"Hand ignarus mali, miseris Succurrere disco." When the world we live in is at war To encounter with fortitude the evils we can neither conquer nor avoid has been ever taken the character of true wisdom; and many and opposite are the rules which have been prescribed by the great masters of life. The constant turmoil of active employment is by many deemed the surest guardians of internal peace; while others have thought the consolations of Philosophy alone able to blunt the shafts of misfortune. But we must not expect a guide to happiness in the dogmas of Schoolmen: they, indeed, have explored the vast regions of intellect, and discovered most fair and tempting fruit-alas! fruit which hangs above the reach of mortals. That man was destined to an active state of existence, no one can question who considers the duties which are imposed by his numerous relationships; and the facility with which the mind can retire within itself, and hold communion there attests the propriety of contemplation. The soundness of our moral constitution, and consequently the strength of its resources can be preserved, only by giving to each of these states its due proportion. One attribute of the mind seems to have been wisely, and especially given as a refuge from external ills-it is Fancy. The pleasures of imagination are boundless as the universe; but this faculty assumes a nobler excelVOL. 2. N with us, and refuses its wonted supplies of enjoyment we have still the power of creating a fairy realm, and of revelling in delights which owe their existence entirely to us. I know that the cold and obdurate will deride and the self-complacent man of real life will smile at the vain delusion;-but, that delusion is no folly which can chase away tears from the eye of sorrow, and soothe the heart that thought to beat no more to gladness. The present is assuredly not an age of romance. In former times it was the fashion for moralists to caution against the "luxury of a vain imagination;" however apposite their advice might then have been, in these days a different counsel is called for. The love of Gold is become the first and ruling passion, from the Courtier to the peasant. Gold is the land of promise to all it inspires the poet's dream-gives fineness to the Sculptor's chisel, and directs the artist's pencil. Genius is animated by the hope of gain, and "Freedom's sacred flame" burns on the altar of Mammon. In this universal pursuit, it appears to have been forgotten that there are pleasures which no wealth can purchase, for when disappointment crosses the path of Avarice, men are too commonly hurried into some desperate act of irretrievable folly. Were the high faculties of our nature more cultivated, it would reduce the BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ. value of riches to its proper level and A SIMILE, ON A LADY'S PORTRAIT. leave the mind qualified for drawing happiness from less perishable sources. In the study of nature and all the 1eautiful associations of life, the spirit f man is formed to delight and exalt its powers, and would do so, if it were not perverted by false taste and evil example. Society and solitude, each in its turn, will yield to those who know how to reap, a harvest of purest pleasure. Flowers on its grassy margin spring, Few men enjoy the delights of soci- leads me from the haunts of men to seek the loneliness of some peaceful glade, or the magnificent shores of the ocean. Here I can find a boundless region of enjoyment. Sometimes my bosom swells with exulting pride that by the magic of thought I can extend my being over all the universe-from the earthworm beneath my feet, to the orbs that twinkle in the distant ether. Nature, though inanimate appeals to me in clear and faithful language; it presents a thousand moral images to the mind, and "vindicates the ways of God to men." The vices of my fellow beings and my own form a melancholy picture, and it is soothing to turn from it to contemplate the beauty and harmony that reign every where but in the human heart. The contemplation of nature steals from us that fierce egotism which is parent and nurse of the malevolent passions: and as it irresistibly leads us to reflections on our own condition, it awakens all the tender sympathies, and clothes the heart with melting charity. I have never sought enjoyments of this kind, but I have felt at once exalted and improved, and am convinced that nothing so effectually tempers the heart with resignation, and attunes it to the calm enjoyment of Heaven's bounty, as these occasional retirements from the theatre where conflicting passions, and jarring interests are but half concealed beneath 'Twas beantiful-to stand and watch By rock and glen, through shade and sun; So thought I, when I saw the face, She cast her glory round a court, But thence, when love had touch'd her soul, From din, and pageantry, and strife, EPITAPH IN STOKE CHURCH-YARD. the flimsy disguise of conventional ON ONE WHO DIED THE DAY AFTER manners. DELTA. HIS WIFE. She first departed; he for one day try'd THE WHISPERER. A Legend of the South of Ireland. (From the Souvenir.) If you walk through the ruined town of Kilmallock, just outside of it you will see, hard by the big old oak, a dilapidated forge. In that forge the strokes af the sledge hammer have long since ceased to vibrate on the ear, and he who once wieldly it so stoutly, now sleeps quietly under the east window of the old abbey. . A pleasant fellow he was before he was laid where he is, and a clever fellow withal. But what made him most famous in his day and generation, was his power of breaking horses by a whisper; whence he went by the name of The Whisperer,' and his fame was spread over the six counties of songabounding Munster. Give him the fiercest horse that ever broke a man's neck, and Terence O'Sullivan-for that was the Whisperer's name-boldly went up to him, clapped his hand upon his mane,-applied his mouth to his ear, whispered something, God knows what, into it, and in two minutes afterwards, the animal was as quiet as a mouse! Some said it was effected by this method, and some by that, but it was all mere guessing, and to this day nobody knows the real truth, excepting his son Dennis, to whom the old man told the secret on his deathbed. But there is an old saying, that the world always goes on from had to worse, and it is verified in this case; for Dennis does not manage the business half so well as his father. They say the reason is, that he does not go up to the horse as boldly as the old man (a dashing, off-hand fellow, who feared neither man nor beast,) was wont to do; and it may be that there is something in it, for a man's horse in this respect, is like his sweetheart, and is not the worse for being approached with some degree of spirit. However, it matters not as to the precise way the Whisperer operated, the manner in which he originally acquainted himself with the art, was this. Terence was one day at his forge, busily employed, as usual, in fashioning a horse-shoe, thinking of nothing at all, but barely whistling; when there came by a soldier, lame and way-worn, toiling along slowly on the dusty road, in the heat of a July day. "The blessing of God and the Virgin be upon you," said Terence to the weary man. "I am afraid," said the soldier, "I have little chance of either; thank you nevertheless for the kindness of your prayer. But add to the good wish a good deed. I am faint with thirst, give me a drink of water. So Terence answered him from amid the sparkles of the fire, as he still laboured at the iron: "I drink no water except when I ́cannot help it, and I've no notion of doing to another, what I would not wish to be done to myself. The best of buttermilk from this to Dublin, shall be at your service," and laying down his sledge hammer, he went and brought some to the soldier. poor The traveller drank eagerly of the proffered bowl, and when he had finished it, said, "you have done to me a kind service, and though you see me here poor as the poorest, yet I know that which will make you rich. Come behind the forge; and I will let you into a secret." Terence O'Sullivan wondered at the man's language, but he followed him behind the forge; and there the weary soldier told him his secret. Terence was somewhat sceptical, but promised to make trial; and when at length he did so, to his very great amazement, every thing turned out as the soldier had predicted. After the soldier had told his secret, he shook the hand of the smith, and walking away westward, was never again seen or heard of in Kilmallock. Terence's fame soon spread far and wide, and he broke every horse for twenty miles round. The only complaint was, that he broke the horses só completely, that they had no spirit after his whisper. Certain it is, that when they first heard it, they trembled from head to hoof, a cold sweat stood all over their bodies, and it was said that they never were good for either the chase or the race afterwards. And it became a saying in the country when, as sometimes happened to be the case, a rattling and rot.ng young bachelor became a quiet and sober sort of man ater his marriage, that he had endured the infliction of Terence O'Sullivan's whisper. When his fame was at the greatest, it came to pass, that one of the finest young fellows in the parish, or seven parishes beyond it, a lad of the name of Jerry Ryan, fell in love with as pretty a girl as you would wish to see, Mary Mulcahy, whose father had for thirty years kept the village school, and was now dead. Why Jerry Ryan fell in love with Mary Mulcahy, I cannot undertake to say; but I suppose it was for the same reason that a young man falls in love with a young woman all the world over. It was his luck; and when it is a man's luck to fall in love, he may as well not make any bustle about it, for do it he must. But as somebody says (and a clever body he was-1 venture to say he was a gentleman of God's own making :) The course of true love never did inn smooth. And the rough spot in this love was, that Mary Mulcahy's mother was second cousin to Jerry Ryan's aunt; which is a degree of relationship, that prevents matrimony in the church of Rome. So Jerry Ryan went to the priest about it; and as bad luck would have it, he went to him at a time when he happened to be cross, by reason of a dispute he had had that morning with his niece. There never is a worse time to ask a favour from anybody, than just such a time-and Jerry was accordingly refused. "Go, get ye gone out of my house, ye good-for-nothing fellow," said Dr. Delany, (that was the priest's name,) get out of my house and I hope it will be a long day before I see you in it again. What, do you want me to break the law of God, and the canons of the church? to fly in the face of the holy decretals, to violate the orders of sacred councils, and marry you to Mary Mulcahy, who is second cousin to your own born aunt? Jerry Ryan, Jerry Ryan, it is with sorrow say it of your mother's son, who was a decent woman God rest her soul, you are not much better than a heretic." All this, and much more he said, and he roared and bawled so loud, that he got himself into a towering passion, and Jerry was fain to leave the house; which he did, looking melancholy enough, for he loved the girl too well to under: tand, why her being second cousin to his aunt, should hinder her from being his wife While he walking down the road, sorrowfully sauntering along, the Whisperer rode by. "What is it ails you," said he, “Jerry Ryan, that you look down in the mouth as a bull that has lost his horns!" So Jerry told him the particulars of his interview with the priest. "I wish," said he, "Terence, that you had as much power over obstinate priests, as over stubborn horses, and that you could whisper old Delany into reason." "And may be I have," said the Whisperer. "I know," said Jerry sighing, "that 1 had rather than twenty pounds that your words were true." "Twefty pounds!" said Terence O'Sullivan, "are ye quite in earnest?" "Perfectly so," said the amorous bachelor. "Well," quoth the Whisperer, "have it your own way; a time may come, my boy, when you would give twenty pounds to get rid of a wife, as I know for a reason I'll not disclose. But I was not joking in the least. Give me the twenty pounds, and if you are not married by this cay week to Mary Mulcahy, may I never set foot in stirrup to the hour of my death." Jerry Ryan did not half believe the Whisperer, and yet his fame was great, At length he made up his mind, and gave Terence the twenty pounds, making him swear upon the mass-book, that if he did not succeed, the money should be put back again safe and sound in his hands. Away went the Whisperer, but not at once to the priest. He knew the world better; and he waited until after dinner, when his reverence was over his tumbler of punch. Nothing softens a man's heart so much, as Ay," replied the Whisperer," or two of them if it would do any good to your reverence." So he sate down, and they talked away as fast as they could, about the heat of the weather, the potatoe crop, the price of whiskey, Squire Johnson's last hunt, Catholic emancipation, the new road under the hill-every thing in the world. And at last, when the priest was in the height of good humour, the Whisperer brought in the business of Jerry Ryan, in the easiest way he could. "Don't talk to me about it," said the Doctor, "Terence O'Sullivan, but drink your punch in peace-it can't be. They are too near a-kin. Its clearly against the law of the church." And he quoted Saint Augustine, and Thomas Aquinas, and Sardanapalus, and Nebuchadnezzar, and other fathers of the church; which he well knew how to do, being regularly bred in the famous University of Salamanca, where he took his degree of Doctor of Canon law, in the year eighty-one. The Whisperer wited to the end of the Doctor's speech, and then said: "It's a mighty fine thing Doctor, to be so learned a man How your head holds all that knowledge is more than I can say." On which the Doctor smiled. "But," continued Terence, "there was not a saint among them who would not listen to reason, and if your reverence would just let me whisper one minute to you, may be you'd think better of it." "Whisper to me man," said the priest, "do you take me for a horse. "God forbid," said the Whisperer, "" that I should compare your reverence to a brute baste. But let me try." "Well," said the priest, "this is one of the foolishest things I ever heard of; but if you insist upon it, you may follow your own vagary, only I tell you its of no use for I never "Don't be rash, father Delany," said the Whisperer, and putting his mouth close to the ear of the priest, he whispered something to him. "" said the priest, "but you are a wonderful man, Terence O'Sullivan-that alters the case. I see the thing in quite a different light. The poor young creatures! Send them to me, and we'll settle the matter." And he buttoned up his breeches pocket. Now what did the Whisperer say? -I can't guess. But whatever it was, Jerry Ryan and Mary Mulcahy were married that day week, and the Whisperer danced at the wedding. "It would be a quare (queer) thing," said he, "if I, who could tame the strongest horse in the country, would not be able to tame an ould priest." ཡ;t-6 EVENING PRAYER. BY THE REV. THOMAS DALE. SHOULD Some seraph wing his flight, THERE, awhile, the Son of Light Gladly would he soar above, With the sacrifice of love; And, through Heaven's expanded portal, From the Pledge of Friendship |