women, fish-women, porters with knots on their heads, etc.; thus, in the throng of a London street, he cleared a lane for

me.

According to the privilege of an author franking a friend to the theater now and then, my brother, one morning, asked me for an order; but having already written and given away to my acquaintances and their acquaintances, more than was strictly proper, I refused. The same evening I unexpectedly went to the play myself; I was alone, and being in the lower boxes, towards the close of the third act, a gentleman coming in, and standing near me, I looked up, half turning round, and said, "How the deuce did you get in?" A strange voice answered, "How did I get in, sir! why, with my money. How did yourself get in?" I unfortunately mistook him for my brother; and this last mistake might have led me into a more dangerous dilemma than either of the former, had not another gentleman, in the adjoining box, who knew who I was, and, consequently, the imperfect state of my sight, kindly explained; thus saving me from pistol work, either on the strand of Clontarf, or behind Montague House, or in a little tavern room across a table, or any other field of battle, west of Mother Red-cap's.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

Coming into my parlor in Stafford Row, Buckingham Gate, one day, tired with my walk, and my spirits wearied by a long rehearsal, I found a gentleman looking very close at a picture which hung up; he bowed, and then went again to the picture, looked at me, and said something, I don't know what. We were completely at cross purposes; my eyes could not distinguish his features, and his ears could not hear my voice; he was deaf, and I could not see. In the midst of our embarrassment, my landlord came into the room, and addressing him very respectfully, yet loud, said, "Mr. the picture-dealer, lodges up stairs." The stranger then turned to me, made an apology, and went out of my parlor. When he had left the house, I asked my landlord who the gentleman was. He answered, that it was "Sir Joshua Reynolds." I then too late regretted my not having known this before, that I might have enjoyed a little of his company, as I greatly admired the works of his

pencil. Fortunate, thought I at that moment, that my infirmity is not on his side of the question!

One day walking with Mr. Colman, and admiring his beautiful garden at Richmond, he told me Sir Joshua Reynolds had been with him the day before, and also liked his parterres and hot-houses extremely (" and by the way, O'Keeffe, my gardener is a capital one, and your countryman; he brings out pine-apples and melons for me at very little expense"). Mr. Colman added, that he had been a good deal annoyed by a timber-yard to the left; besides the noise, it was a disagreeable object, so, continued he, "I raised up that fine screen of trees to hide it. I was pointing out this exploit of mine yesterday to Sir Joshua. 'Aye,' said he, very well, Colman, now you cannot see the wood for trees.""

6

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

I am a friar of orders gray:

As down the valley I take my way,

I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip,
Good store of venison does fill my scrip:
My long bead-roll I merrily chaunt,
Where'er I walk, no money I want;

And why I'm so plump the reason I'll tell—
Who leads a good life is sure to live well.
What baron or squire

Or knight of the shire

Lives half so well as a holy friar!

After supper, of heaven I dream,

But that is fat pullet and clouted cream.
Myself, by denial, I mortify

With a dainty bit of a warden pie:
I'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin:
With old sack wine I'm lined within:
A chirping cup is my matin song,

And the vesper bell is my bowl's ding dong.
What baron or squire

Or knight of the shire

Lives half so well as a holy friar!

PATRICK O'KELLY.

(1754

THE place of birth of this extraordinary character is not knownhe himself implies that it was in County Clare. He was for some time a schoolmaster in County Galway. He published 'Killarney, a Descriptive Poem,' 'The Eudoxologist,' 'The Aonian Kaleidoscope,' and Hippocrene.'

He was absurdly vain, and printed in each of his volumes poetical eulogies of himself and of his work by other bards. His high opinion of his own merit may be understood by his thus travestying the celebrated sonnet commencing, "Three poets in three distant ages born":

""T would take a Byron and a Scott, I tell you,
Combined in one to make a Pat O'Kelly.”

His' Curse of Doneraile' was widely circulated all over Ireland and created a great deal of amusement. To appease him Lady Doneraile presented him with a handsome "watch and seal" in place of the one he "lost," upon which he wrote a eulogium.

The place and date of his death are unknown.

THE CURSE OF DONERAILE.

Alas! how dismal is my tale,
I lost my watch in Doneraile.
My Dublin watch, my chain and seal,
Pilfered at once in Doneraile.

May Fire and Brimstone never fail,
To fall in showers on Doneraile.
May all the leading fiends assail,
The thieving town of Doneraile,
As lightnings flash across the vale,
So down to Hell with Doneraile.
The fate of Pompey at Pharsale,
Be that the curse of Doneraile.
May Beef, or Mutton, Lamb or Veal
Be never found in Doneraile.
But Garlic Soup and scurvy Cale,
Be still the food for Doneraile.
And forward as the creeping snail,
Th' industry be, of Doneraile.
May Heaven a chosen curse entail,
On rigid, rotten Doneraile.

May Sun and Moon forever fail,
To beam their lights on Doneraile.

May every pestilential gale,

Blast that cursed spot called Doneraile.
May not a Cuckoo, Thrush, or Quail,
Be ever heard in Doneraile.

May Patriots, Kings and Commonweal,
Despise and harass Doneraile.
May ev'ry Post, Gazette, and Mail,
Sad tidings bring of Doneraile.
May loudest thunders ring a peal,
To blind and deafen Doneraile.

May vengeance fall at head and tail,
From North to South at Doneraile.
May profit light and tardy sale,
Still damp the trade of Doneraile.
May Fame resound a dismal tale,
Whene'er she lights on Doneraile.
May Egypt's plagues at once prevail,
To thin the knaves of Doneraile.
May frost and snow, and sleet and hail
Benumb each joint in Doneraile.

May wolves and bloodhounds trace and trail,
The cursed crew of Doneraile.

May Oscar with his fiery flail,
To Atoms thrash all Doneraile.

May every mischief fresh and stale,
Abide henceforth in Doneraile.
May all from Belfast to Kinsale,
Scoff, curse, and damn you, Doneraile.
May neither Flow'r nor Oatenmeal,
Be found or known in Doneraile.
May want and woe each joy curtail,
That e'er was known in Doneraile.

May no one coffin want a nail,
That wraps a rogue in Doneraile.

May all the thieves that rob and steal,
The gallows meet in Doneraile.
May all the sons of Granuwale,
Blush at the thieves of Doneraile.
May mischief big as Norway whale,
O'erwhelm the knaves of Doneraile.
May curses wholesale and retail,
Pour with full force on Doneraile.
May ev'ry transport wont to sail,
A convict bring from Doneraile.
May ev'ry churn and milking pail,
Fall dry to staves in Doneraile.

May cold and hunger still congeal,
The stagnant blood of Doneraile.
May ev'ry hour new woes reveal,
That Hell reserves for Doneraile.
May ev'ry chosen ill prevail,
O'er all the Imps of Doneraile.
May no one wish or prayer avail,
To soothe the woes of Doneraile.
May th' Inquisition straight impale,
The rapparees of Doneraile.

May curse of Sodom now prevail,
And sink to ashes Doneraile.
May Charon's Boat triumphant sail,
Completely manned from Doneraile.
Oh! may my Couplets never fail,
To find new curse for Doneraile.
And may Grim Pluto's inner jail,
For ever groan with Doneraile.