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But their laurels and praises are vain,
produced inquiries which led to the disThey've no joy or delight for me now, For Celia despises the strain,
covery that, with the powerful impetus of And that withers the wreath on my brow. genius struggling against obstacles, the Then, adieu! ye gay shepherds and maids ! wretched-looking boy had abandoned his
I'll hie to the woods and the groves; There complain in the thicket's dark shades,
native village, destitute of friends and And chaunt the sad tale of my loves !
means, to seek books and mankind in the That the young poet's head, when he metropolis. Fortunately, the gentleman was writing this pastoral, was filled with was a patron of letters, and a man of inShenstone, whose very words as well as fluence : he undertook to advance the forrhythm he echoes in this artificial strain, is tunes of the stranger, and through his apparent enough; but poets are, in nine means Dermody, whom the reader will cases out of ten, the source from whence have recognized in the ragged urchin, was young poets first derive their inspiration. introduced to the countess of Moira, who Moore was a boy when he wrote these continued to patronize him until he exverses ; but in seven years afterwards hausted her patience by his irreclaimable he produced his translation of Anacreon, vices. At first, his professions of gratiwhich was the foundation of his fame. tude were boundless, and his numerous The address which he gives in his note to
odes of devotion to the countess which the editor, will remind the reader of his appeared in the Anthologia, attested the well-known answer to the Prince Regent's enthusiasm of his feelings. But kindness question, whether he belonged to a certain was lavished upon him in vain. He wasted ancient family of his name, residing in Ire- the gifts of his benefactress in the haunts land. “ No," replied the poet, father of depravity. On one day caressed by kept a grocer's shop in Aungier Street, in the virtuous and the noble, he was to be Dublin !" That reply lost him the favour found on the next in the dens of the liof the prince, and threw him into an oppo
centious and the outcast. Many attempts sition that produced those withering satires, were made to redeem him, but without in which his royal highness's name will be success. At length, he enlisted in a marching transmitted to all posterity.
regiment, when his friends again interDermody's history is one of the most fered, and purchased him a commission : melancholy in the whole range of literary the restraints of a military life, however, biography. He was rather in advance of did not suit him ; he sold out, came to Moore, and had he possessed as much re- London, and published a volume of poems, spect for the dignity of the poetical cha- but the fate of Chatterton awaited him. racter, he might have, perhaps success
Pressed by the extremity of want, he fully, contested with his contemporary the subsisted for some time upon the bounty honour of being regarded as the bard of of the charitable; but their interest in his country.
But Dermody, suddenly him was soon wearied out. Homeless noticed by the great, and raised from and in despair, with a volume of Hudibras poverty to high and flattering associations, in his pocket, he wandered into the village was unable to keep his dazzling position. of Lewisham, where he took up his abode His mind constantly reverted to the origi- at a poor ale-house. As long as his host nal meanness of his condition. Nature had permitted him, he lived there ; but the made him a poet, but circumstances de- sympathy of the landlord did not last long, graded him into a profligate of the lowest and poor Dermody was driven forth to die grade. His life was filled to overflowing with upon the highway. His spirit, unbroken miseries of his own creation. As the story by these accumulated misfortunes, still runs, his abilities were discovered by an sustained him, and in a mood of morbid accident. One day a gentleman, whose resignation, he possessed himself of an unname has escaped us, was turning over the claimed and untenanted ruin on Hounslowleaves of an old volume at a book-stand heath, that afforded him one room dilapiin the vicinity of the Four Courts, in dated and roofless. Some passing stranger Dublin, when his attention was attracted discovered himn in this forlorn situation, by a squalid boy in the ragged dress of a and communicated the fact to Sir J. peasant, standing close beside him, devour- B. Brugess, who was then, we believe, the ing in silent abstraction the contents of a president of the Literary Fund Society. mutilated Greek Homer. The circum- That gentleman immediately hastened to stance naturally excited curiosity, and his relief, and when he entered the
wretched apartment he found Dermody its career was short. Its projectors could
early genius contributed largely to this The poems of Dermody are remarkable periodical. The wildness of his imagifor an eastern gorgeousness of imagination; nation was not more remarkable than the they are full of exuberant feeling, rich teeming fertility of his mind. He wrote images, and a profuse display of critical verse with steam-engine velocity; verse, eccentricities. It is difficult to predicate too, in which there was high promise of from what he did, what he might have excellence which he did not live to achieve. done had his taste been corrected by time His tragedy of Ramiro, produced with some and observation ; but he possessed in a re- success on the Dublin stage, afforded a fair markable degree some of the elements of specimen of his powers and of his faults. poetry—a fertile fancy, a rapid invention, It was replete with fantastic images, thrown and an extraordinary descriptive power, out in such rapid succession that the specif not a deep sense of the qualities of tator was lost as much in the mazes of the beauty.
design as in wonder at the apparently inWe ought not, perhaps, to omit from exhaustible resources of the writer. This this enumeration of Irish publications, a was the besetting sin of Bertridge Clarke's strange periodical libel that was printed in poems. He makes one of his characters, Dublin for many years, during the worst after receiving his death wound, deliver a periods of insurrection, entitled “ The long apostrophe to the beauties of nature, Irish Magazine." It was edited, and and expire in a cloud of metaphor. Clarke written, by a Mr. Walter Cox, who en- was to the full as passionate and luxurious dured in turn, as the reward of his daring in his habits (as far as circumstances perviolations of truth and decency, the popu- mitted him) as in his poetry. He used lar punishments of fine, incarceration, and to sleep during the summer months in an pillory. His monkey glee and truculent Indian hammock, and revel through half satire could not be restrained by the terrors the night talking the most extravagant of the law; and, in despite of repeated nonsense about the poets that could well penalties and imprisonments, he continued be conceived. Dublin was too confined to etch coarse caricatures upon the autho- a sphere for a spirit so ardent, and he tried rities, and to pour forth vulgar ribaldry the more ambitious field of London, where against men in power who happened to fall he brought out a tragedy, not less wild under his displeasure. His magazine, how- than Ramiro, but which still promised that, ever, finally ceased; it was said that his when he had tamed the excesses of his silence was purchased by an annuity of muse, he might accomplish something 2001., on condition that he would leave worthy of perpetuity. To him the Lonthe country.
The worthy scribbler went don public are indebted for that small scrap to America, and after scandalizing the of play-bill criticism, called the Theatrical Yankees, returned to his native city, where, Observer, the plan of which was originated after a faint struggle to establish another in Dublin, where it had an extraordinary two-penny lampoon, he died in obscurity. sale, by a Mr. Johnstone. But, although
The magazines that remain to be noted was a novelty that excited some interest may be dismissed briefly. Of these the on its first appearance, it did not repay the Examiner, was most distinguished for the trouble of its production, and was given up. spirit with which it was conducted: but Some humble hanger-on of the theatres
has since resumed the design, and the spirit of activity to carry
forward to penny sheet still, we believe, continues to be issued.
We must not conclude without a referThe last of the expired magazines was ence to the Dublin University Magazine, the Dublin Inquisitor—a quiet, pleasant the successor of those vanished periodicals, miscellany, aiming chiefly to fill its hour a work of great ability, which deservedly with agreeable literature. It lived through ranks amongst the first productions of its one single year—its young conductors find- class of the present day. As it is a con-. ing in other spheres a more ambitious em- temporary of our own, we will not enter ployment for their pens. There was another upon any details : but it would be unjust attempted in Cork, called “ Bolster's Ma- to the talent with which it is conducted, gazine,” but it lasted only a few months. not to observe that it promises to redeem There was some literary talent displayed Ireland from the charge of being either in its pages: but no skill. Its subjects unable or unwilling to sustain a periodical were passé, and it wanted the necessary in all respects equal to any other produced
in this country
POLITICS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE DESCRIBED IN
LETTER NO. II.
Snugborough, March 5th.
I'm greatly your debtor
There will be a contest however I fear,
- APRIL, 1837.
VOL. X.--NO IV.
On Sunday have faces more dismal than man drew,
Then I teach at the schools, and must hide my grimaces
But prospects are mending ; a letter came down
TWELVE HOURS IN THE LIFE OF A NERVOUS MAN.
I like not this grinding honour that Sir Walter hath.-Shukspeare.
( Concluded from our last.)
Not one syllable of this did I understand, locked the door and gave a low whistle, nor did I waste a single moment of the which was answered with the same caution, precious time in trying to unravel it: but and in a few minutes there was the tread the instant his back was fairly turned, be- of many feet and the whispering of voices. gan to think how I could best escape. My As well as I could judge, for I did not venfirst efforts were directed to the outer-door, ture to remove the cloak, about eight or but it was fast locked and the key taken ten men entered the kitchen, when the door away. I next tried the window-shutter, was again carefully locked and bolted. which was defended by two strong iron There appeared to be some dissension bars, crossing each other at an acute angle, amonst them respecting myself: I could and fastened by a spring. Here too I was hear the word “spy” frequently repeated, baffled. For one weary hour did I labour though they scarcely spoke above their to discover the secret of the spring, pressing breath, and their voices carried an angry and pulling at the bars in every direction, sound with them, till at last the dispute yet not daring to use any great violence seemed to be ended by the authority of lest the noise should alarm my enemies, Giuseppe, who said loud enough for my who, I doubted not, were sufficiently on
anxious ears to drink in every syllablethe alert. And so it proved. While I was “No, no, lads; time enough for that. still struggling with this obstacle to my Let us dispatch the other job first.” escape, I was alarmed by the sound of foot- Merciful powers! It would be time steps close to the door. So quickly, as well enough to cut my throat, when they had as silently, had the approach been managed, secured their more important victims ! I that I had scarcely time to fling myself had better-yea, ten times better-have into the arm-chair, and feign to be fast braved the fury of Sir Phelim. asleep, before Giuseppe again made his My fate was thus deferred, though it appearance, carrying in his hand a dark was probable the respite would not be a lantern.
long one, if chance, or my own wit, did not Signor!” he muttered in a low tone, supply me with the means of escape in the like one who wishes to know whether the interval. Faint as this hope necessarily closed eyes of the person he is watching was, it yet served to prevent me from bebetokens slumber, and fears, if it be so, to traying myself. I sate without the slightest disturb it—" Signor !”
motion till I heard something like the liftInstead of making any answer, I drew ing up of a heavy trap-door, and then cumy breath more deeply, and heard him riosity, stronger even than terror, if indeed mutter—“ Good! he sleeps.”
it were not the child of it, made me partly What I felt at this moment it passes
the remove the cloak from my face, and I saw best powers of language to describe, and several well armed men pass by a secret yet I had the courage, or, it may be, the flight of steps into a vault below the kitexceeding cowardice, to keep my eyes fast chen. shut, though I heard him stealing softly to No sooner had Giuseppe, who was the my chair. There was a rustling sound last man descending, closed the trap-door behind me; my ear, sharpened by terror, after him, than I thought it time to renew told me that he was raising both his arms, my efforts to escape. Without wasting a and I expected nothing less than to receive moment upon the shutters or the outer his stiletto in my breast, when, instead of door, which from my late experience I the deadly blow, I felt a cloak gently flung knew would be to little purpose, I caught over my face, no doubt to prevent the light up the lamp from the table, and, hastening from striking on my eyes, and waking me into the passage, bent my course in a direcfrom my supposed slumber. He then un- tion opposite to that leading to my bed