CHARLOTTE GRACE O'BRIEN. (1845 ——) MISS O'BRIEN was born at Cahirmoyle, County Limerick, in 1845. She is the daughter of William Smith O'Brien, and she inherited his philanthropy and his patriotism. Her efforts to improve the lot of the female emigrants from Ireland to this country were most successful, as the accommodation now given to them on board the steamers testifies. She has found time for something of a literary life as well. She wrote verse for The Nation, United Ireland, etc., and several very acceptable tales for children. In verse her books are A Tale of Venice,' Lyrics,' and 'Cahirmoyle'; her novel, Light and Shade,' was received with a chorus of praise by the critics of all manner of politics. เ BOG COTTON ON THE RED BOG. FOYNES IN JUNE, 1895. I. "O strong-winged birds from over the moorland dark, On this June day what have you seen? Where, oh! where Where have you been?" The golden yellow asphodel makes its boggy home, Spreading in broad bands of silvery silky foam O'er the moorland drear, The slender-stemmed bog cotton bends in waves of light, We have been. II. "O sweet sky-piercing, heaven-mounting lark, On this June day what have you seen? I have seen-I have seen The dark red bog and the king fern green, And the black black pools lying dim between, The baby heather that blossoms so soon In the splendid heat that comes after June And the white white silk that swings in the wind, Oh, I have seen! I have seen! III. "O mystic, still, and summer-breathing night Silk white tents for fairy armies spreading, Silver down for their pillows-and oh, I have seen IV. 66 And you, O summer moon, there in the clear dark sky, Tell me, oh! tell me, you who live so high, What have you seen? What have you seen?" I have seen the eyes of God looking down upon the earth; I have seen the dark things growing to bright strength and joyful birth; I have seen the slow unfolding of bud and leaf and life; I have seen immortal good ripening on through mortal strifeOh, I have seen! I have seen! SONG. [Written in imitation of the manner of the Celtic writers of the seventeeth century. Though not a translation, it is a close copy of the fancies and mannerisms of the time.] One morning by the streamlet I walked, and gazing round, As I was wandering slowly, in still and thoughtful mood, And shouts of cuckoos calling within the far off wood. I lifted up mine eyelids, and there along the way, Her breath was as the honey wrought by the wandering bee; Her forehead as the lime-dust was clear, and smooth, and fair; Her brows were as two swallows, seen far through summer air; O vain the word that follows, for the wonder of her hair! Free curling were her tresses, wide-spreading, odorous, sweet, And the golden lights, though hiding, in shadowed depths would meet, Or, down her green robe gliding, would haste to kiss her feet. As combs of the wild honey, her teeth were ranged and white: "O tell me now, O tell me, what name to call thee by? Art thou the sad-eyed Deirdré who mourns the Red Branch knights? With Love's prophetic weeping, she left the Albyn heights." "No; Deirdré still lies sleeping beneath the northern lights." "O tell me now, O tell me, art thou the magic Maove Who, 'mid the dead and dying, threw down the warlike glaive?" "No; the cruel queen is lying beside Connacia's wave." "Art thou the fairy Ailnè who bound the Chief of Spears With her magic waving motion in the Valley of the Fears?" "No; but the heaving ocean her druid laughter hears." All silent she stood by me, but 'mid her radiant hair, Enwreathed in depths of brightness I saw the shamrock rare, And my heart was filled with lightness, for my mother-queen was there. FITZ JAMES O'BRIEN. (1828-1862.) FITZ JAMES O'BRIEN was born in Limerick in 1828. He was educated at Trinity College, Dublin, but was not graduated. While yet a young man he inherited a fortune of £8,000 ($40,000); but he went to London and made "ducks and drakes" of it in about two years. He then drifted into journalism, and in 1858, when almost at the end of his tether, he landed in New York with letters of introduction to some distinguished Americans. He soon became a valued contributor to Harper's Magazine, Harper's Weekly, Scribner's, Putnam's, and The Atlantic Monthly. The Diamond Lens' appeared in the last-named. He also wrote for The Lantern, The Home Journal, The New York Times, etc., both in prose and in verse. He was the author of several comediettas, and his play A Gentleman from Ireland,' which was written for Wallack, was very successful. He was leading the gay and careless life of the Bohemian, when it was rudely broken in upon by the civil war. He lost no time in enlisting, and threw himself with as much reckless fervor into fighting as he did into everything else to which he put his hand. He was first with the New York Seventh Regiment and afterward on the staff of General Lander. He was wounded in the left shoulder, Feb. 16, 1862, and after battling for his life for two months he finally succumbed on the 6th of April of that year. His poems were collected and edited by William Winter in 1881, and his stories in 1885. THE GREAT DIAMOND IS OBTAINED AND USED. From The Diamond Lens.' With an uneasy look in his eyes, and hands unsteady with drink and nervousness, he drew a small case from his breast and opened it. Heavens! how the mild lamp-light was shivered into a thousand prismatic arrows, as it fell upon a vast rose-diamond that glittered in the case! I was no judge of diamonds, but I saw at a glance that this was a gem of rare size and purity. I looked at Simon with wonder and must I confess it?-with envy. How could he have obtained this treasure? In reply to my questions, I could just gather from his drunken statements (of which, I fancy, half the incoherence was affected) that he had been superintending a gang of slaves engaged in diamond washing in Brazil; that he had seen one of them secrete a diamond, but instead of informing his employers, had quietly watched the negro until he saw him bury his treasure; that he had dug it up and fled with it, but that as yet he was afraid to attempt to dispose of it publicly,—so valuable a gem being almost certain to attract too much attention to its owner's antecedents,—and he had not been able to discover any of those obscure channels by which such matters are conveyed away safely. He added that in accordance with Oriental practice, he had named his diamond by the fanciful title of "The Eye of Morning." While Simon was relating this to me, I regarded the great diamond attentively. Never had I beheld anything so beautiful. All the glories of light ever imagined or described seemed to pulsate in its crystalline chambers. Its weight, as I learned from Simon, was exactly one hundred and forty carats. Here was an amazing coincidence. The hand of Destiny seemed in it. On this very evening when the spirit of Leeuwenhoek communicates to me the great secret of the microscope, the priceless means which he directs me to employ start up within my easy reach! I determined, with the most perfect deliberation, to possess myself of Simon's diamond. I sat opposite to him while he nodded over his glass, and calmly revolved the whole affair. I did not for an instant contemplate so foolish an act as a common theft, which would of course be discovered, or at least necessitate flight and concealment, all of which must interfere with my scientific plans. There was but one step to be taken,-to kill Simon. After all, what was the life of a little peddling Jew in comparison with the interests of science? Human beings are taken every day from the condemned prisons to be experimented on by surgeons. This man, Simon, was by his own confession a criminal, a robber, and I believed on my soul a murderer. He deserved death quite as much as any felon condemned by the laws; why should I not, like government, contrive that his punishment should contribute to the progress of human knowledge? The means for accomplishing everything I desired lay with my reach. There stood upon the mantelpiece a bottle half full of French laudanum. Simon was so occupied with his diamond, which I had just restored to him, |