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VAUCLUSE.

Here, in thy grottos, wild Vaucluse
Enamoured Petrarch sought the muse,
And sat beneath that green tree's shade
(The emblem of his laurel maid)
Binding its wreathes upon his brows,
Breathing to it his tender vows.
And here his rich and varied song
Echoed the Sorga's banks along;
They rose,

those notes so clear and high
Unknown beneath a northern sky-
That full expressive liquid tone
Beneath thy favored skies alone,
Pours its soul thrilling melody
O lovely land of Italy!
Enraptured, still he loved to meet
Laura, in all that fair and sweet :
The blushing rose-bud as it blows

Is fragrant with her sigh-
The star above his head that glows

Can but reflect her eye --
And still her beauteous form he twines
With all that smiles and all that shines,
Until his deep impassioned thought
Her name into a language wrought,
And oft, as rose his varying song
Breathed it in cadence wild and long.
* The laurel wreath for victor's brows

To Laura owed its fame,
The air that heard his glowing vows

Was liquid with her name-
That name so loved, so lovely, shed
Its golden splendors on her head,
And scattered them in radiance bright
Like stars upon her hair of light.

How oft within Vaucluse's shade
Were Petrarch's brows the myrtle braid !
The leaves were green, and fresh and fair-
Laura! thy hand had bound them there
They faded—though the eye of love
Wept dew-drops on them from above,
But on the flowers he gave to thee

The sun-beam shone of poesy;
Unfading still those garlands bloom
All brightly green above thy tomb.

* LAURA-Lauro; L'aura ; L'aurea chiuma, O'DRISCOLL.

ADVERTISEMENT.

Several malicious persons having made, at different times, attempts to injure me.in a professional way, I take the present opportunity of publicly convicting them of falsehood; and of exposing to the world their base and envious calumny. Not having it in their power to frame a direct accusation, they endeavour to effect their object by instituting invidious comparisons between Mr. Valte, and me. They assert that my mode of teaching the science of dancing is not conformable to the present fashionable system, and that, on the contrary, the other professional gentleman excels in his knowledge of the recent inventions. Now the fact is, that there are many matters in the art with which I am intimately acquainted, and of which (with reverence be it spoken,) the above named worthy understands nothing ; and so on, vice verse.

For instance,-in all my enquiries respecting him, I never could learn that he taught the “ Rinca fiaguide an mhadarin ruadh(anglice—“ the fox hunter's jig”) :—the genuine “Rinca triz,"- the “ Rinca ceataira," '-or the native Rinca ochtar ;" whilst, on the contrary, those form the primary institutions in my saltatory tactics.I acknowledge, with all humility, my total ignorance of quadrilles, dos e dosbalancez, and all the fashionable jargon which has now taken the place of our old Irish jigs, reels, &c. &c. &c.

--so that, in this respect, we are pretty equal. As to respectability, I could once boast of having the care of pupils, whose families were not the least important in this town; and the public may safely give me belief, when I assert,upon my credit that I often had the honour of laying the scourge acrose the shins of Master Nicholas Tomtit, Master Bobby Ranty, Master Johnny Liquidrishstick, and many others too tedious to mention in an advertisement. It is only five years since those gentlemen have been withdrawn from my school, so that the calumny about“ second rate” and “third rate” is quite unfounded.

There remains another serious matter to be taken into consideration ; viz. the terms of instruction. The envious have reported ---nay have solemnly asserted, that I require but thirteen pence per quarter for tuition ;---now the truth is that “ I have heretofore charged two tenpennies, and on the assimilation of currency have raised the terms to two shillings British,” which I intend to continue as my standard price in future.

There are, however, many advantages which I possess beyond Mr. Valte, whilst he is no more than a mere dancing master, I am something else. He instructs—is paid, and no more of him ;—whilst I instruct-am paid, asked to dine in reat houses, (when there is no one else to amuse the family, or when there is no stranger asked ;) and, upon my honour, I am seldom left in the hall long after dinner. I generally begin the play of blind man's buff by being the first who is blindfolded : and am always appointed fool in four corners, in which character I remain during the event

A quotation from my daily advertisement, which publicly appeareth posted on the left-hand pillar of the lane gate in Bantry.

ful game. I grind the rosin, at parties, for the fiddlers--carry the children's books to school, and sometimes read the news-paper when the old lady is sleepy, and the print bad. From those circumstances it will be seen that I have many opportunities of improving in literature, and fashionable life, which

my rival cannot have. Hence, I imbibed a taste for letters, and hope on one day being enabled to give rest to one pair of limbs at the expense of the other ;-in plain terms, to exchange the logic of the feet for that of the kands.

Should those statements not be sufficient to obviate the evil effects of those invidious falsehoods, it only remains for me to entreat the attention of the surrounding gentry, and to request they will visit my school on *Cnoc ra-veach, where I preside during the summer months, or to Whiddy Island, where I teach in spring, and part of winter ; and thus a personal examination will convince them of the truth of this, my declaration. I have no more to offer on the present occasion, but to assure the public how devotedly.

I remain,

Their most obedient

humble servant 'till death,

Primus JUCUNDUS Mac Ruco. Cnoc-na-vcach, August 15, 1826.

O'DRISCOLL.

Ol! once the harp of Inisfail
Was strung full high to notes of gladness;
But yet it often told a tale
Of more prevailing sadness.

O'CONNOR'S CHLD.

There is not perhaps in any part of Ireland more striking scenery than that beheld from the highest point of the old Abbey near Bantry. Without being so fearfully sublime, as that along the coast of Antrim in the north, or the bleak pinnacles of Derbyshire in England, it possesses the double attraction of the improvements of agriculture, and the irregularity of nature in all her majesty. The bold outline of mountain extending from Bere Island along the borders of the County of Kerry towards the

* This hill lies just opposite to the cathedral, which, as a witty pupil of mine, named Tim Croneen, used to remark, is a beautiful building, except that the walls and roof are in a wretched condition.

such a scene,

north, is mellowed by the refreshing relief of the most delicious verdure, especially in that part which approaches the beautiful basis lying outside the little town of Bantry. On a fine summer's morning, or at noon, the landscape almost exceeds description. At one view, the spectator takes in a sweep of some hundred leagues both on sea and land. Forwards, as far as the eye can reach, the immense Atlantic lies like a mass of varnished gold under the rays of the rising sun. In the contemplation of

ideas partaking of the sublime must arise in the mind, even of an indifferent spectator. The reflection that nothing will impede the course of the voyager until he reaches the other side of the globe, must impress him with the grandeur of the prospect, and, in some measure, identify him with all that lies before him. The unbroken stillness that broods over the bosom of the mighty deep; the rich and glowing tints of the eastern horizon ; the bursting of the sun, as it were, from the waters ; the blue ocean itself strongly relieved by the russet colour of the mountains, shooting abruptly above its surface; the luxurious carpets of green which cover the small islands planted in the basin,-all form, in one view, the most vivifying prospect in nature. The old abbey itself, formerly the abode of monks of the Franciscan order, with its aged alder and yew trees drooping over the sea, the white tomb stones gleaming in the sunshine and half seen through the foliage, impose a venerable and holy character on the scene.

I am an enthusiast in what regards ancient burial grounds in general, but I confess this has a peculiar claim on my most fervent attachment. I often wander there, long before the rising of the sun, and seldom fail in taking my leave of him as he sets in all the glory of summer's pride bebind the Berehaven mountains. The consciousness that I tread on “ hallowed ground," where once the vesper stave re-echoed; that I repose on spots where not long since the sacred mysteries were celebrated; that I breathe the same air which once thrilled with the melting pathos, or which wafted the grand intonations of those musical specimens of simple sublimity which are so frequently blended with the imposing ceremonies of the Roman ritual, must impress me with feelings rarely felt in any other situation. There oecurs a striking difference between the ideas we feel in the observation of a scene of feudal or baronial grandeur, and those we entertain on the contemplation of the ruined habitation of holiness. Disgust at the mutability of human events, and at the instability of wealth and power is the consequent reflection of the former, whilst a complete abstraction from the business of this world, attended with a pensive melancholy and the most heartfelt devotiou is the impression from a view of the latter. Carried on by the train of ideas in this manner, the imagination raises many visions of former days, and we grieve to be awakened from this un, earthly trance to flat reality again. The matin song is once more heard over the blue water; the phantoms of the cinctured friar is seen flitting amongst the trees; the benedicite is again repeated on the passing traveller; the spirit of sanctity breathes a gentler rapture over the scene; and again, the abbey“ leaves seem stirred with prayer." *

There are as yet,---or have been---a few persons in the town of Bantry, who recollect the last wanderer from the dilapidated monastery, and, if I am not mistaken, one man knew and entertained a very old reculse who dwelt in a narrow road in Bantry, which now goes by the name of “ Friar's lane."

P. J. Mac Risco.

I had visited the abbey one beautiful evening towards the middle of June last, about the hour of six or seven. The scene around was buried in the most profound silence, unless when, now and then, wounded by a faint and dying hum from the distant busy town, or by the sudden splash of oars in the waters, as the Clanlawrence men rowed slowly homewards, or by the sullen plunge of some sea bird in the still mirror beneath. Having completed the distracting duties of the day, I had intended to luxurate in all the richness of long cool grass, and revel in whatever scenes or visions imagination may call forth. The exercises of the “ light fantastic toe" were about to give place to no less agile trippings of fancy; and I drew up my legs for the purpose of setting out on a journey to the empire of non-existence. I had chosen a fit spot for my repose, and had settled myself so that a new covered grave should be my couch and pillow ;-(we may as well accustom ourselves to these things as aot) I was just collecting my thoughts preparatory to an excursion;—the eyes were half closed-lips compressed-hand spread on the forehead, when, I was roused by a noise resembling that of the closed hand struck violently and often against the breast. At another time this incident would have caused but little surprise, but in the total absence of mind I then was, it served immediately to dissipate the outlines of the gossamer fabric I had been drawing. After hearing a repetition of the same, I turned my head around, and perceived, kneeling on a grave close behind my sofa, an old grey man, whom I at once recognised as the professed senachie of the town and suburbs. Poor Denis Hurly was the most honest, simple, devout, but, at the same time, the inost broken hearted being in the country. He had gained such respect for the excellence of his character, that he was an universal favourite. The houses of all the country parish priests were ever open to him; and it was considered as a compliment, not the slightest, if he sojourned long in one place. The head farmers and the “ceanna probail” would ride slowly if they met him on the high road, for the purpose of conversing with him, and the barefooted urchins passed with veneration, bordering upon awe, as they twitched, by way of a bow, the matted locks hanging upon their forehead. The simplicity of his heart approached almost to childishness, and an infant of three years old had a more intimate knowledge of the ways of the world. He conciliated the favour of the young by mingling in all their sports, by acting as arbitrator at foot ball, bowling and hurling matches, and he endeared himself to the old by constantly attending at wakes and funerals. Many a winter's night has he wiled away,—the centre of a numerous circle of old and young who listened with rapture to his relations of the atchievements of days of old. He was no vulgar senachie. Often were the hearts of his hearers melted at his lamentation over the memory of the dead, and often they fancied that the spirits of the departed arose to hear their venerable panegyrist. His effusions of natural eloquence so far affected the minds and roused the passions of the young men, that they often, by one simultaneous emotion, Jeaped up, seized their sticks, and imprecated the most dreadful curses on the ashes of their first national betrayer. Their bosoms panted to emulate the deeds and valorous feats of the great Donall Combh, last of the princes of Beara, as they heard him dilate on the deep revenge taken by that hero on the robber chieftain of Castle Donovan; and their stubborn hearts softened to the tale of woe, and tears and sobs bore testimony to the feeling pathos of his caoin. Not a wedding or christening was cele

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