HISTORICAL NOTICE OF THE CITY OF DUBLIN.

THE period of the foundation of our City is involved in as much obscurity as the etymology of its name. It may easily be supposed that men would congregate at such a convenient spot for fishing and commerce as the ridge of land that rose above the last place where the LIFFEY was fordable, before it joined the sea; and therefore it is very probable that such a position, presenting means of safety and support, of offence and defence, was very early seized on. The Geographer Ptolemy, places (A.D. 140.) a town exactly in the parallel of Dublin, and calls it " Civitas Eblana." Our city therefore has a just claim to an antiquity of seventeen centuries. But we are inclined to suppose that though the Greek cosmographer had good reason to lay down such a place as " Civitas Eblana," yet it is to the VIKINGAR-pirates, or "Sea-Kings," of Scandinavia-that the settlement of DUBLIN, as a place of commerce, and as a fortified town may be attributed.

These bold intelligent Ostmen, (as the Scandinavians were called by the Irish, because they came from a comparatively Eastern country,) saw that Dublin harbour was one of the best, and the river Liffey one of the most commodious, and the valley of Dublin one of the most fertile, in the island. They therefore selected this central position, and landed their troops where, according to custom, they erected a fortified RATH; and on that ridge that hangs over the lowest ford of the Liffey, on the exact spot where the Cathedral of 'Christ's Church now stands, they excavated large vaults or crypts, in one of which ST. PATRICK, the apostle of Ireland is said to have celebrated the sacred offices of his religion. Here they

• Over one of these early Danish vaults or fornices, or crypts, sancti fied, as tradition says, by the consecration of ST. PATRICK, Sictricus, son of Avellanus, king of the Ostmen of Dublin, built CHRIST'S CHURCH. There are still many of these under ground Danish depositories in Ireland, of which we may very probably give some account in our Journal. In the county Antrim we have seen them, where they are called Picts' holes. Within six miles of Dublin, and adjoining the beau tiful village of Lucan, there is a fine and commanding Danish Rath, in the centre of which there is one of those artificial caves spoken of above. About twenty years ago, the author of this article was shown a very large and double circular cave in the side of the hill between Rathcoole and Naas, a few hundred yards from the ten-mile stone in that line of road

deposited the produce of their commerce and their plunder, and used to retreat to them on occasion of any sudden invasion of their enemies.

But very probably, it is to the sea-king, Avellanus, that we owe the establishment of our city as a place of military and commercial importance. He, with his brethren, Siterick and Yvorus, having heard from their roving countrymen of the fertility and capabilities of the green western isle, landed a fresh swarm from the Baltic, and proceeded to win, by their swords or their policy, a settlement in Ireland. Yvorus, who was doubtless the more cautious of the three, and had a good military eye, pitched on Limerick; Siterick, struck with the great commercial advantages that the junction of the Nore, the Suir, and the Barrow, presented, sailed up that fine estuary, and landed at Waterford; but Avellanus, with the eye of a king, saw at once that neither the waters of the Shannon or the Suir would answer his purpose; and so ho selected that spot where the AWN-LIFFEY ceased to be navigable, and on the rising ground that rose from its southern bank, he planted himself, convinced that if ever Ireland was to come under the sway of one monarch, it would become the seat of the metropolis of the island. Stanihurst, on the authority of Giraldus Cambrensis, asserts that the city owes its name to this Avellanus, and with the license of an etymologist deduces it in this way:

Avellana Eblana-Dublana. But this surely cannot be the derivation: for Ptolemy, upwards of six hundred years before, called it Eblana Civitas. Probably the author of the life of St. Kevin gives the best derivation. Speaking about St. Garban, he says, "he lived near Ath Cliath, which is also called by the Irish, DUBH LEIN, signifying the dark bath." Now any one who observes the Liffey may see good reason why the ford over this unusually dark flowing, stream might be called the black bathing place.

The other more ancient name, Bally Ath Cliath, the town of the ford of hurdles, arose from a common practice of the Irish, who used to make muddy rivers, such as the Liffey was, near its junction with the sea, and near bogs and marshes, fordable by means of hurdles or kishes laid down where they desired to pass. It was a rude substitute for a bridge, and did more mischief than perhaps those who laid them down thought of-for the course of rivers were impeded, bogs formed, and swamps established,

The Ostmen, then, may be considered as the founders and colonizers of Dublin, as indeed they were of the most important towns in Ireland, such as Cork, Waterford, Limerick, &c. &c. for the same Stanihurst observes that "until the arrival of the Danes, such means of strength the Irish had not, for until these days they knew no defence but woods, bogs, and strokes." The colonization of the Danes in Dublin and other maritime places had no doubt a great effect on the character of the Irish. Their commerce with the Ostmen in peace made them more acquainted with the wants of civilized life, and their contests in war made them more expert in the art of attack and defence. But nothing could effect a continued unity of purpose among the Irish chieftains. The Danish king, acting under the same wily policy as the English used long afterwards in India, at one time mediated between the contending chiefs, and at another time sided with the weakest, occasionally protected a usurper, or set himself up as the avenger of blood. Thus did he establish his influence, and strengthen his kingdom; and long after the Danish power was broken in the interior of the island, the Ostmen still remained firm in Dublin. In vain did the Airdrigh (Monarch) call together the Righbegs (petty kings) to unite in expelling the stranger from their shores. The Dubh Gael and the Fin Gael, (for so in these days were the Norwegians distinguished from the Dane) still kept possession of their strong hold, Dublin, and the surrounding territory; and not even the just vengeance of O'Melaghlin, king of Meath, nor the Munster confederacy, cemented by the talents and the military prowess of Brian Boro, could effect the purpose. It was reserved for those mailed warriors, the Normans, who had acquired by their settlement in France, and their achievements in Italy, all the arts of civilized warfare, and the discipline connected with chivalrous training, without losing any of their Scandinavian hardihood, to upset the Ostman power in Dublin.

During the period immediately preceding the Anglo-Norman conquest, the Danes or Ostmen of Cork, Limerick, and Waterford, more especially of Dublin, living under a polity, civil, military and ecclesiastical, quite distinct from the Milesian kingdoms into which Ireland was divided, kept up an active and close correspondence with their kindred settlements in the Isle of Man, the Orkneys, and England. A barbarous and insulting murder first brought the Anglo-Normans to the Danish gates. Dermot M Murrogh, in revenge for the assassination of his father, (whom the citizens of Dublin had invited to a feast, and taking advantage of his security, not only slew him, but buried his body in a dunghill along with a dog,) joined with the Normans, commanded by the redoubtable Miles de Cogan, and marched to Dublin. O'Connor, the monarch of Ireland, saw that if the Normans were successful, they would keep the city, and thinking that old enemies were better than new ones, and not choosing to let them get the key of Ireland into their hands, marched with an immense force to protect the city, and at Clondalkin, waited the approach of the enemy. But on the arrival of king Dermot of Leinster, with his allies, the appearance of the English warriors, steel-clad from head to foot, struck such terror into the undisciplined and disunited Irish, who were without defensive armour, that they did not stand the shock, but fled before their foes. Dublin did not share a better fate. While the citizens were parleying with a herald, and disputing about the terms of surrender, the fierce Miles de Cogan burst with his men over the city wall, and sacked the town. The Ostman king, Asculph M Torcall, escaped with difficulty to his shipping in the bay-and thus Dublin changed its masters.

But it was too valuable a possession to be allowed to remain quietly in the hands of its new occupiers. The Norman adaturers, under their leader, Strongbow, had fallen under

The Fin Gael were settled in that broad and fertile plain that tretched north of the Liffey, until it meets the high lands that hang over the Boyne. The inhabitants of this district forin a distinct race to this day, and evince a marked difference from the natives of Meath and Louth, not only in their habits of industry, but also in their personal appearance. The Dubh Gael were settled in those parts south and west of Dublin, joining Wicklow and Kildare,

the jealous displeasure of king Henry II of England, who ordered them to return home, and while they were hesitating what to do, O'Connor, the Irish monarch, entered into a confederacy with the ejected Ostman king of Dublin, who had gone amongst his Danish allies in the north to raise supplies, and having summoned the largest army ever before collected in Ireland, surrounded the city, and cut off its supplies Lawrence O'Toole, the Archbishop of Dublin, true to the Milesian cause, and patriotically anxious to get rid of the English, did all he could do persuade Strongbow to surrender, who, seeing the difficulties he had to encounter, was inclined to take the advice: but unfortunately, the Irish, not knowing the enemy they had to deal with, insisted on such extravagant terms, that they were rejected and Miles de Cogan, the bravest of these Anglo-Normans, advised a sudden and desperate sally upon the Irish. Accordingly five hundred men, led on by Cogan, supported by Strongbow, and Raymond le Gros, broke in upon the Irish lines at Finglas-and this handful of determined and desperate men actually routed the Irish host, and nearly took king O'Connor prisoner, who at the time was enjoying the luxury of a bath.

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The Irish army were scarcely dispersed, when M Torcall appeared with his Ostman shipping and forces in the river. These were so numerous, that he had full expectation of recovering his lost city; and had he arrived in time, and joined in the attack with the Irish monarch, there is every reason to suppose that the Norman-English would have been driven out of the country. But the fortune of war was otherwise. There is a great deal of romantic interest attached to this last struggle of the Danes with the Anglo-Normans. As Strongbow had his brave and valiant knight, the indomitable Miles de Cogan, so M Torcall was attended by a Scandinavian, named John le Dane, or John the Mad. Maurice Regan reports that this northern Hector was of such enormous prowess, that with one blow of his battle-axe he could cut the thigh bones of the horsemen like cheese, and their legs would fall off like so many cabbage stalks to the ground. Thus these two fierce knights were matched together, and dreadful must have been the struggle as they met

"Foot to foot and hand to hand."

But this is not the only romantic circumstance attending this celebrated engagement. A petty king of the name of Gille Mo Holmock, of Ostman descent, but who had adopted the manners, dress, and habits of the Irish, and who governed a district not far from Dublin, came and offered the English his assistance. "No," says Miles de Cogan, in the pride of his knighthood, "we wont have your help!" (perhaps he distrusted him,) "all we want you to do is this: if we beat the Danes, cut of their retreat to their ships, and help us to kill them; and if we be defeated and are forced to fly, why, fall on us, and cut our throats, sooner than let us be taken prisoners by these pirates!"

The performance of these conditions Gille Mo Holmock swore to observe, and he stood aloof while the Ostmen marched to assault Dublin. The assault was made at Dame Gate, and the furious onset was headed by John le Dane, but Miles de Cogan stood there to oppose him, just where the entrance to the LOWER CASTLE YARD now is. But in the mean time, the Norman knights, who had learned in the battle fields of Italy and France the military arts and stratagems by which superior numbers may be matched and overpowered, made, under the command of Richard de Cogan, a sally from the postern then called Pole Gate, at the foot of Ship-street, and taking a circuit through the fields whereon now stand Stephens-street and Georges-street, John le Dane was attacked both in flank and front. This decided the day. John le Dane was slain by Miles de Cogan, and M Torcall was taken prisoner by Richard de Cogan and hanged the next morning; while Gille Mo Holmock, true to his promise, fell upon the retreating Danes and cut them to pieces, so that few escaped to their ships in the Liffey.

Thus ended the dominion of the SEA-KINGS in Ireland. Henceforward the history of Ireland is connected with the Anglo-Normans or English; but as our space is limited, we must suspend our continuation of the History of Dublin till our next Number; and after we have concluded it, we will take up the history of all the great towns and cities in Ireland. presenting a short but clear account of Irish customs, manners, fortunes, and adventures,

THE AGE OF BRASS.

THE whole world is undergoing a fearful change. In old times silver and gold were thought the only coins worth the having, but now nothing will do but brass! His Majesty's Mint had better lay in a prodigious stock of heavy metal-depend upon it, copper will be worth more than its own weight ere long. No Magazine may now hold up its head unless it be copperfastened, and caulked with brass. PENNY JOURNALS are the only Journals now-a-days to sail with wind and tide in their favour and the public are in the right of it. Some folks may think that this copper deluge will be the ruin of them-and we dare say many are enjoying a sly laugh at the fearful annoyance which we will have when the PENNIES are pouring in upon us, and all Dublin are clamorous for their Numbers. "Why," say they, "their cellars will be crammed with brassthey'll never get the pennies off their hands-see, see, all sacks in the house are in requisition, and pennies are trundling in every corner! Their profits will be absorbed in sacks and porters and then the bank will shut their doors against them, for fear of the terrible deluge of brass. Their Penny Journal will go down, and it well deserves such a fate, for they have joined with the whole brazen crew of Journalists in breaking the prices of literature!"

Now what if we should attempt to prove to these people that the age of brass is the very age both for us and them? Instead of lowering the prices of literature-instead of degrading knowledge by selling it for a Peuny-instead of undermining other Journals, and underselling other books, we are doing the very reverse. The great leading Journals, as they are called, with 2s. 6d. or 3s. 6d. or 5s. neatly inscribed on their covers, are beyond all classes but those who have money to buy, and education to understand, and time to read them. Perhaps now and then, some adventurous youth who has a yearning for something intellectual above the stretch of his station and pockets, may beg or borrow an occasional reading of one of them-but as far as regards the great mass, these Magazines and Reviews are sealed Books. The same

remarks are applicable to all literary periodicals down to the humble six-penny. The most extensive circulation of any of them scarcely brings them out of their own particular circles, and there they run their rounds, and all the rest of the world are ignorant of them. But our brazen Journal is adapted to be read by every body. First, it is so cheap-who could not spare a penny? Second, it is so nice-who would not buy so fine a pennyworth? Third, it is so short and pithy-who is it that has not time to read it? There are three substantial reasons for you! We think we see the artizan coming in to his hasty breakfast, and when he would think it folly to open book, he spreads the DUBLIN PENNY JOURNAL before him, and reads a little-then when he comes home at night, tired with labour, and his children climbing his knee, do you think that he would send them about their business, and sit down in silence to a book? We knew one fellow of that descriptiona sulky, surly man-whose children never dared to show their faces at night, or approach him while reading. To be sure, he read a great many books-but what then? His children hated him. But our Journal can be held in one hand, while the worthy man holds a child on his knee with the other-and then at every interval of domestic labour, he can read aloud a little paragraph to his wife or his daughter, who thus can enjoy their share of the Penny without losing a moment of time. Then his little son just beginning to read, will be attracted by the wood-cuts-and by and bye he will learn to read too; and as our Journal circulates from house to house of the working class, it will be raising up a new generation of readers, and be the means of creating a thirst for knowledge where it never existed before. Thus will it be the means of extending the blessings of civilization-it will increase the Booksellers' sales and enlarge the field for the Press. Should not our appearance, therefore, be hailed by every friend to man? Should not we be welcomed by the poor, and favoured by the rich? Yes, we see the Schoolboy debating whether he will spend his penny on a cake or a number of the Journal. We see the working man hesitating whether he will spend his penny on tobacco or knowledge. We see the young lady opening her reticule, and with a smile buying a number-and old gentlemen and old ladies, whose eyes would be tired reading long articles, hail our appearance with joy. Thus the age of brass is a real blessing, and the DUBLIN PENNY JOURNAL a decided favourite with all, young and old, rich and poor Then success to our labours.

AGRICULTURE.

Beyond a doubt, IRELAND is a fine country. Her climate and her soil have long been the boast of her children, and the remark of strangers; her favourite name the EMERALD ISLE, implies that she is equally free from the blighting frosts and chilling winds of more northern regions, and from the burning heats of countries more exposed to the influence of the sun And why is such a country, thus blessed by the smiles, and watered by the showers, of Heaven, poor and miserable It is not for us to give the why and the wherefore. It is enough for us to know that she might rival England in the excellence of her agriculture; it is enough for us to know that from Cape Clear to the Giant's Causeway, from Dublin to Galway, she might be like a fertile garden, pouring forth her riches in exuberant abundance. But beautiful speeches and long sentences about what Ireland MIGHT be, will not MAKE her so. We must buckle up our sleeves and fall to work. And, fellow-countrymen, believe the Conductor of the DUBLIN PENNY JOURNAL when he assures you, that though, like all men, he looks to his own interest, yet he has your GOOD at heart, and would not, for all the paltry profits of his periodical, either flatter you or slander you. It is intended to give occasional information on the AGRICULTURE of Ireland; and we sincerely trust that none will take any offence when we find fault, or get proud when we praise: for until the Agriculture of Ireland is improved, she will never rise in the scale of nations.

Now the obstacles that lie in the way of the agricultura. prosperity of Ireland seem to arise for want of capital, want of industry, and want of system. Wherever we go we see the tillage of the country evidently suffering under a deficiency of the means that should be employed in an efficient system of husbandry. Poor cattle, wretched machinery, and insufficient manuring, are visible even to the eye of the citizen who scarcely knows wheat from oats. We see men becoming farmers without as much capital as might enable them properly to till a cabbage garden, and struggling from the be ginning with difficulties which it is almost impossible to over come. This great evil is perhaps more owing to the land lord than the tenant. It arose, and is still encouraged by that vile and wretched system of setting to the highest bidder, and at the highest rackrent. This, in short, and without disguise, is the first great cause of the deterioration of Irish agriculture; for in a country where all desire to be farmers, there will naturally be extravagant competition.

The second cause is, the want of regular and steady industry. Irishmen, both farmers and labourers, can work like horses to effect a particular object. Where are the Scotch or English that can match them in a PULL OUT? But this is not steadily regulated. That's the point. "Steady, boys, steady!" What a time is wasted at fairs, markets, weddings, wakes, and funerals! True, the crop must be sold, our sons and our daughters must be married, and " our dead buried out of our sight." But look at the knot of strong stout tellows lounging about the smith's forge, or gostering at the corner where idlers, and worse than idlers congregate! Let then go and mend up the broken fences over the way, or turn the cow, or the pigs, or the geese out of the corn! But that very corn is pestered with weeds! Look at the prasha buy flaunting unprofitably gay, and the thistle sending its bearded seeds upon the winds of heaven, to propagate the pestilence in every adjoining field! Fie, fie, ye lounging idle fellows! If the farmer does not go coolly, and regularly and systematically to work, he may as well go beg!

The third great evil is the want of a regular rotation of crops. Irish farmers, the creatures of circumstances, and often put to their shifts, cannot bring themselves to pursue a regular system of husbandry. Now, farmers, listen to us, and for a Penny a week we will put pounds a year into your pockets. Hillo! you fellow there, you need not go out of the room till we are done. Is the Dublin Penny Journal not worth being listened to? Now, my gay fellow, let us be better acquainted-why do you not adopt a regular system in your farming? When you strive to squeeze as much out of the land at the least expense as possible-what is that conduct like? It is like shutting one eye and winking with the other, and then looking for a needle in a bundle of straw. Do you not know that if you and all your companions are cultivating the same kind of grain, merely because there happens to be a high price for it just now in the market, that by and bye a glut will be the consequence, down tumble the prices, you are disappointed, you cry out, "How hard are the

So,

times!" and perhaps attempt to console your sorrow by tossing up your little finger oftener than your head or your purse can bear it. Do you not know that a succession of the same crop takes the very heart out of the earth, and exhausts it: that it must lie in bed, like an old dotard drunkard, to recover strength. When the same crop is successively raised on the same ground, the roots search for, and take away more of the same kind of nourishment from the ground than the manure can supply, and thus the land is deteriorated, and the weeds get a holyday and playground, and do great damage. Now, this is a terrible evil, a crying mischief. Besides, the Irish sky farmer often goes five miles to rent, sow, and cut down a meadow for winter to store his cattle, when he might, if he choose, raise all sorts of green crops, clover, vetches, and turnips, and keep his "dumb brutes" full and hearty at little trouble and little expense.

But we do not intend to give a lecture in this, the first week of our existence. We only want to let you know that we have a corner reserved for our country friends, and that we have the opportunity and the disposition to communicate, from time to time, valuable agricultural information. In the mean time-shoulder your spades-your every moment is precious-off to your work; but before you go, give three cheers for the Dublin Penny Journal!

A VISIT TO THE GARDENS OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF DUBLIN.

We trust those of our readers who live in or near Dublin have already paid a visit to this infant national institution; and that those of them who do not, will read with some little interest a visit to the Gardens of the Zoological Society. When we consider the immense yearly sum which the London Society netts (said to be about £18,000 last year) from casual visitors, it is not too much to suppose, that in proportion to the extent of Dublin, and its population, OUR Gardens will similarly flourish, and become one of the leading metropolitan attractions.

Well then, suppose that on one of these lovely days of the month of June, when all nature is in growth and bloom, when the sun is not too sultry, nor the ground too hot with dust, we start for the Phoenix Park. How thankful should the citizens of Dublin be, living as they do, in a town from which the country is accessible on all sides, and the humblest mechanic can, in a few minutes, transport himself into all that is lovely in the combinations of hill and dale, plain, river, or ocean! There is no city in the British empire which can either boast such suburbs, or afford such cheap facility in getting conveyed to them.

Starting along the Liffey, by the military road leading to Kilmainham, we cross the beautiful metal bridge, erected in honor of the late King's visit to Ireland, and enter the Park gates. Shall we proceed along the broad magnificent avenue shaded by noble elms planted a century ago, in formal and characteristic fashion, by the great Earl of Chesterfield? No; we will take the less artificial and more Irish-like way, cut by the hand of nature, who knows how to dispose her ornaments in other forms than in clumps and quincunxes, through that sinuous ravine, where the hawthorn, yet in blossom, exhihits those roseate tints that pencil with peculiar beauty the latter day of its bloom, just like the rich, brilliant, but alarming hues that lighten up the dying maiden's cheek! Taking the glen to the right, it will soon lead us to the piece of ground which the Irish Government has so liberally bestowed for the purposes of science-and in truth it is a beautiful and befitting spot. A swell of a green lawn, rising from a broad piece of water, that sweeps back amongst high grounds, and is lost in the upper woods of the Park-here a very pretty lodge, suitable to the scenery, while an extensive view of the mountains, with the broad valley of the Liffey intervening-let them talk as they will about views and prospects-but here is one which challenges comparison with many a boasted scene, and which the humblest citizen of Dublin can enjoy, for the trouble of walking thither.

Well, then, we pay our sixpence, and enter the Gardens. To be sure the front is not yet unlike the scaffolding of a Donnybrook fair show-but give time-the Institution is yet very young. Now, look at the ground, ye that have travelled to Paris and London, and say could a better spot be better selected for the Dublin Zoological Society? The place where living animals are kept at the Jardin des Plantes of Paris is crowded to excess-in fact the Menagerie seems but an adjunct to other and more important objects of science; and

considering the number of animals of all sorts, it is not only flat and uninteresting, but inconvenient. The very same i the case at the Regent's Park. The grounds are not very interesting-indeed the Park itself is at best but an ugly, unmeaning place; and the portion allotted to the Zoological Society seems to have been carved off with a most niggardly hand-whoever granted it surely said, "We can only give to science a corner!" But our collection is small, very small, and the best portion of it has been presented with a praiseworthy and honourable liberality, by the London Society; we must make the most of it, observing by the way, that workmen are busily employed in preparing for the reception of additional tenants. Well, now, as we enter, can we not fancy ourselves in Paradise, and removing the idea of cages and barriers, think we see Adam and Eve walking in innocence amongst the creatures, while they sported and frisked about them? It would be rather difficult indeed to set down this whiskered exquisite, with a cigar in his mouth, who is throwing nuts to the monkey, for old father Adam, or this decayed and venerable maiden, whose monstrous bonnet expands over her spare bust, for good mother Eve-but a truce to criticismhere are two grave, philosophic young men, whose remarks must be very instructive; and though we would not be guilty of the rudeness of intruding on any one, we may, without a breach of politeness, follow in rear, and listen to their observations.

"Look at these ostriches, and their adjoining equally foolish-looking companions, the emu's of Australia. The emu has three toes, while the ostrich has only two. Can you not fancy a comparison between them and some bipeds of the human race? Some overgrown gommagh of a fellow, who just enjoys as much brains as enables him to count the miles and mark the hour of dinner, and who stalks through life thrusting his long Paul Pry neck into every body's business but his own!" "A gentleman who loves a laugh himself, and has as fine a perception of the droll and the witty as any man I ever knew, tells a good story about Turks laughing. He was at a village on the Dardanelles with another English traveller; while loitering about, he all at once missed his English servant, a humorous creature, worthy of such a master. After some search, H was found in the bazaar, dancing a minuet with a tall tame pelican; noways disconcerted at their approach, he finished his dance, and then with a ball-room bow, he took his partner by the wing, and, with a mineing gait, led her to take refreshments at a neighbouring kibaub shop. The solemn Turks almost died of laughter, and the roar that arose from the bazaar could be inferior only to that of the Dardanelles battery, when Baron de Tott fired his great gun.'"

"Good! And do you not think that this scarlet macaw resembles old cross hook-nosed General Slowfoot, who owes his elevation to an improvement he suggested in officers' epauletts-or this cockatoo to our cousin ensign Johnny Newcome! But come round, look at this Nhylgau-signifying blue cowand though it is neither ass nor bull, it seems to partake of both. Its horns have been tipt with brass-to keep it from doing mischief, for at first it used to be restive, and would but with a bang against the boards that made its whole wooden habitation shake. And yet what a fine eye the creature has!

friend, who under pretence of procuring your brother a commission in the patriot service of Bolivar, got so large a sum and-commissioned himself! These creatures have a capital eye to business-while apparently soaring far above earthly concerns, they have a nice discernment in tracking the frogs, mice, and such "small deer" as may be crawling on tirra firma. But here is a fine young leopard. One would scarcely think that his velvet paw conceals talons that could give you a feeling illustration of their power, and-"

"Stop, my dear friend, you are taking all the illustrations to yourself! You mean to say that the leopard reminds you of those who win your confidence that they may lacerate your heart-but what do you make of these owls? Demure, soberlooking articles, the fit type of the hypocrite, whom most of the world thought wise, and many good-whose public life was still and steady-who in the sight of the sun did no wrong thing, but amidst the shades of night was abroad pursuing things vile and atrocious, making victims of those who were poor and in misery, while his laugh over his prey was like the screech of that apparent concentration of wisdom, when he holds the little redbreast in his talons !" "Come, come, you must not usurp my province. Give me a piece of that biscuit in your hand, and let us pay a visit to Bruin. Here he is,

opening his jaws, like a gulph. He seems a good natured sort of creature too-a great deal of bonhommie in his countenance. He is young, to be sure, and his propensities are not developed, and there is no knowing man, woman, beast, or bird, until the great passion of nature developes every other. There is a comparison starting up in my mind about killing with kindness-doubtless our friend Bruin there could give a friendly hug! Oh, I have a pet story which I must tell: Two emigrants, (Irishmen of course,) who had found Bearhunting to be more congenial to their spirits, or more profitable to their purses, than felling trees on some uncleared settlement of the great wilderness, were once reduced to a rather low ebb in pocket, in consequence of having been too free with the dew. They therefore applied to an eminent purchaser of Bear skins to give them an advance, which he complied with, on liberal terms-to himself. But instead of purchasing powder, shot, and other necessaries, and setting off to fulfil their contract, they lingered till all was gone; and then, when the store-keeper would give them no more Rum, they started with sorrowful hearts to catch a fresh supply of Bears. They were so very fortunate as to rouse a couple of their shaggy friends, but in the heat of pursuit were far separated. One Paddy allowed his Bear to come quite close, intending to take a sure aim, bekase powder was scarce. Present! Fire! Oh, murder! flash in the pan! and in a moment, by a few of its graceful bounds, the Bear held Paddy in its embrace. "What are you shaking at ?" growled the grisly monster. "Arrah, bad luck to your impudence, you'd shake yourself, big as you are, you brute!" "None of your prate," rejoined this Balaamass sort of a Bear; "just put your ear close to my muzzle, and I'll tell you a secret. Never sell Bear skins till you catch them!" and so, giving Paddy a hearty kick, he bolted into the wood and disappeared!"

"Not a bad one either-but I must tell another about Byron and his bear:-His lordship was suddenly called down to Nottinghamshire. He had taken places for two gentlemen' in a northern mail, in the names of Byron and Bruin. 'Twas a dark November night; the friends arrived in Lombard-street in a hackney coach a little before eight. The off door of the mail at his lordship's demand, was opened, Byron placed his own travelling cap on Bruin's head and pushed him into the 'vehicle of letters,' followed, and immediately made him squat on the seat, looking as demure as a Quaker in a brown upper Benjamin' They occupied the whole of the back; and it so

happened that the two B's (Byron and Bruin) were the only passengers who started from the Post Office. At Islington they took up a third, a retired Cit.; he was a quidnunc! a Cockney! and a tailor! Not a sound was heard within till ascending Highgate-hill. Snip took advantage of the hill, hemmed thrice and broke silence with, Vel, Sir; a bit of nice noose in this here mornin's paper, vot d'ye think of them goings on of that there cowardly rascal Boneypart?" A pretended snore, loud and deep' was his lordship's only reply to the attack on the great soldier!' Snip was beat down by the snore, turned with disgust from his supposed sleeping opponent, cast a longing eye towards the quiet gentleman in the fur cap in t'other corner, and re-opened with, Hem! a nice bit of road this here, Sir, jest to Vetsun (no answer!) He's a deaf 'un, perhaps ;' and in a louder key, A very dark cold night this here, Sir! Determined to have an answer, in defiance of Chesterfield, he sought to seize a breast-button but encountered nothing but fur. Ah! Sir,' bawled Snip. this here's a werry nice varm travelling coat of you'rn. Receiving no reply, Snip, in despair, gave his tongue a holiday, and slept. He awoke to unthought of horrors; for the first object which caught his sight was Bruin's head, with muzzled mouth but glaring eyes. My God!' he exclaimed, the deaf gentleman in the nice varm travelling coat is a real live bear! Help! murder! coach! stop! Let me out!' shouted Snip, and out he went; and the poet and his pet were left in full possession of the interior, while Snip measured the seat of the box for the rest of his journey."

"Pooh! Byron borrowed the whimsey of keeping a bear from an Irishman! You stare; do you think that the title poet could not be a plagiarist, even in keeping a bear? Why man, that very story you have told me is only another version of my uncle's adventure with the famous GEORGE ROBERT FITZGERALD. My uncle, who was by profession an attorney, a wit, and a specious plausible fellow, could sing a good song, and drink a deep cup, but who, at the same time, was a very nervous little body, became acquainted with that strange bad man, whose life and death had been so singular. If there was ever a tiger in human shape it was he! His elegance of exterior accomplishments, and gentlemanlike address, his soft, effeminate manners, and insinuating polished blandishments, were combined with ferocity of disposition which makes one almost shrink with horror from his very name. Here the courtier, and there the bravo; now the gay drawing-room aspirant for noble ladies' smiles, and anon, the dark assassin, without pity, love, or fear! And he had whimsical fancies, too; I cannot believe but that Byron stole from him. So my uncle took a fancy to George Robert, and George Robert took a fancy to my uncle, and offered to make him his law agent. My uncle was to go down with the great man to his estates in the county Mayo, and the time fixed for departure was several hours before day-light. A carriage and four drove up, uncle stepped in, the morning was dark as pitch, and the misty rain beat fitfully against the carriagewindows. By the dim light of the lamps, uncle discerned two individuals, one of whom he took to be George Robert, who, according to his mood, was asleep; the other, who appeared dressed in a shaggy great coat, he supposed to be a friend, perhaps some Russian nobleman on a visit. But the Russian nobleman rolled about in a rather curious manner, and an occasional strange noise made uncle think that these outlandish people had rather an un-Irish mode of showing good nature. And then could his smell be Christian? His pomatum was surely rancid bear's grease! As the carriage drew near the town of Kilcock, and the morning began to send its feeble light through the moist windows, uncle was astonished by the Russian's tremendous nose; as day dawned, the nose became a snout, and as he eyed it steadily and then sternly, he burst out, " By the big hill o' Howth, it's not a Russian boyar but a bear!" "What's the matter, Harry," said George Robert, pretending to awake, has Bruin been troublesome ? He is in general the best of travelling companions; snug and warm, though sometimes cross, and apt to snap when you close on him too much. But here is what I always use," handing a short thick wand or rather cudgel, "just my good Harry, welt him a little, keep him quiet till we reach Kinnegad, where we breakfast. Me welt a bear," exclaimed my uncle, "Mr. Fitzgerald, you may manage your bear in your own way, but excuse me, Sir, I-Iyou mean to say you feel bashful in such company, Harry ?" "Jeer away, Mr. Fitzgerald, but here we are in Kilcock, and one foot more I will not budge with this monster!" "Oh, then the bear for my money," said George Robert, "a ple

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