"I did not come here to be insulted, Sir John Slingsby," said Mr. Wittingham, the jaundiced yellow of his face gradually becoming of an olive green, "I did not come here to be insulted, and will not stay for such a purpose; I expect to be treated like a gentleman, sir." "Wonderful are the expectations of man," exclaimed the baronet, "just as much might a chimney-sweeper expect to be treated like an archbishop, because he wears black-but let us to business, let us to business, if we go on complimenting each other in this way we shall not get through the affair to-night, especially with your lucid assistance, Wittingham; for if there be a man in England who can so stir a puddle that the sharpest eyes shall not be ableto see a lost half-crown at the bottom, you are the man."

Up started the worthy magistrate, exclaiming in a weak voice and bewildered air,

"I will not stay, that man will drive me mad."

66

"Impossible," shouted Sir John Slingsby, as Mr. Wittingham staggered towards the door; and he then added in a lower tone, fools never go mad, they tell me ;" but Doctor Miles, who saw that old Wittingham was really ill, rose from his seat, and crossing the room, spoke a word or two to the retreating magistrate, which he was not allowed to finish, for old Wittingham pushed him rudely aside and darted out of the room.

ON REVISITING TRINITY COLLEGE, AFTER LONG ABSENCE.

BY EDWARD KENEALY, ESQ., LL.B.

I.

ONCE more within these olden, storied walls,
So dearly lov'd from boyhood's genial days,
With eager bound my glowing footstep falls,
With eyes suffus'd in joy around I gaze.

Once more I live, and move, and walk, and breathe,
Within the dear remember'd cloister'd aisles,
Whose warm though silent welcomings enwreathe
My heart with rapture, and my face with smiles.
Once more I pause o'er each remember'd scene,
In my soul's soul in brightest hues enshrin'd,
The pillar'd porch-the smooth and dewy green,
The stately halls-the trees with ivy twin'd,
The breathing busts-the books-the silence-all
Back to my heart its best and happiest hours recall.

II.

Here in the sunny summer of my youth

My soul grew up, and drank the sacred streams
Of Wisdom, Knowledge, Virtue, Thought, and Truth ;
Here my heart liv'd on fair and glorious dreams,
Caught from the poet's or the historian's page;
Homer, and Horace, and the Mantuan lyre,
Plato's deep thoughts and Pindar's epic rage,

The Ascræan bard, and Lucan's words of fire:
From morn till night, from night till morning came,
These and the stars my sole companions were,
Still burn'd my lamp with clear and vestal flame,
Still my mind fed on visions grand and rare,
The Past was still before me, and its soul

Shone with the splendour of some heaven-descended scroll.
III.

And woo'd me on to scale the starry steep

Where Poësy-sweet Faerie Queene-sits thron'd,
Beneath her feet the fiery lightnings leap,
But her fair brows with rainbows shine enzon'd,
Round her the Muses sport the live-long day,
The Graces young and laughing dance and sing,
The bright-eyed Nymphs with noisy Cupids play,
Music wells forth from reed, and shell, and string;
Phantoms of sunshine form'd-the bards of old-
Whose vernal thoughts make heaven of earth, are there;
While songs and hymns in strains of wonder told,
Fill, as with fragrance, all the echoing air ;—
These are thy glories-these, Immortal Past!

On these my heart was fix'd, my longing looks were cast.

IV.

The Wild, the Grand, the Beautiful, the True,
Each an enchantress with enchanted wand,
Flung o'er my soul their spells, until it grew
Entirely theirs, and sought no bliss beyond;
Its only world became a world unknown

Of dreams fantasque, and visions strange and quaint,
Within whose skies eternal summer shone,

And scenes that liveliest Fancy scarce could paint;
A wondrous wild embodiment it seem'd

Of things transform'd to beauty ;-Titan shapes
And Grecian deities, and seas that stream'd

Through silver isles and foam'd on golden capes, Forests, and Nymphs, and Fauns, and Sylvans blent, With Gothic scenes and spells, tilt, faëry tower, and tent.

V.

And fabling Ovid, with soft eyes of fire,

Was by my side, and colour'd many a thought;

And many a gay, and many a fond desire,

Unto my

heart Verona's minstrel brought;

And Ariosto sang me curious strains

Of magic castles built on marble heights,

And gallant soldiers pricking o'er the plains,

And mail-clad steeds and antique-armour'd knights,

And ladyes chaste that roam'd through forests wild,
Pursued by giants, and in dire despair,

Until some brave and angel-guided Childe

Wafted, perchance, ten thousand miles through air,
Appear'd before their wondering eyes to prove
His valorous arm in fight-and straightway fall in love.

VI.

The magic of these old delicious songs,
The hours of silent reverie and thought,
The paradise-light that to past time belongs,
Dreams of romance and beauty all enwrought,

The early sunshine streaming o'er the glade,
The
song of birds, the voice of some sweet flute,
The ancient trees, with broad and leafy shade,
The moon that cloth'd the halls in silver suit,
The fire-wing'd stars, the solemn silent night,
The lamps through many a lattic'd window seen,
The deep-ton'd bell for morn and evening rite,
The reverend gloom reliev'd by the moon's sheen-
All these come back upon my soul, like strains
Of native music heard on far and foreign plains.

VII.

Filling it deep with sadness and with gloom,
Alas! where are ye, dear past innocent hours?
The scythe of Time hath swept ye to the tomb,
Yet in my soul ye still survive, like flow'rs

Round some sad mouldering shrine; I sit and think
Of dear old times, familiar faces pass'd

Away for ever; friends, link after link,
Methinks move on in faithful memory glass'd.

Where are they now? Some sleep in distant lands,
Some slumber in the ocean-some remain;

But the fond ties once twin'd by friendship's hands
Are snapp'd, and ne'er may reunite again.

Oh! that once more I were a careless boy,
As when I first beheld these halls with pride and joy.

VIII.

And wander'd wild through portico and park,
Emparadis'd in Fancy's purple clouds ;
Heedless and happy, dreaming not of dark
Tartarean worlds like that which now enshrouds
This visible orb :-to boyhood's laughing eyes

The Earth seems Eden-every thing looks bright,
Life a glad journey to the golden skies

;

To manhood all seems black as blackest night.

Why are we here? What Power hath peopled Earth?
Why wend we in our pilgrimage of woe?
Whence have our souls deriv'd their fiery birth?
Unto what bourn is fated man to go?

Why clings he still to life? Why hug the chain
That eats into his heart, and turns his joys to pain?

IX.

Alas! we know not-must not hope to know,
The Future looms far off in mystery veil'd;
Present and Past are ours-but like the bow
Of heaven still far the Future lies conceal'd,
Robed in enchanting colours form'd to fade
As the quick hour moves on.-- We live and die
In the same hour cradle and grave are made;
Monarch and slave in the same black earth lie.
And is this life? For this was Man design'd?
Was it for this the All-Powerful gave him store
Of hopes and thoughts sublime; and fill'd his mind
With longings after high and heavenly lore?
A wise fine soul-a glory-loving heart?

No-'twas for mighty ends that thou shouldst play thy part. Aug.-VOL. LXXVII. NO. CCCVIII.

2 a

X.

For mighty ends thy soul to earth was sent,
A mission grand and high, O man, is thine;
Work in the spirit of that great intent,
Walk like an angel in the path divine ;
Here in these sacred walls, old, world-renown'd,
The seat of learning, shall thy young heart swell,
Fir'd by the glories of the classic ground,
By the great mem'ries that around thee dwell.
Here shalt thou train thee for thy pure career;
Wisdom and Knowledge, like twin orbs of light
Shrin'd in these hallow'd temples, greet thee here,
And point the way to Virtue's star-crown'd height:
Onward, still onward, from glad youth to age,

Here shall thy soul learn strength for every changing stage.

XI.

Thoughts of great deeds and lofty acts be thine;
The mighty dead, the shadowy shapes of old,
Heroes and bards, a starry-gleaming line
Of souls celestial, still before thee hold
Their glorious course, and beckon on thy soul
To tread the shining footpaths that they trod;
Onward they march'd, until they reach'd the goal
For minds of light like theirs prepar'd by God;
Sages, and bards, and statesmen, on whose forms
Pictur'd on canvas let thine emulous eyes

Still gaze with rapture. What though winds and storms
Break round his head who to Fame's palace flies;
The attempt is grand and noble, though he fall—
Conquer thyself, brave heart, and thou shalt conquer all.

XII.

Look on the pictur'd epics thron'd around-
Go to thy books, and study their career-
So shalt thou feel thy swelling spirit bound
And cast aside, like chains, despair, and fear;

Learn from their thoughtful eyes and resolute brows
To nerve thy soul with stern resolve for fame;
Heaven to the heart that works due strength allows,

And crowns her toil with an undying name.

Burke, Berkeley, Flood, Burgh, Avonmore, and Swift ;*
Behold the men who shook or charm'd the world,
Behold-revere-aspire-toil on and lift

Thy soul to thoughts like theirs-if haply hurl'd
From thine immortal flight by chance or fate,

Well hast thou cloth'd thy soul with noble thoughts and great. Trinity College, Shrove Tuesday, 1846.

* Their portraits are in the Theatre and Dining-Hall.

THE TRAVELS AND OPINIONS OF MR. JOLLY GREEN.

СНАР. Х.

My dreams that night, as may naturally be supposed, were somewhat disturbed, for the occurrences of the day had left too vivid an impression on my cellular tissue to be easily effaced. I have often speculated on the subject of dreams; indeed, upon one occasion I communicated my ideas on the subject to the Brompton Budget, in which, I flatter myself, I established pretty clearly, that the sleeping mind may be compared to a kaleidoscope, wherein certain images enter, which, by the slightest displacement of the machine containing them, instantaneously lose their form and character, without any reference to their original aspect. ley, who read my paper at the Jawleian Institute, pronounced it a masterpiece, and added, that, with a few slight corrections from his pen, he doubted not it would go down to posterity along with the invention of steam by Dr. Watts, of the circulating medium of fish-sauce by Harvey, the discovery of street lamps by Sir Humphrey Davy, of gunpowder by Lord Bacon, of printing by Dr. Faustus, and of the use of the globes and book-keeping by single and double entry by Galileo.

Jaw

The complexion of the visions which flashed through my ivories, as the ancients used fabulously to imagine, -on the night of my return from Montmorency, fully bore out the kaleidoscopic character I have assigned

to them.

Like the hero in Bunn's tragedy, "I dreamt that I dwelt at Marble Hall," not, however, on the banks of the Thames near Twickenham, but in the caravanserai of an Eastern potentate, where the waving cedar of Lebanon shed a delicious perfume on the musky air, and the murmuring notes of the albatross and the condor were heard above the rush of waterfalls, as they gurgled in their granite beds amid the silence of the starry night. A thousand fair forms flitted before me as I lay immersed in delirious solitude, and all strove to win my regard, but the stony-heartedness of despair was in my bosom, and I turned a deaf ear to the allurements of all, save one, whose gleaming eyes and graceful gestures bore an undefined resemblance to those of Angelique. This figure drew near me, and repeating my name in thrilling accents, beckoned me to fly with her to the desert. I dashed my turban wildly to the ground, mounted my Arab steed, and pursued the phantom across the shadowy waste, with nothing but the "sheeny light" of the waning moon (as Tennyson says) to guide me on my way. Suddenly the sky became pitchy dark; I found myself on the deck of an Affghan privateer, cruising, I thought, for pearls in the Bay of Biscay. A storm arose, and I seized the helm ; the lawless men, her crew, though hardened in crime, and steeped in blood, gazed at me, I thought, with fear and astonishment, as the vessel, obedient to my pilotage, careened on the starboard bow, and luffed up to leeward. We flew madly through the waters, but ever and anon the same soft voice might be heard which had lured me from afar, and still the dreamy light of two liquid orbs danced before our gilded prow. On we drove before the gale, and entered, I thought, the bight of the Bosphorus, where we landed amid the fallen temples of ancient Greece and Rome.