While its influence is felt from the hut to the throne, On our GOVERNOURS' roll We a ray too may claim Dux inclyte! warrior and statesman combined, Thee the Nation accounts its κύδιστον, μέγιστον, Hom. Il. Lib. Πολέμῳ ἀνίκητον, βουλῇ ἄριστον.* 9. Vir eximie! whose glories would well fill a volume in, Hor. Od. 17. Rerum nostrarum grande decus et columen ! Lib. 2. Would 'twere mine to address thee in suitably grand tone, Hom. Il. Lib. Ὃς σαῖς φρεσὶ πολὺ προβέβηκας ἁπάντων. 6. Search the records of History, sparsa per mundum, Hor. Od. 12. We in vain search for quicquam tibi simile aut secundum ; Lib. 1. Virg. Æn. 2. Virg. Æn. 1. Juv. Sat. 10. Hom. Od. Cic. de Senect. Esch. Eumen. Hor. Ep. 1. Thoughts employed for Prince, Country, Friends, all-but Thy- Lux Britannia! Spes Britannorum fidissima ! While, as good sons of CHARTER HOUSE, thus we dilate Oh! long may those honours shine intaminati; May we all feel as brothers, amantes, amati; And if enemies Charter House have, then, to grieve 'em, And now, Decurso jam spatio, like some old hacks, Οἶ, οἶ, φεῦ, φεῦ, ἰοὺ, ἰοὺ, πόπαξ, (A score more such nice words soon Greek Tragedy'd lend us) I tremble ne peccem ad extremum ridendus. * Principem ætatis suæ, belli, domique.-Liv. Lib. 9. Cap. 34. At once, then,-lest haply I touch on a wrong chord, False concord, I own; but no wonder, d'ye see, But my song you'll not wish,— -no indeed, nor yet want it ISpun out ad infinitum,-gods! a false quantity! But pray, SAUNDERS, don't look so black,-for my song 66 "Long indeed!" growls some critick, in tones harsh and husky, Cic. in Cat. 1. Then gives vent to the now somewhat musty". -Quousque ? Calls me Nýios, and straight with a pish! and a grand toss, Quotes against my long yarn—πλέον ἥμισυ παντός. Hes.Op.etDi. Hor. Od. 24 Durum; sed levius made by those cheers! Lib. 1. Cic. pro Mil. Lysias in Now, then, O Contents!-Non-Contents!"lend me your ears;" Oro ut quod sentietis, id audeatis. If my song has encroached on your glad festive hour, It lies at your mercy; or crush it, or raise it ye, Ov. Met. Lib. Jamque opus exegi, and hope for kind courtesy, 15. Hor. Od. 1. Ter. Eun. From a CHARTER HOUSE heart flows my chant, tho' an oddity, T. G. A. A LEGEND OF LARNREAGH. THERE is perhaps no spot in the British Isles more romantically situated than the wild and solitary glen of Larnreagh, though few persons beyond its immediate vicinity are even acquainted with its existence. It is a narrow and tortuous ravine of great depth, situated among the stupendous and lonely mountains of Connaught, bounded on both sides by almost perpendicular walls of living rock, and accessible only from the lower extremity; where a small rivulet, after fretting its tiny course through the glen, at length emerges into the plain, and then glides onward to mix its waters with the broad Atlantic. The sides of the glen are covered with hazel, holly, and other underwood, with here and there a clump of larches twisting their gigantic roots among the crevices of the rocks, and appearing almost as if suspended in the air. The rivulet is in the upper part of the ravine, mostly concealed from sight by the overhanging foilage; but, further down, the glen expands into a sort of amphitheatre in which the waters have formed a small lake, whose surface the wind never ruffles, and on whose placid bosom the wild duck rears her brood, undisturbed by the intrusion of man. It was on an excursion with some friends a few years since that the writer first became acquainted with the lonely and picturesque glen of Larnreagh. On that occasion we succeeded with some difficulty in forcing our way through the thick underwood at the margin of the water, until we reached the outlet of the stream. Here was a steep and rocky declivity, over which the water fell, forming a foaming cascade. We scrambled down by the help of the projecting rocks and roots, and gained a small platform on one side of the cascade. The scene was magnificent almost beyond conception, and as the day was without a cloud, and the heat of the sun tempered by the mountain breezes which swept down the glen, we lingered for some time on the spot. It was not until we were beginning to think of retiring that we discovered we had been standing on the ruins of a mill. The machinery, however, had disappeared, and the roof was so grown over with weeds and grass, that it was almost impossible to distinguish it from the surrounding ground. The interior of the mill presented some appearance of having once been furnished with tolerable comfort as a dwelling-house; but the wood work had long rotted away, owing to the dampness of the situation, and the whole wore an air of desolation. The discovery of the ruined mill in this romantic situation detained us some time, and the moon had long been our only guide ere we reached our quarters for the night. During some subsequent visits to this part of the country, I became acquainted with the circumstances of the following LEGEND OF LARNREAGH. It was some time about the middle of the last century that two brothers, named Hamish and Connor M'Cormick, resided in the small hamlet of Nastreuse, situated about two miles from the glen of Larnreagh. They had scarcely attained the age of manhood, when the death of their parents threw them on the world to gain a living by their own resources. Hamish, the elder, was distinguished by a reserve of disposition, which, differing from the reckless temperament of his brother, early estranged them from each other. His countenance was melancholy, his body deformed; and as he never mixed in the gaieties or pastimes of the neighbours, his constitutional reserve was regarded by some as sullen misanthropy, while others shunned his company as much as he avoided theirs. With the small patrimony which he derived from his father, he built a flax mill in the romantic glen of Larnreagh, not less to take advantage of its fall of water, than because the calmness and solitude of the place suited his melancholy and contemplative character. Here, devoting himself to his occupation, he was seldom observed beyond the limits of the glen. Few would have thought, while gazing on the sunken eye and clouded brow of the supposed misanthrope, that his heart was the seat of every gentler feeling, the home of every endearing virtue. Even to his brother (to whom, notwithstanding, he was tenderly attached), he showed no outward sign of affection. In person, as in disposition, the contrast between the brothers was equally remarkable: Connor was a model of rustic strength and activity, the leader in every frolic, "The life of pleasure and the soul of whim :" in short, the favourite of the country for miles round. Few dreamed, that under an outward semblance of careless gaiety and frank open-hearted hilarity, lurked the crafty, designing, and unprincipled disposition, which formed the real character of Connor M'Cormick. He was in truth the very slave of wild and ungovernable passions, and of an all-absorbing selfishness. With such a temper and disposition he was easily induced to become connected with a gang of smugglers, who, besides being extensively engaged in illicit distillation in the adjacent mountains, carried on a contraband trade in brandy and tobacco with a notorious outlaw named Peter M'Gory, the master of a lugger, in which he made |