both a bruiser and a cudgel-player; and whenever accosted by an agent of John Doe and Richard Roe,' he never failed to give the impertinent fellow either a broken head or a pair of black eyes; which so tamed the ferocity of that diabolical fraternity, that, at length, there could scarcely be found a bumbailiff in all Dublin to come to the scratch with Jemmy the Bruiser. "There was, however, one rumbustious braggadocio, of gigantic dimensions, who had long been an unrelenting tyrant amongst quaking debtors; having incarcerated more starving bodies, and distrained the goods of more helpless widows than any dozen of his ruthless brethren. This Triton of the Minnows' having been invited to arrest the bold shoemaker, instantly assented, and loudly boasted that he would speedily quell the turbulent spirit of Jemmy Lawler. "Bathershin!' cried Jemmy, while a saucy smile of defiance played over his expressive features. This was the threatening posture of affairs when I arrived at Jemmy Lawler's residence in Smock Alley; where he received me with great hospitality in his only apartment on the third floor, which served him for kitchen, for parlour, and all; and where I found him working and singing as blithe as a lark. Suddenly, in bounced a curly-headed urchin, with an exclamation of "Daddy! Daddy! Big Ben is coming up the first flight.' "With admirable sang froid Jemmy laid by his work, bolted the door, and began to whet his paring knife, as he told me in a few words the state of the case. "In a minute or two Big Ben gave a very genteel and unbailiff-like knock at the door. "Who be dat?' demanded Jemmy, in the shrill treble of an infant. “"Tis I, my dear,' replied Ben, aggravating his voice like a sucking dove. I want to see your father, dear.' 66 Daddy isn't at home,' said Jemmy, in the same tone as before. He gone to Donnybrook.' "Very well, my dear,' said Ben, in a wheedling voice, 'you can let me in, you know, to rest awhile.' "Put in ee fingee,' said Jemmy, and lift de latch.' "Big Ben accordingly thrust the fore-finger of his right hand into the hole under the latch, purposely left vacant for the occasion, and Jemmy instantly cut it off with his paring-knife, close to the door. "Put in ee odee fingee now,' said Jemmy, with the same innocent simplicity." (To be continued.) HYMN TO VENUS. (FROM METASTASIO.) BY CAPTAIN RAFTER. O bella Venere, Che sola sei PROPITIOUS in splendour, Whose smiles have been given For bliss upon earth And for rapture in heaven! Thou, whose eyes dancing The land and the ocean! Near to thy laughing stars. The clouds are all scattered, The winds are declining. When the tempest is lowering. For thee the tremulous Splendours of heaven Of spring time are playing. Inflamed by thine ardours, The feathered creation Their pure adoration; The dove and the maiden, To rush to thine altar. Thou tamest the tiger, In thy soul-melting languor. All forms and all features,- To all things and all creatures; Propitious in splendour, Whose smiles have been given For bliss upon earth And for rapture in heaven! SONG.-ADIEU, BELOVED FRANCE! BY MRS. CRAWFORD. "Thus mourn'd the Queen, what time to Gallia's coast And saw, 'midst fears and anxious bodings lost, Through the long night she watch'd the glimmering shore, "Queen of unnumber'd woes! with evil star, Borne from such long-lov'd, pleasant scene away, To realms where everlasting Discord's jar And maddening factions spurn thy feeble sway: ADIEU, beloved France! adieu ! Yet, while thy lovely shores I see, As slowly they recede from view, Oh! how my heart flies back to thee!. The barque sails on, a dreary waste Dear treasured land of past delight, Those gentle hearts that sigh for me, Wake, minstrel, wake the dulcet string, Such as to grieving souls belong. I go to seek a distant throne, A widow'd queen, but late a bride, Adieu, beloved France! adieu! The bright sun rises from the deep, Nor dim my last, last look of France. On those loved hills that still appear; And with them all my soul holds dear. NOTE. On the death of her husband, Francis II., the beautiful Mary quitted France to return to her native Scotland; and the old historian, Brantôme, gives an affecting account of the regret which she expressed upon that occasion. As the vessel in which she embarked made at first but little way, she watched for nearly five hours, with tearful eyes, the slowly receding shores of France, and repeated her mournful adieux. When the shades of night began to fall, and to conceal them from her view, she redoubled her tears, exclaiming, "Farewell, dear France! You disappear from my sight, I shall never see you more." She declined to eat anything, or to go down into her cabin, and they therefore placed her bed upon deck. With many sighs and tears, she ordered that, as soon as daylight appeared, if the coast of France was still visible, they should immediately awake her. The wind having ceased, it fell out according to her wish; and raising herself on her couch, she began again to contemplate the land of her affection, which she continued to do as long as she was able. When it was finally lost in the increasing distance," Farewell, dear France!" she again repeated; "farewell, sweet France! it is all over: I shall never see you more!" EMMELINE; OR, LOVE AND AVARICE. A TALE. "Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, The course of true love never did run smooth." SHAKSPEARE. MR. MONTIMAR was one of those men who, by a fortunate combination of circumstances, without talent and without education, rise from the lowest stage of penury and want to the highest pinnacle of fortune and of honour. Such instances have, indeed, for the last hundred and fifty years, been so common in this mercantile country of ours, that they cease longer to surprise or awaken our curiosity. Nor was Mr. Montimar's career in any way different from the generality of such events. With plodding application and the negative virtue of honesty, aided by fortuitous situation, his elevation was but the natural result of that train of circumstances which placed him in the position of advancement. Yet, in nine cases out of ten, the world, which is ever prone to flatter opulence, and find merit in success, will hold such a man forward to humanity as a worthy example and pattern to the emulous of youth; write panegyrics on his talent, ability, and application; and find in the most grovelling and selfish of human pursuits-money making-a genius equal in its way to the brightest luminaries in arts, science, or literature. Mr. Montimar having, at the age of ten years, escaped from the parish workhouse of a retired village in the North of England, with a slight knowledge of accounts, and a more imperfect acquaintance with orthography, without father or mother, or any known relative, and even unconscious of his parental name, Parish Jem, as he had been called, found himself, after a month's peregrination, one winter morning, cold, tired, and hungry, in one of the narrow streets at the back of Doctors' Commons. A poor, but honest, widow, who kept a small green-grocer's shop, saw the boy crying, and, attracted by his forlorn appearance, took him in, soothed his grief, warmed his body, and fed |