madame de Maintenon, but appeared very melancholy and unhappy there, in spite of the notice the King affected to take of him. He died a short time after the disastrous circumstance, and told his friend Boileau, "I love you so much, my dear friend, that I really am glad to die before you. I do not know how I could have lived without you;" and in the same strain of ardent friendship, when, on his death-bed, he applied for the arrears of his own pension, for the sake of his family, he desired his son to ask for those that had been due to Boileau for some time. "We must never be separated," said he ; "and I am anxious to let him know, that I continued his friend to the last moment of my life." GAY, AND THE SOUTH-SEA BUBBLE. GAY, in that disastrous year, had a present of some South Sea Stock from young Craggs, and once supposed himself to be master of 20,0007. His friends advised him to sell his share; but he dreamed of dignity and splendour, and could not bear to obstruct his own fortune. He was then importuned to sell as much as would purchase him a hundred a-year for life," which," said Fenton," will make you sure of a clean shirt and a shoulder of mutton every day." This counsel was rejected. The profit and principal were lost, and Gay sunk under the calamity so low that his life became in danger. He was a negligent and a bad manager. The Duke of Queensberry, latterly, took the trouble of taking care of his money for him, and would only let him have what was necessary out of it. He lived principally in that family, and, consequently, did not spend much when he died, he left upwards of three thousand pounds. He holds not, we conceive, that high station among the |