"They lived as they fought, fast, fiery, and true,
And tho' victors, they left on the field not a few,
And those who survived fought and drank as of yore
But the land of their hearts' hopes they never saw more
For in far foreign lands, from Dunkirk to Belgrade,
Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade."

There is a remarkable memorial of the rebellion of '98-that disastrous termination of the most brilliant epoch of Ireland—in the wellknown ballad of the "Shan Van Vo." The idea of this song is full of skill, -you hear the hereditary spirit or guardian of the great old family of Fitzgerald, like an ancient oracle, proclaiming the coming struggle, and finishing each stanza with the bold and startling refrain :—

66 Says the Shan Van Vo."

A hundred years have passed in England since the minds of men were roused by any great national crisis; since the '45, politics have been more matters of the head than of the heart,-but there exists in Ireland a patriotic fervour unknown across the Channel. There exists a national music which is still cherished, and the memories of the mighty dead are things felt, not merely recollected :

"All—all are gone, but still lives on

The fame of those who died:

All true men, like you men,

Remember them with pride."

But, laying aside in the sanctuary of reverential thought the wartorn banners of our country's glories, there is another class of ballads full of deep feeling :-the ballads, which take their rise not from the embittered fountains of political excitement, but from the purer sources of human sympathies, which picture the life of the Irish peasant-his sorrows and his sufferings-his home and his loved ones. The tide of emigration, which has swept so many thousands of the old Celtic races across the broad Atlantic, has suggested to Lady Dufferin an exquisite ballad, which it is hard to read without the tears starting to one's eyes:

"I'm bidding you a long farewell,

My Mary, kind and true!
But I'll not forget you, darling!

In the land I'm going to:

They say there's bread and work for all,

And the sun shines always there :-

But I'll not forget Old Ireland,

Were it fifty times as fair!

"And often, in those grand old woods
I'll sit and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again
To the place where Mary lies;
And I'll think I see the little stile
Where we sat side by side,

And the springing corn, and the bright May morn,
When first you were my bride!"

There is yet room for more ballads on the past incidents of Ireland's history, which shall shame the dull historian, and stir the heart like a trumpet's note; and who shall say that the future history of our countrymen may not afford material for nobler verses?

History is being acted in these our own days, and Irish genius and Irish courage are carving out great names far from the graves of their forefathers.

THE OLD PARSON AND THE NEW.

A LAY ADDRESSED TO DIVINITY STUDENTS.

AN old song, somewhat altered, to suit events of late,
Of a fine old Pluralist Parson living at a bountiful rate,
Who held three separate rectories, and swore by Church and State,
And drank the glorious memory of Sixteen eighty-eight,
Like a fine old Parson of the old school,

And an old-school Parson.

With a fine old house located in a fashionable square,

And an old church tumbling to decay, for which he didn't care,
And a fine old chancel almost by the winds and rain laid bare,
And a fine old peal of bells which, except on Sunday, never rung for

prayer,

Like a fine old Parson of the old school,

And an old-school Parson.

With fine, fashionable daughters, who could dance and sing and play,
Though visiting the poor and sick was not much in their way,
And a fine old pack of hounds (for which he made the parish pay),
And a fine old Bible and Prayer-book, which he'd somehow sworn to obey,
Like a fine old Parson of the old school,

And an old-school Parson.

Who, drinking too much fine old Port one day with Squire Jones,
Died of delirium tremens, as all the parish owns;

And his successor announced his coming in a letter dated-ones,
On ye Feast of ye Translation of St. Simpherosa's bones,
Like a fine young Parson of the new school,

And a new-school Parson..

Who at once gave up the Rectory house, and sold off all the hounds,
And in a cottage (he called it pe Abbaye) within the church's grounds,
And among the poor and sick every morning went his rounds,
And to repair the chancel subscribed a thousand pounds,

Like a fine young Parson of the new school,

And a new-school Parson.

Who preached each Sunday morning in surplice, hood, and stole,
And, working in the parish with all his heart and soul,

He caught a fever at last, and died of it, so the whole

Parish subscribed for an altar-tomb, with-Please praye for ye soul
Of this fyne yong Parsonne of pe newe school,
And this new-school Parsonne.

THE SEQUEL, IN WHICH THE PARSON OF THE NEW SCHOOL IS SUCCEEDED BY ANOTHER OF THAT ILK.

And to him succeeded one who worked in a different way,

And with candles, copes, and crosses, made a wonderful display,

And insisted upon double choral service every day,

And preached such sermons as made most people curse instead of pray, Like a new young Priest of the Anglicans,

And a new young Anglican Priest.

Until to the Court of Arches they brought this erring ecclesiastic, Because they thought his prayers too long, and his piety too gymnastic, Where Sir J. F. Fust (as every one must) condemned his poses plastic, And his reading of the Articles as entirely too elastic,

Like a new young Priest of the Anglicans,

And a new young Anglican Priest.

Who to give up his living was ordered very soon,

And then against his Archbishop cursed and swore like a dragoon,
And who went to Rome on a pilgrimage with staff and sandal shoon,
And at parting was greeted with words that refer to a Connaughtman
and to a spoon,

Like a new young Priest of the Anglicans,

And a new young Anglican Priest.

THE LIVING SECRET.

AN ALLEGORY.

CHAPTER VI.

"Entre les variétés de l'espèce humaine, il faut compter: 1. l'homme amoureux, qui est au dessus de l'homme et participe de la nature de Dieu. 2. l'homme non amoureux, qui est au dessous de l'huitré et participe de la nature du polype."-LEON

GATAYES.

JAMES did not find it easy to sleep that night. Few do, who, like him, lie down on the eve of entering the great life-battle for the first time, in a position which, however humble, may be, at least, that of an independent warrior; a position, too, which, held by noble men, had been maintained—for James had read Arnold's Life—nobly and victoriously. He had been unexpectedly called to take his place in the ranks; his armour (the ten bank-notes) lay beside him. But one day more, and he, too, was to enter on that field where, ever since the days of Sir Galahad, the Knights-companions of the most glorious order of Free Thought have sought after the enchanted castle of Truth, in despite of the sundry and various giants, magicians, Sloughs of Despond, and University Corporations, that have obstructed them in so doing.

d

And have these diminished in our days, O earnest and independent-minded fellow-students of this poor island, generally known as the kingdom of Ireland? Yea, have they not rather increased, and waxed mighty?

Are there not still social and other lies to " warp us from the living truth"? Has not Multessa still craft to lure the humblest of us with her forbidden beauty? Is not youth everywhere the prey of giant conventionalities and superstitions, the ghosts of long-dead mediæval delu

sions, that still walk among us, and drain the life-blood of our happiness?

But youth and hope are determined Platonists, and never reason by induction. So James Field, on the whole, felt hopeful, in spite of the manifest absurdity of such a feeling, as recorded in all human experience to the contrary.

And so he kept thinking, feverishly, again and again of the events of the day before, till everything seemed to him like a dream, and at last he sunk into a deep sleep, from which he was awakened by the bright sunshine streaming in through the window somewhat late next day.

He dressed hastily, and went down stairs to the breakfast-room. There was no one there, and so, thankful to escape any unpleasant family comments on the scene of last night, he got through his tea and toast as quickly as possible, and went out, no man forbidding him, into the Stillorgan road, there to await Ellen's appearance.

This was not as early as usual. Miss Casey had desired Ellen to take Eliza's place in assisting her to dress that morning, with a view of varying the toilet operations by certain remarks on that son of perdition, James Field, and Miss Martin's highly unbecoming bearing towards him, which she used to bring out, one at a time, like those Roman ladies who were wont to be dressed by girls with bare bosoms, that they might amuse themselves by sticking pins into them every now and then.

And in this, if her object was to injure James in his cousin's estimamation, Miss Casey was injudicious. She roused Ellen's indignation by imputing to her motives and feelings of which the girl had never dreamed. Having from the first honestly resolved to regard James Field with the affection due from a sister, she was led by this coarse and ungenerous language to take up his defence in her own mind, and to think of him far more than any sister does of her brother.

But all this was brought abruptly to an end by Miss Casey recollecting that there were certain processes relative to the arrangement of her hair at which it was not desirable that Ellen should be present. Eliza was, therefore, summoned, and Ellen, recollecting her promise to James, which, at the moment, she would far rather not have kept, quickly put on her bonnet, and went to join him.

"We must not walk far, James," she said; "it is late, and the church bells will soon begin to ring."

They walked up through Stillorgan Grove; as they went, James un