uable matter; that of the Bodleian Library at Oxford, which, though consisting of but about sixteen volumes, is enriched by some most precious books, among which is the copy already alluded to of the remains of the Saltair of Cashel, made in the year 1454; and some two or three works of an older date. Next comes the Stowe Collection, now in the possession of Lord Ashburnham, and which is tolerably well described in the Stowe Catalogue by the late Rev. Charles O'Conor. There are also in England some other collections in the hands of private individuals, as that of Mr. Joseph Monck Mason in the neighborhood of London, and that of Sir Thomas Phillips in Worcestershire. The Advocates' Library in Edinburgh contains a few important volumes, some of which are shortly described in the Highland Society's Report on MacPherson's Poems of Oisin, published in 1794. And passing over to the Continent, in the National or Imperial Library of Paris (which, however, has not yet been thoroughly examined), there will be found a few Gaedhlic volumes; and in Belgium (between which and Ireland such intimate relations existed in past times) and particularly in the Burgundian Library at Brussels— there is a very important collection, consisting of a part of the treasures formerly in the possession of the Franciscan College of Louvain, for which our justly celebrated friar, Michael O'Clery, collected, by transcript and otherwise, all that he could bring together at home of matters relating to the ancient ecclesiastical history of his country. The Louvain Collection, formed chiefly, if not wholly, by Fathers Hugh Ward, John Colgan, and Michael O'Clery, between the years 1620 and 1640, appears to have been widely scattered at the French Revolution. For there are in the College of St. Isidore, in Rome, about twenty volumes of Gaedhlic MSS., which we know at one time to have formed part of the Louvain Collection. Among these manuscripts now at Rome are some of the most valuable materials for the study of our language and history-the chief of which is an ancient copy of the Felire Aengusa, the Martyrology or Festology of Aengus Céile Dé (pron. "Kéli Dé") incorrectly called Aengus the Culdee, who composed the original of this extraordinary work, partly at Tamhlacht, now Tallaght, in the county of Dublin, and partly at Cluain Eidhnech in the present Queen's County, in the year 798. The collection contains, besides, the Festology of Cathal M'Guire, a work only known by name to the Irish scholars of the present day; and it includes the autograph of the first volume of the Annals of the Four Masters. There is also a copy or fragment of the Liber Hymnorum already spoken of, and which is a work of great importance to the ecclesiastical history of Ireland; and besides these the collection contains several important pieces relating to Irish history of which no copies are known to exist elsewhere. MRS. KEVIN IZOD O'DOHERTY (EVA MARY KELLY). (1825) EVA MARY KELLY (Mrs. Kevin Izod O'Doherty) was born at Headfort, County Galway, about 1825. During the early years of The Nation she contributed most of her poems over the name of "Eva" to that and to other Irish journals. Mr. A. M. Sullivan has, in his 'New Ireland,' told in a most interesting manner the romance of her life. "Eva Mary Kelly," he writes, "could have been little more than a girl when the contributions bearing her pseudonym began to attract attention. Kevin O'Doherty was at this time a young medical student in Dublin. From admiring 'Eva's' poetry he took to admiring—that is, loving-herself. The outbreak of 1848, however, brought a rude interruption to Kevin's suit. He was writing unmistakably seditious prose, while 'Eva' was assailing the constituted authorities in rebel verse. "Kevin was arrested and brought to trial. Twice the jury disagreed. The day before his third arraignment he was offered a virtual pardon-a merely nominal sentence-if he would plead guilty. He sent for Eva and told her of the proposition. 'It may seem as if I did not feel the certainty of losing you, perhaps for ever,' said he, but I don't like this idea of pleading guilty. Say, what shall I do?' 'Do?' answered the poetess; 'why, be a man and face the worst. I'll wait for you, however long the sentence may be.' "Next day fortune deserted Kevin. The jury found him guilty. The judge assigned him ten years' transportation. 'Eva' was allowed to see him once more in the cell to say adieu. She whispered in his ear, 'Be you faithful. I'll wait.' And she did. Years flew by, and the young exile was at length allowed once more to tread Irish soil. Two days after he landed at Kingstown 'Eva' was his bride." After her marriage she accompanied her husband to Australia, where he became a successful physician and politician. Her poems were published in San Francisco in 1877. TIPPERARY. Were you ever in sweet Tipperary, where the fields are so sunny and green, And the heath-brown Slieve-bloom and the Galtees look down with so proud a mien? "T is there you would see more beauty than is on all Irish ground God bless you, my sweet Tipperary, for where could your match be found? They say that your hand is fearful, that darkness is in your eye: But I'll not let them dare to talk so black and bitter a lie. Oh! no, macushla storin! bright, bright, and warm are you, With hearts as bold as the men of old, to yourselves and your country true. And when there is gloom upon you, bid them think who has brought it there Sure, a frown or a word of hatred was not made for your face so fair; You've a hand for the grasp of friendship—another to make them quake, And they're welcome to whichsoever it pleases them most to take. Shall our homes, like the huts of Connaught, be crumbled before our eyes? Shall we fly, like a flock of wild geese, from all that we love and prize? No! by those who were here before us, no churl shall our tyrant be; Our land it is theirs by plunder, but, by Brigid, ourselves are free. No! we do not forget the greatness did once to sweet Eire belong; No treason or craven spirit was ever our race among; And no frown or no word of hatred we give-but to pay them back; In evil we only follow our enemies' darksome track. Oh! come for a while among us, and give us the friendly hand, And you'll see that old Tipperary is a loving and gladsome land; From Upper to Lower Ormond, bright welcomes and smiles will spring On the plains of Tipperary the stranger is like a king. MURMURS OF LOVE. From the Irish. The stars are watching, the winds are playing; And oh! with no love that is light or cheerful, Whispering still, with those whispers broken, With all my heart's most passionate throbbing, With the low faint murmurs of deep adoring, With the burning beating, the inward hushing, Ever and ever in music gushing, Like mystic tones from the sea-shell rushing, They pass me dancing, they pass me singing, |