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The continuation of The Templars' Dialogues on Political Economy is unavoidably postponed. Our friend X. Y. Z. we are sorry to say, is too ill to be able to follow up the subject this month"; but we hope to see it resumed in our next Number.

An old Correspondent sends us the following note to correct the account, given in our last, of Paul Jones's Birth-place.

“ I thank you, and Mr., for the communication respecting Paul Jones. Mr. seems to have followed the popular story of Paul's early years; for I am well aware that he is generally described as the son of Lord Selkirk's gardener. And truly a mistake of some twenty miles of barren coast is, after all, no very important matter, unless to the natives, who, God help them, only produce, perhaps once in seven centuries, a man whom the world thinks worthy of remembrance, and may be unwilling to be deprived of him in the haste of biography. You may inform Mr. - that Paul was born at Arbigland, in the parish of Kirkbean; and that so far from dying in wretchedness, his sisters, of whom he left two, obtained considerable property by the event. I have often heard of his opulence, and never of his poverty-though I do not mean to say, that the wily Caledonian was not capable of pretending extreme poverty, in order to cheat those very liberal gentlemen, the French Convention, out of his burial money, to enrich his friends in Scotland.”

This is the little poem we promised last month:

Inferior charms let others praise

In many an amorous ditty :
My humble pen, my simple lays,

I dedicate to Kitty.
Of all the beauteous maids I've seen

In country, town, and city,
On London flags, or village green,

None equals lovely Kitty.
The old, the young, the gay, the grave,

The wise man and the witty,
Each owns himself her humble slave,

And sighs for beauteous Kitty.
But still, alas ! they sigh in vain ;

Nor love she grants, nor pity :
But views them all with fix'd disdain!

Cruel, though beauteous Kitty !
At the first glance of her bright eyes,

Those roving black banditti,
My vanquish'd heart became her prize,

And I a slave to Kitty.

I've pleaded oft, to win the fair,

Like Scarlett, Brougham, or Chitty,
But vain, alas! is all my care,

So obstinate is Kitty!
Even when she frowns, the frowning maid

Must still be reckon'd pretty,
But when her cheek's in smiles array'd,

An angel shines in Kitty!
The Opera House let others throng,

To list to “ Zitti, zitti ;”.
Give me a simple English song

Pourd forth by lovely Kitty.
Though grave the members who compose

A Commons-House Committee ;
Their dry debates they'd quickly close,

If once they gazed on Kitty.
My worn-out pen will scarcely write ;

My ink is thick and gritty ;-
Or I'd compose from morn till night

In praise of lovely Kitty.

G. F.

There is something very pretty in the following Poem which is from the same pen.


How sweet it is in summer to shake off drowsy sleep,
And to stroll along, the fields among, as day begins to peep ;
Before the sun has yet begun to rear his golden head,
While the hedges yet and the flowers are wet with the dew that night has shed ;
And while around the verdant ground all nature's voice is still,
Save the current strong that rolls along to turn the neighbouring mill.
Oh! then my hasty steps to some eminence I bend,
Where, far beneath, the spacious heath, and groves and fields extend ;
There I inhale the balmy gale, and watch the eastern skies,
To behold from far, in his golden car, the glorious sun arise ;
Till on every side the clouds divide, and high above the hill
He darts his beams, and gilds the streams, that turn the neighbouring mill.
Before his piercing glance all the vapours fade away,
And the meadows green distinct are seen beneath his glowing ray ;
The birds forsake the leafy brake, and echoing far around,
O'er hills and plains, their lively strains, and mingled notes resound ;
O'er the verdant mead the flocks are spread ; and gaily whistling shrill,
To their daily care the swains repair within the neighhouring mill.

G. F.

We have no room for more than the titles of the following :-Stanzas suge gested by the Death of Lord Byron.-Home, addressed to Eugenius on leaving England.—The Chieftain's Return.—The Enquiry of the Druids for Caractacus.—Hebrew Melody.--A Communication from “ Lisson-street" (this is of too private a nature to admit of our inserting it).-I. W. H. on the Madness of Hamlet, in Opposition to Mr. W. Farren.-On the Promotion of Judges.--To Clara.- Stanzas on a Tress of Hair.—Harry Beauclerk.


London Magazine.

JUNE, 1824.


This little book is not what it pre- because the narrator, in transcribing tends to be, and, what rarely happens it, could not forget that he was a in such cases, it is much more. Un- man. Although we give the parallel der the unassuming title of Memoirs merely as an illustration, we much of Captain Rock, it is, in fact, a fear that we might carry it farthercomplete, though compendious His- this, however, we leave to those who tory of Ireland; that is, such a his- may peruse and reflect on the anatory as Englishmen can read, a true lysis which we feel it our duty to presummary of the measures pursued sent.--With respect to Captain Rock by this country towards that, divest- himself, he is too well known to our ed of the barbarous names and tra- Irish readers to require any descripditional fabrications which have tion for their satisfaction-some of hitherto encumbered and obscured our friends here, however, may not the subject. We have no hesitation be quite so fortunate, and to them, in saying that it ought to be the ma- therefore, we give the brief informanual of every one wishing for infor- tion wbich has reached us. He is mation on the affairs of Ireland; and sprung from a very ancient family in if it be objected that the book is Ireland, so old, indeed, that his name written in the spirit of partizanship, may be considered as in some degree and should therefore be discredited, symbolic of his origin. . They were we admit the fact, while we deny the found by us in a flourishing state, on inference. It is certainly written in the invasion of Henry II. and even that spirit, but still the facts which then, their date, like that of the have generated that spirit are all Round Towers, had outlived trafaithfully given, adduced from unde- dition. They are almost the only niable authorities, and it is utterly Irish relic which English policy has impossible for any one either to nare not exterminated, but, strange to rate or to read them without a simi- say, this family seem only to have lar feeling. It is not the fault of the prospered the more, in proportion as historian that he has such details to that policy has expanded. There are present; but it would be worse than branches from this stock in almost a fault if his condemnation of them every part of Ireland, but the south did not follow as a corollary. A has generally been their head quardoubt might just as rationally be ters. It is curious enough, that not cast upon a history of the Inquisition, one of them ever held a situation


• Memoirs of Captain Rock, the celebrated Irish Chieftain, with some Account of his Ancestors. London, 1824. JUNE, 1824. .


under government, yet they have all subsequent recognition, and the relived by it, and this, notwithstand- ceipt of the manuscript are well told, ing the most constant and undis- but for the particulars, we must refer guised hostility. Indeed, amongst our readers to the work itself, and the vicissitudes that often befel va- hasten to more important matter. rious sects and parties during the There is much and just ridicule alternate ascendancy and fall of the thrown by this description on the abrespective powers to which they had surd associations formed here by attached themselves, the Rocks con- well-meaning but very ignorant pertinued prosperous and independent, sons, for the amelioration of Ireland. disdaining the patronage of any, and By the bye, among the most promiprofiting by the errors of all. There nent of these we observed lately an was ever a military mania in the fa- account of a society formed for the mily, which induced many of them purpose of printing and distributing to become great travellers, although the Bible in the Irish language, togethey were generally in opposition, ther with a list of many thousand the King, for the time being, has copies which had already gone forth: often turned this propensity to ac- this is very laudable, no doubt, and count, and at times most graciously would be very useful if the people defrayed their expences. Indeed, the could read,-a trifling circumstance, very subject of the present memoir which seems totally to have been has himself thus personally expe- overlooked by these Bible distriburienced the royal bounty. The con- tors; we will venture to assert withnexions of the Rocks are all almost out the fear of contradiction, that as ancient as themselves, a truth not one in half a million of the Irish which their very names will testify. peasantry, nor one in one hundred The Moonlights, the Starlights, the thousand of the Irish gentry could Thunder and Lightnings, houses whose read one page of the language in names are taken, not from any sube which these bibles are printed, even lunary trade or invention, but from though they were promised the fee the elements of creation itself, are simple of the island for the achieveall intimately related to them. We ment. A very cursory perusal, incannot now go more minutely into deed, of this book, will at once particulars respecting the family it- clearly account for the present barself; the great, general outlines barism of that country, and as clearly which distinguish them are all elo- show that its civilization is out of quently detailed in this volume; the reach, not merely of any club or which rather surprises us by its conventicle, but, we fear, even of learning and its genius, knowing as those who ought to be most interwe do how utterly despised such ested, both by duty and conscience, trifles have ever been by the most in its accomplishment. It is no easy ancient families in Ireland. The matter either for the ministers of present narrative was entrusted to church or state to counteract the evil the editor, by its author, a short time which seven such centuries as the before his travels, under the following last have been generating in Ireland. circumstances. The editor was sent The book begins, as memoirs ought to the south of Ireland, in the en- to do, with some account of the faviable situation of Missionary, by a mily of its subject, the antiquity of society of old ladies, who generously which the author supposes to be assemble at the City of London ta- coeval with that of the numerous vern, for the purpose of civilizing that and respectable race of the Wrongcountry. Travelling with this object heads in England. For the first in the mail coach, he became ac- eleven hundred years, however, after quainted with a very communicative the Christian era, they gave but gentleman, disguised like Bob Logic, little promise of that enterprising in a pair of green spectacles, with spirit which has since distinguished whom he held many conversations them. This is imputed to the parity on the state of the south, little sus- in the administration of public juspecting then that he was in company tice which then prevailed, and which with no less a personage than the ce- is illustrated by the following aulebrated Captain Rock himself. Their thentic anecdote. “The chief judge,

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