of our

and of anxiety. No man that carries his lusty thews and sinews into the market of labour, is uninterested in the state and prospects of a population, whose teeming numbers, driven from home by the results of a disorganized society, outwork his strength and undersell his toil in every corner of the kingdom. Viewed in all lights and aspects, Ireland is covered over with claims to our attention. Regard it as an integral portion of our common country, for whose good and glory every one that hears me, feels his breast grow warm with sympathetic ardour; whose prosperity, from the bottom of my soul I believe, is the one aim and object of all our efforts, however different the paths that we pursue! Look to its demands upon our gratitude! Thence came the mighty Captain (under his military character ever to be named with veneration) who struck down the Eagle in her pitch of pride, and scattered into fragments the power great antagonist. Thence thronged many a battalion to the British standard, and whole tides of generous and gallant blood were poured out for our safety and repose. And need I tell you to glance again at the causes it suggests for our solicitude? I have struck that chord already. It will vibrate in all hearts.

Unhappy Ireland! She came from the hands of her Creator, one of the brightest gifts of God to man. When the primeval waters first rolled away from the surface of the earth, there arose not a fairer spot upon her wide circumference; an isle more richly dight with all that could provide for the ornament of nature or the felicity of man. Fancy might conceive the fairy spirits of her own mythology crowding round the nascent isle, and showering on her head the choicest gifts of their beneficence. But at the last came one malignant power to counteract the whole. Above the object of her hate she breathed the fatal spell—misgovern

Too subtle and successful has been the working of that spell. For centuries of a half-civilized existence, under every mode of government, and every variety of adminis

ment.

tration, the peace and happiness of Ireland have been the victims of misrule. Her condition is the great opprobrium of British policy, and the perpetual problem of the British legislator. And of all the curses entailed by misgovernment on Ireland, the most deadly and enduring is religious animosity. In that land, of all beneath the sun, religious animosity has struck the deepest root. It is enough of itself to convert every blessing to a bane. It lies in wait for every opportunity to dash the hopes of patriotism, and keep back the dawnings of a better day. And now, when the first promise of happier times is just seen to flush on the horizon; when the great foundation-boon of a liberal system for the education of the people is proffered by the Ministry, again religious animosity uprears her ugly head, and scowls defiance on a measure that merits to be hailed with an acclaim of universal joy.

COLUMBUS ON FIRST BEHOLDING AMERICA.

God of my sires! o'er ocean's brim

Yon beauteous land appears at last;
Raise, comrades! raise your holiest hymn,

For now our toils are past:
See o'er the bosom of the deep,

She gaily lifts her summer charms,
As if at last she long'd to leap

From dark oblivion's arms.

What forms, what lovely scenes may lye

Secluded in thy flowery breast;
Pure is thy sea, and calm thy sky,

Thou Garden of the West!
Around each solitary hill

A rich magnificence is hurld,
Thy youthful face seems wearing still

The first fresh fragrance of the world.

We come with hope our beacon bright,

Like Noah drifting o'er the wave, To claim a world—the ocean's might

Has shrouded like the grave; And oh, the dwellers of the Ark

Ne'er pined with fonder hearts, to see The bird of hope regain their bark,

Than I have long'd for thee.

Around me was the boundless flood,

O'er which no mortal ever pass’d, Above me was a solitude

As measureless and vast; Yet in the air and on the sea,

The voice of the Eternal One Breathed forth the song of hope to me,

And bade me journey on.

My bark! the winds are fair unfurld

To waft thee on thy watery road, Oh haste, that I may give the world

Another portion of her God; That I may lead those tribes aright,

So long on error's ocean driven, And, point to their bewilder'd sight,

A fairer path to heaven.

The mightiest states shall pass away,

Their mouldering grandeur cannot last; But thou, fair land! shalt be for aye

A glory, when they're past:
As now thou look’st in youthful bloom,

When earth grows old and states decline, So thou shalt flourish o'er their tomb,

Tired freedom's peaceful shrine.

Spain! though I'm not of thine, thou'lt claim

A glory with the brightest age,
And years shall never blot thy name

From fame's immortal page!
Rome conquer'd, but enslaved each land,

Made empires ruins in her mirth;
But thou, with far a nobler hand,

Wilt add one-half to earth.

What have the proudest conquerors

rear'd
To hold their honours forth to fame-
Things which a few short years have seard,

And left without a name!
But I—’mid empires prostrate hurld,

’Mid all the glories time has rent-
Will raise no column, but a world,

To stand my monument!

OTHELLO'S APOLOGY FOR HIS MARRIAGE.

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors—
My very noble and approved good masters!
That I have ta’en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The
very

head and front of my offending
Hath this extent:—no more. Rude am I in speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace;
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle:
And, therefore, little shall I grace my cause
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round, unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjurations, and what mighty magic
(For such proceeding am I charged withal)
I won his daughter with!
Her father loved me-oft invited me;
Still question’d me the story of my life
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I had pass'd.
I ran it through, even from my boyish days
To the very moment that he bade me tell it:
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances;
Of moving accidents, by flood and field;
Of hair-breadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence;
And, with it, all my travels' history.

-All these to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline;
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse. Which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctly. I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd.-My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs!
She swore,—In faith 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful!
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she wish'd
That heaven had made her such a man. She thank'd me;