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When pale in the temple and faint,
With Aodh she stood alone

By the statue of an aged Saint!
Fair sculptured was the stone,
It bore a crucifix ;

Fame said it once had graced

A Christian temple, which the Picts
In the Britons' land laid waste:

The Pictish men, by St. Columb taught,
Had hither the holy relic brought.
Reullura eyed the statue's face,
And cried," It is, he shall come,
"Even he in this very place,
"To avenge my martyrdom.
"For, woe to the Gael people!

"Ulvfagre is on the main,

"And Iona shall look from tower and steeple

"On the coming ships of the Dane;

And, dames and daughters, shall all your locks "With the ruffian's

grasp

entwine?

"No! some shall have shelter in caves and rocks, "And the deep sea shall be mine.

"Baffled by me shall the spoiler return,

“And here shall his torch in the temple burn,
“Until that holy man shall plough

"The waves from Innisfail.

"His sail is on the deep e'en now,

"And swells to the southern gale."

"Ah! knowest thou not, my bride,"

The holy Aodh said,

"That the Saint whose form we stand beside

Has for ages slept with the dead.”

"He liveth, he liveth," she said again,

"For the span of his life tenfold extends
Beyond the wonted years

of men.

"He sits by the graves of well-loved friends
"That died ere thy grandsire's grandsire's birth;
"The oak is decay'd with old age on earth,

"Whose acorn-seed had been planted by him;

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And his parents remember the day of dread

"When the sun on the cross look'd dim,
"And the graves gave up their dead.

་་

Yet preaching from clime to clime,
"He hath roam'd the earth for ages,
"And hither he shall come in time
"When the wrath of the heathen rages,
"In time a remnant from the sword-
"Ah! but a remnant to deliver;

Yet, blest be the name of the Lord!

"His martyrs shall go into bliss for ever.

"Lochlin, appall'd, shall put up her streel,

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And thou shalt embark on the bounding keel ;

Safe shalt thou pass through Lochlin's ships, "With the Saint and a remnant of the Gael, "And the Lord will instruct thy lips

To preach in Innisfail.”+

Deninark.

+ Ireland.

Gael.

The sun, now about to set,
Was burning o'er Tiriee,
And no gathering cry rose yet

O'er the isles of Albyn's sea,

Whilst Reullura saw far rowers dip

Their oars beneath the sun,

And the phantom of many a Danish ship,
Where ship there yet was none.

And the shield of alarm* was dumb,

Nor did there warning till midnight come,
When watch-fires burst from across the main
From Rona and Uist and Skey,

To tell that the ships of the Dane
And the red-hair'd slayers were nigh.
Our islesmen arose from slumbers,
And buckled on their arms;
But few, alas! were their numbers
To Lochlin's mailed swarms.
And the blade of the bloody Norse
Has fill'd the shores of the Gael
With many a floating corse,

And with many a woman's wail.

They have lighted the islands with ruin's torch,

And the holy men of Iona's church

In the temple of God lay slain;

All but Aodh, the last Culdee,

But bound with many an iron chain,

Bound in that church was he.

And where is Aodh's bride?

Rocks of the ocean flood!

Plunged she not from your heights in pride,
And mock'd the men of blood?

Then Ulvfagre and his bands

In the temple lighted their banquet up,

And the print of their blood-red hands

Was left on the altar cup.

'I'was then that the Norseman to Aodh said,

"Tell where thy church's treasure's laid,

Or I'll hew thee limb from limb.”

As he spoke the bell struck three,

And every torch grew dim

That lighted their revelry.

But the torches again burnt bright,

And brighter than before,

When an aged man of majestic height

Enter'd the temple door.

Hush'd was the revellers' sound,

They were struck as mute as the dead,

And their hearts were appall'd by the very sound

Of his footstep's measured tread.

Nor word was spoken by one beholder,

When he flung his white robe back on his shoulder,

And stretching his arms-as eath

Unriveted Aodh's bands,

As if the gyves had been a wreath

Of willows in his hands.

Striking the shield was an ancient mode of convocation to war among the

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All saw the stranger's similitude
To the ancient statue's form;

The Saint before his own image stood,
And grasp'd Ulvfagre's arm.

Then uprose the Danes at last to deliver
Their chief, and shouting with one accord,
They drew the shaft from its rattling quiver,
They lifted the spear and sword,

And levell'd their spears in rows.

But down went axes and spears and bows,
When the Saint with his crosier sign'd,
The archer's hand on the string was stopt,
And down, like reeds laid flat by the wind,
Their lifted weapons dropt.

The Saint then gave a signal mute,
And though Ulvfagre will'd it not,
He came and stood at the statue's foot,
Spell-riveted to the spot,

Till hands invisible shook the wall,
And the tottering image was dash'd
Down from its lofty pedestal.

On Ulvfagre's helm it crash'd—

Helmet, and skull, and flesh, and brain,

It crush'd as millstone crushes the grain.

Then spoke the Saint, whilst all and each
Of the Heathen trembled round,

And the pauses amidst his speech

Were as awful as the sound':

"Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," (he cried,)

"And tell the nations abroad,

"How the fiercest of your herd has died

"That slaughter'd the flock of God.

"Gather him bone by bone,

"And take with you o'er the flood

"The fragments of that avenging stone

"That drank his heathen blood.

"These are the spoils from Iona's sack,
"The only spoils ye shall carry back;
"For the hand that uplifteth spear or sword
"Shall be wither'd by palsy's shock,
"And I come in the name of the Lord
"To deliver a remnant of his flock."

A remnant was call'd together,

A doleful remnant of the Gael,

And the Saint in the ship that had brought him hither
Took the mourners to Innisfail.

Unscathed they left Iona's strand,

When the opal morn first flush'd the sky,

For the Norse dropt spear, and bow, and brand,

And look'd on them silently;

Safe from their hiding-places came

Orphans and mothers, child and dame:

But alas! when the search for Reullura spread,

No answering voice was given,

For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head,
And her spirit was in Heaven.

HYPOCRISY.

"The Devil knew not what he did when he made man politick; he crossed him. self by it."-Timon of Athens.

NATURALISTS have been much puzzled to find a definition of that versatile and inconstant being, man, which will satisfactorily distinguish him from all other living species, and at the same time hit him in all his moods. There is in human nature, notwithstanding all its vaunts and pretensions, so much of the mere animal in "every shape and feature," that not all the Linnés and Cuviers in the world have been able to draw a steady line of separation. The animal “bipes implumis" has long been given up as untenable, and the habits of the butcher-bird have completely knocked on the head the definition of the "cooking animal." As for the "religious animal”—exclusively that some men are born without the "organ of veneration," and have "no more grace than will serve for prologue to an egg and butter,"—there is the praying mantis, * which possesses the forms of devotion in such perfection (the only part of religion which "leads to fortune," and therefore the only part about which most of us are in earnest) that this definition "ne vaut pas le diable."

For my own part, if I was obliged to commit my reputation by hazarding an opinion upon so ticklish a point, I should prefer seizing upon that most prominent feature in the human character, deceit, and would define the species as being, par excellence, the "hypocritical animal." For, whatever may be advanced to the contrary, in the way of certain odious comparisons, to the disadvantage of hyenas and crocodiles, it should never be forgotten that in these cases "the lion is not the painter." If the parties concerned could speak for themselves, it is pretty certain that no hyena would have had the face to vie with Louis XVIII. when making his famous speech upon peace, which opened the Spanish war; and the arrantest crocodile that ever (to use the language of Sir Boyle Roach) "put his hands in his breeches-pocket and shed feigned tears," would decline weeping with a genuine widow of Ephesus. While all other forms and modes are put on and off as whim, fashion, or interest dictate, man is at all times and in all particulars, a perfect hypocrite ;-a hypocrite towards God, a hypocrite towards man, nay, a very hypocrite towards himself; not trusting his conscience with a naked view of his secret wishes, nor painting even his pleasures to his own imagination in their proper colours. Of this no safer testimony can be desired, than the eternal contrast which he has established between his words and his deeds, and the pains he has taken in all ages to provide a double set of terms and phrases to express the same things as they refer to himself or to his neighbours,-to abstract principle, or to practical application: insomuch that his language no less than his mind resembles those paintings done upon slips of pasteboard placed in relief, which exhibit a different picture according to every different point of

* Called in France "Le prie dieu," from the circumstance of its perpetually resting on its hind legs, and erecting the fore-paws close together, as if in the act of praying the country-people, in various parts of the Continent, consider it almost as sacred, and would not, on any account, injure it. "It is so divine a creature (says the translator of Mouffet), that if a child has lost its way, and inquires of the mantis, it will point out the right path with its paw."-Bingley's Animal Biography.

view from which they are beheld. Every peculiar condition of society has its favourite sin, which it clothes in the likeness of its conterminate virtue. The merchant's avarice is parsimony, the parson's gluttony is hospitality, the great man's corruption is loyalty, and his hatred to the people, is his zeal for the king's prerogative. All this is nothing; but your genuine hypocrite, the more he is inclined to a sin, and the more he indulges his inclination, the louder and the more confidently he declaims against it,-just as a desperate adventurer rushes into deeper expenses, and makes a greater show of opulence, at the very moment when he has arrived at the verge of bankruptcy.

If the object and end of society be to increase the powers of the individual, to multiply his means of gratifying his propensities and inclinations, the social system is admirably constituted, as far as hypocrisy is concerned; since all its institutions seem calculated to develope the deceptive tendencies of the species, and to give the greatest scope to the individual nisus. Hypocrisy is established by act of parliament too, and, like better things, it has become part and parcel of the common law of the land. So curiously, indeed, are the most sacred and solemn objects mixed up with lackadaisical common-places, and superficial plausibilities, that not to be a hypocrite is to lack common decency; and to call "things by their right names" is to unsettle the foundations of the world's repose. The imagined necessity for the gravity of the learned professions, has gone a great way towards generalising the practice of hypocrisy. As soon as it becomes necessary to appear wiser or better than the mass of mankind (it being impossible for humanity to raise itself above the condition of humanity, or for man to put off his nature, merely because he puts on a robe or a cassock), the reign of humbug commences; and from the moment that society requires a given exterior, from that moment the individual has not only a right, but labours under a necessity for wearing a mask.

The increase of human happiness which is thus created is beyond calculation; not only in its indirect influence upon social order, by imposing upon that many-headed monster the people, pinning down the lower classes to their duties, and thus confirming systems which the bayonet alone could not uphold; but also in the great enjoyment it directly occasions to the dupes themselves.

There is no man, I am sure, on this side fifty, but will allow that love is at once the great business and pleasure of life, the one drop of honey mixed with its cup of gall, the "green velvet of the soul;" and is not this love the more delightful, the more perfect and unbroken its deceit? The whole process of courtship is indeed, from beginning to end, one great scene of mutual hypocrisy. If it be true that the " tongues of men are full of deceits," it is not less so that "every inch of woman in the world, ay every dram of woman's flesh, is false:" and so much does the pleasure of the pursuit depend upon the dupery, that the credulous fair who believes her lover's protestations, is happier than the swain who makes them; and the patient wittol, whose eyes are shut to what is going forward, and is the dupe of both parties, is out and out the happiest of the whole three.

But if lovers are thus mutually dependant on each other for administering to their respective gullibilities, and for raising those illusions which shut out the "weary, stale, and flat" unprofitability of life; the whole class of litigators are not less obliged to their advocates for the