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should be employed as counsel on a petition then pending before the House of Commons, which would put an hundred guineas in my pocket; and that I should have professional business put in my way from time to time that should produce mc at least as much per annum. He added that they were then, it was true, out of place, but that they would not be always so, and that ou their return to office, their friends, when out of power, would naturally be first considered. He likewise observed that they had influence, direct or indirect, over no less than two and twenty seats in parliament; and he insinuated pretty plainly, that when we were better acquainted, it was highly probable I might come in for one of the first vacancies. All this was highly nattering to me, the more so as my wife's fortune was now nearly exhausted, partly by our inevitable expenses, and partly by my unsuccessful efforts to extricate my father. 1 did, it was true, not much relish the attaching myself to any great man or set of men; but I considered, as 1 have said before, that the principles they advanced were such as 1 could conscientiously support, to far as they went, though mine went much beyond them. I therefore thought there was no dishonour in the proposed connexion ; and 1 was certainly dazzled at the prospect of a seat in parliament, at which my ambition began to expand. I signified, in consequence, my readiness to attach myself to the Whigs, and I was instantly retamed, on the petition for the borough, of Dungannon, on the part of James Carrigen Ponsonby, Esq. I now looked upon myself as a sort of political character, and began to suppose that the House of Commons, and not the Bar, was to be the scene of my future exertions. But in this I reckoned like a sanguine young man. Month after month elapsed without any communication on the part of George Ponsonby, whom I looked upon as most immediately my object. He always spoke tome, when we met by chance, with great civility; but I observed that he never mentioned one word of politics. I therefore at last concluded that he had changed his mind, or that, on a nearer view, he had found my want of capacity. In short, I gave up all thoughts of the connexion, and determined to trouble myself no more about Ponsonby or the Whigs; and I calculated that I had written a pamphlet which they thought had served them, and that they had in consequence employed me professionally in a business which produced me eighty guineas. Accounts were balanced on both sides, and all further connexion was at an end. But my mind had now got a turn for politics. I thought I had at last found my element, and I plunged into it with eagerness. A closer examination into the situation of my native country had very considerably extended my views; and, as I was sincerely and honestly attached to her interests, I soon found reason not to regret that the Whigs nad not thought me an object worthy of their cultivation. I made speedily, what was to me a very great discovery, though jl might have found it in Swift and Molyneux, that the influence of England was the radical vice of our government, and consequently, that Ireland would never be either free, prosperous, or happy, until she was independent, and that independence was unattainable while the connexion with England lasted. In forming this theory, which has ever since unvaryingly directed my political conduct, to which I have sacrificed every thing, and am ready to sacrifice my life if necessary, I was exceedingly assisted by an old friend of mine, whom I look upon as one of the very very few honest men in the Irish House of Commons. It was he who first turned my attention to this great question, but I very soon ran far ahead of my master. It is in fact to him I am indebted for the first comprehensive view of the actual situation of Ireland. What his conduct might be in a crisis, 1 know not; but I can answer for the truth and justice of his theory.

"I now began to look on the little politics of the WhigClub with great contempt—their piddling about petty grievances, instead of going to the root of the evil: and 1 rejoiced that if 1 was poor, as I was actually, 1 had preserved my independence, and could speak my sentiments without being responsible to any body but the law. An occasion soon offered to give vent to my newly received opinions. On the appearance of a rupture with Spain, I wrote a ramphlet to prove that Ireland was not bound by the declaration of war, . might and—ought, as an independent nation, to stipulate for a neutrality. In examining this question, l advanced the question of separation with scarcely any reserve, much less disguise. But the public mind was by no means so far advanced as I was, and my pamphlet made not the smallest impression. The day after it appeared, as P.stood perdu in the bookseller's shop, listening after my own reputation, Sir Harry Cavendish, a notorious slave of the House of Commons, entered, and throwing my unfortunate pamphlet on the counter in a rage, exclaimed, ‘Mr. Byrne, if the author that work is serious, he ought to be hanged.” Sir Harry was succeeded by a Bishop, an English doctor of divinity, with five or six thousand a year laboriously earned in the church. His Lordship's anger was not much less than that of the other personage. “Sir,’ said he, “if the principles of that alominatle work were spread, do you know that you would have to pay for your coals at the rate of five pounds a ton P’ Notwithstanding these criticisms, which I have faithfully quoted against myself, I continue to think my P. a good one ; but, apparently, the publisher, Mr. Byrne, was of a different opinion, for I have reason to believe that he suppressed the whole impression, “for which his own G–ds damn him ''”

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The Wind has a language I would I could learn:
Sometimes 'tis soothing, and sometimes 'tis stern,
—Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet song,
And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along,
And the forest is lull'd by the dreamy strain,
And slumber sinks down on the wandering main,
And its crystal arms are folded in rest,
And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.

Sometimes, when Autumn grows yellow and sear,
And the sad clouds weep for the dying year,
It comes like a wizard, and mutters its spell,
—I would that the magical tones I might tell—
And it beckons the leaves with its viewless hand,
And they leap from the branches at its command,
And follow its footsteps with wheeling feet,
Like fairies that dance in the moonlight sweet.

Sometimes it comes in the wintry night,
And I hear the flap of its pinions of might,
And I see the flash of its withering eye,
As it looks from the thunder-cloud sailing on high,
And pauses to gather its fearful breath,
And lists up its voice, like the angel of death,
And the billows leap up when the summons they hear,
And the ship flies away, as if winged with fear,
And the uncouth creatures that dwell in the deep,
Start up at the sound from their floating sleep,
And career through the waters, like clouds through the night,
To share in the tumult their joy and delight,
And when the moon rises, the ship is no more,
Its joys and its sorrows are vanish’d and o'er,
And the fierce storm that slew it, has faded away,
Like the dark dream that flies from the light of the day !

i. Ui.m.m's GHOST.



There is a family named Partington, that has lately commenced its residence in Upper Harley-street. It consists of a father, a mother, two sons, and two daughters. The father is a sturdy, red-faced, good sort of man, and the mother is a slender, sallow, good sort of woman. John, the elder son, is with his father in the wine and spirit line, in America-square: Charles, the younger son, is in the law : the two girls expect to be married. There is at present a great deal of Advice stirring about London, and the Partingtons have given and received more than their due proportion of it. It has often astonished me why so much of that commodity has been, and continues to be given: nobody thanks you for it: indeed, nine people out of ten tell you, in pretty plain terms, to keep your advice to yourself—yet still we continue to give it. Never was benevolence more gratuitous than ours!

Hardly was old Partington well settled in Upper Harley-street, in a most commodious situation, inasmuch as it commanded a corner view of the outside of the Diorama, with a peep at the little statue of the late Duke of Kent at the top of Portland-place, when he received a visit from his crony Mr. Chapman, of Devonshire-square, Bishopsgatestreet, who called to give him some advice as to his recent proceedings. Mr. Chapman commenced his harangue in one of the accustomed forms: "Now, Mr. Partington, 1 am sure you have too much good sense to be offended at what I am about to say:" Mr. Partington assured him, in answer, that he had a great deal too much good sense; whereupon the adviser, in reply, began to descant upon the extreme folly of Mr. Partington in quitting his city residence to sojourn in Upper Harley-street. The adviser reminded the advisee of those happy days when, Bedlam being then standing upon London Wall, they used to walk up and down Moorfields in front of the iron gates of that cdi6ce, for half an hour before dinner, to get an appetite. A needless ceremony, but persisted in notwithstanding. Mr. Partington owned, with downcast eyes, that such had been their practice; but alleged in his defence, that nobody lived in the city at present,—" even Bedlam has deserted it,'' exclaimed he, with a sigh. "True," answered the adviser, "and if you had removed your quarters to St. George's Fields, I should not have so much wondered; but what the deuce could draw you to Upper Harley-street? Why, now, there was last Thursday, you gave us a dinner; the party consisted of Tom Jackson, Chatfield, Shuttle worth, Newman, and myself. Jackson lives in Watling-street, Chatfield in Crutched Friars, Shuttlcworth in Barbican, Newman in Sise-lane, and I in Devonshiresquare. We came, as you may remember, in a hackney-conch together, and we talked you and your family over all the way, from Chcapside to the corner of Cavendish-square. We each of us agreed to give you some good advice with respect to coming back again to the city: but, somehow, when it came to the push, nobody was bold enough to begin. Let me now advise you as a friend: if you have not yet signed and sealed, declare off, and come back again. We have dined with you once, in the way of friendship; but, my dear Jonathan, when you could have us all to dinner in a ring fence, within one hundred yards of the Royal Exchange, what could put it into your head to drag us four miles off to cut your mutton in Marybone parish 2" Mr. Chapman now retired, and Mr. Partington took his advice as children take physic, by canting it out of the window the moment the apothecary's back is turned. The lease was executed that very morning, and Mr. Partington, notwithstanding a strong internal aversion to the hot chalky dusty corner of the Portland-road, became tenant of the house in Upper Harley-street for twenty-one years, from Christmas-day then last past. Men in the spirit line are not to be advised with impunity. Whilst this affair was transacting in the small back apartment behind the dining-room (the only one in the whole house which a married man can call his own, and even this is apt to be invaded by hats, canes, and umbrellas out of number), advice was going on at a great rate in the front drawing-room upstairs. Mrs. Chambers was full tilt at Mrs. Partington, advising her how to manage her family. “My dear Mem, (for to this diminutive is our French madame humbled since the Revolution)—my dear Mem,” said this matronly Mentor, “only conceive that you should never have heard of Doctor Level. I've got three of my girls down under his hands, and I hope to get Julia down the moment she comes from school.”—“Down! Mrs. Chambers, I don't quite understand you.”—“No 1 only conceive how odd | By down, I mean down flat upon their backs upon three sofas. Doctor Level says it's the only way to bring up girls straight. All depends upon the spine: nerves, bile, tooth-ache, asthma, and every thing of that kind: all springs from the spine.”—“Well! but, Mrs. Chambers, is not horse exercise a better thing? my girls ride in St. James's Park now and then, with their brother Charles, as a make-weight. I can assure you, several young men of very considerable property ride there; and, according to my calculation, men are more apt to fall in love on horseback than on foot.” – “Horseback! only conceive how dreadful! Doctor Level won't hear of it: he says girls should be kept quiet— quite quiet: now you know Anna is short and rather thick in her figure: the poor girl burst into tears on reading that Lord Byron hated a dumpy woman: I was quite in despair about her: only conceive! no more figure than my thumb' I spoke to Doctor Level about it, and he said, ‘It’s no matter, she must have the long gaiters.”—“Long gaiters, Mrs. Chambers! a very pretty appurtenance to a grenadier, but surely for a diminutive young lady—.”—“Oh, Mem, I beg your pardon; it's the best thing in the world : let me advise you as a friend to try the long gaiters.” I’ll venture to say, that in six years he would make little Crachami as long as the Queen of the Sandwich Islands. How he manages it I don't know: but there are two long straps that keep down the shoulders and flatten the ankles; then he turns a sort of screw, under the sofa, which sets the straps in motion, and pulls out the body just for all the world, as if he were rolling out paste for a gooseberry-pie crust. Well, my dear Mem, would you believe it 7 we have already gained two inches; and Doctor Level promises me, if I keep Anna quite quiet for three years and seven months, she may get up quite a genteel figure—Jemima and Lucy are rather better figures: I hope to have them up and about in a twelve

* Qu. Elongaters ? Editor.

month."—"Poor girls, don't they find it very dull?"—" Oh no; I left them this morning with 'Irving's Four Orations,'and ' Southey's History of the Brazils.' Plenty of amusement, that's my maxim! Let me advise you as a friend to follow my example." Mrs. Chambers was qualified to give all this advice from living in Lower Grosvenor-street, which gave her much more knowledge of the world (especially on a fine Sunday), than could be possessed by an inhabitant of Upper Harley-street. Mrs. Partington, for the same reason, was bound to take it in seeming thankfulness. Most fortunate was it for the two Misses Partington, that their mamma was "advised as a friend." But for those soul-revolting expressions, Mrs. Partington might have been induced to call in Doctor Level to bind her daughters' back-bones over to their good behaviour: and the two Misses Partington, in lieu of cantering under the back-wall of Marlborough House, and kicking up as much dust as a couple of countesses, might, at this present writing, have been flat on their backs, in the back drawing-room in Upper Harley-street, like a couple of Patiences on a monument, smiling at a whitewashed ceiling t

The trunk of the family-tree of the Partingtons is not the only part of that venerable fabric destined to be assailed by advice. The branches have suffered considerably by the same tempest. John Partington, the eldest son, is suspected of entertaining a penchant for Fanny Smith, a figurante at the Coburg Theatre. The affair has been long whispered in the family, and his aunt Isabella has lately thought it her duty to give him a little advice. Aunt Isabella lives in Great George-street, Westminster: a celebrated beauty in her day, but that day was not this. The private nickname of Aunt Isabella in the family, is Aunt JFas-a-bella, but this has never come to her ears, as she has money to leave. Aunt Isabella now inserts red paint into the channels of her cheeks. With such an admirable specimen of " the florid gothic" under his very nose, how could Mr. Soanc have clapped a Grecian court of justice upon the right flank of Westminster Hall ?" Nephew John," said aunt Isabella, " sit down by the fire, but don't put your feet upon that hearth-rug. Is not it pretty? I bought it of Mrs. Fry, who bought it of an interesting young woman in Newgate. John, you know I have your good at heart." John fidgeted, and looked wistfully at his hat, which he had left unluckily out of reach. Mrs. Isabella, after the above stock prelude, poured forth her cornucopia of advice; which she assured him she should not have given, if she had not been sure of his having too much good sense to feel offended at what she was about to say. She bogged to hint to him in confidence that his goings on were no secret: she pointed to Hogarth's "Rake's Progress," a series of delicate engravings that adorned the walls of her boudoir: she then took down a volume of Bell's "British Theatre," which she opened at George Barnwell, and assured him that it was every word true: she proved to his eonviction that virtue was a good thing and vice a bad one: and concluded by intimating, that figurantes were, like tetotums, to be looked at, but not touched. John Partington promised amendment; and on the very day following, drove Fanny Smith in his Stanhope to Epsom races, in a white satin pelisse and a Leghorn hat with 'an undulating brim. In so doing, John Partington, I fear, acted too hastily. He should first have consulted his biographical dictionary, wherein he might surely have found many instances of men who had given up a young mistress,

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