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of those parts, which, being left vacant, affords a simple means of bringing the centre of gravity of the declination axis, &c. into its centre of revolution. At V is a cylindrical sliding weight, which, by being drawn in or out, adjusts the instrument for any difference in eye pieces, &c. Wis a ratched circle, fixed to the transverse part of the polar axis; an endless screw attached to the cradle works in it, and turns the telescop in declination. Y is the declination circle, fixed on the declination axis, and led off by microscopes, attached to the upper part of the polar

axis.

The entire, being polished, has been rust-bronzed, to

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EQUATORIAL MOUNTING OF MR. COOPER'S GREAT ACHROMATIC TELESCOPE.

THE FAITHFUL LOVERS.

"Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted."

BURNS.

In the barony of Fermoy, and on the bank of the river Funcheon, lie the ruins of the ancient church of Molaga, celebrated for the crowds of devotees that resort there to testify their respect for the saint, and to invoke his intercession. An ancient tradition of the country also relates that this cemetery contains the remains of two lovers whose matchless constancy and melancholy fate will only be forgotten when the currents of the rapid Funcheon cease to flow.

Mary Fleming was the daughter of a rich farmer that held extensive lands in the fair and fertile tract of Glanworth, or the golden vale, so called from its yellow harvests. He claimed descent from the Flemings, the magnificent remains of whose stately castle crown the bank of the Funcheon at the village of Glanworth, which anciently was a considerable town. Mary Fleming was an only child, and her father, a sordid man, was anxious to procure for her the hand of a wealthy suitor-one whose herds and pastures would equal his own. Many of the neighbouring farmers, no less smitten with Mary's fortune than captivated by her pleasing exterior, and graceful unaffected manners, at the occasional patron or rural dance of the Sunday afternoon, offered her those tender attentions, the meaning of which the most untaught of Eve's daughters are not slow in understanding; but she received their advances with cold civility. Some young men ventured to make formal proposals to Fleming, and though the character and means of these suitors were unexceptionable, yet she unaccountably rejected them. At length a wealthy person from a remote district, came and sued for her hand. The advantages of this proposal were too obvious to be contemned: Fleming accepted him as his future son-in-law, and when he placed in review before his daughter, the good qualities and extensive pastures of her suitor, she declared with that bluntness of simplicity which is characteristic of the female mind, when untainted by the simulating affectations of refinement, that she would not wed the greatest man in the five provinces; for it would be the death of Shemus Oge O'Keefe, who she knew loved her better than his own life.

avoid eternal misery hereafter, she should promise to marry the husband of her father's choice. The weak girl, terrified by the artful representations of one whom she was taught to look up to as the interpreter of every doubt, yielded reluctant consent-promised to abandon Shemus Oge O'Keefe for ever-and the day was already fixed for her marriage with the wealthy stranger to whom we before alluded. During the progress of this baleful proceeding, her unfortunate lover made frequent attempts, to see her, but his endeavours were baffled by her father's vigilance. The ruin of his hopes, the rumoured inconstancy of the maid he idolized-the consuming, restless flame that burned within his breast-all preyed with fatal activity upon his constitution. At length he heard that the day had been fixed for Mary Fleming's wedding: he resolved to see her once more-to bid her an eternal adieu-to catch a parting view of one he loved so tenderly -and then return to his bed of death, or to eternal exile from his native land. Let fate do its worst, he was prepared to suffer. For this he sought an interview, and Mary promised to meet him by the twilight hour on this day, at the well of St. Molaga.

When Mary Fleming arrived in the haze of the twilight gloom at the appointed place, she could scarce believe that the emaciated figure which bent before her, was the gay and accomplished youth who delighted her eye a few short months before. The calm despair that sat on his marble brow-the death-like paleness of his cheek-and the faint glare of his glazed and sunken eye, appalled her, and, flinging herself upon the chilly sward, wild and broken bursts of feeling seemed to convulse her very soul. "O, Shemus Oge! is this the reward of your faithful love? Are that sunken cheek and hollow eye Mary Fleming's gifts for rescuing her from certain death, on that day when the waters of the rapid Funcheon were closing over her head? O! had I then died, I should not now be the ruin of your health, and the destruction of my own soul."

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Surely you do not apprehend that to trample on my sacred feelings, and, with more than woman's inconstancy, despise that honourable passion which you yourself have approved and encouraged, can merit the exemplary punishment you mention."

you for ever, and marry Myles Mahony."

"O, poor bewildered heart !-did not Father Florence, the priest of God, who knows more than a thousand like me-did not he say, that there was an eternity of pain for disobedient children ?-that I could not innocently have a liking for any young man, unless with my father's approbation;-that what young people call love, is but a snare Some ten months after this, in the twilight of a gloomy of the tempter's to lead souls to perdition. O! he beNovember evening, a tall figure, wrapped in a large dark wildered my brain-every night in my dreams I saw hell cloak, was seen slowly to wind his course along the Fun-open to receive us; and last Sunday I swore to renounce cheon, towards the well of St. Molaga. It was Shemus Oge O'Keefe, in whose favour Mary Fleming declared Mary," said he, with a calm and collected tone, “ I herself, as above related. At that time he was a tall forgive you and God forgive them that practised on commanding figure, where strength and agility finely your simplicity of heart. My feelings are not like those blended. His family were in decaying circumstances at of other men: my love has been as fierce as the lava-fire his birth; but he received a liberal education, for he had which burns in the bowels of Etna-it has consumed the been brought up by his uncle, a Roman Catholic ecclesiastic, marrow of my bones. This is the last time I shall obwho, dying when he was young, left Shemus no other intrude my accents on your ear-never, never more shall heritance than poverty; and he returned to his widowed this unfortuate wretch cross the pathway of your future mother's cottage, to share her scanty means, and assist life. Mary, farewell for ever. in the cultivation of a few fields which remained from

the wreck of their ruined fortunes. When her father heard Mary's abrupt declaration in favour of Shemus Oge O'Keefe, he stood aghast with surprise; for though that young man, immediately after his return to his mother's cottage, was fortunate enough to preserve Mary Fleming from drowning, a stranger to the warmth of gratitude himself, he hardly reflected on the extent of the obligation due to Shemus Oge, or thought that his daugh ter's intimacy with her deliverer exceeded the bounds of mere acquaintance. He procured one whose influence ought to have been directed to better ends, to tamper with the simplicity of the untaught girl; who, by authority and persuasion, so wrought upon her religious feelings, that she was induced to believe, that entertaining a secret passion for any person contrary to the wishes of her father, was in direct opposition to the laws of God; and that to atone in some measure for her crime, and

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to Myles Mahony on the next Sunday, and it is said that The wretched Mary Fleming gave her reluctant hand the unfortunate girl heard the mournful howling of O'Keefe's little dogs during the marriage ceremony. This denoted that a descendant of the race of O'Keefe was dead; and the report soon prevailed, that Shemus Oge had breathed his last. The bride, in all the settled calmness of despair, with a firm, subdued tone, and tearless eye, requested her husband's permission to weep one half hour over the corpse of Shemus Oge O'Keefe. It was the request of her bridal night; nor did he deny the

It is said that the approaching death of an O'Keefe is announced by a supernatural melancholy cry, resembling the howling of dogs. A man in Duhallow lately assured me, that he both saw the three little dogs and heard their howling at the time the last representative of the O'Keefe family died

melancholy boon. She came and the following is a literal translation of the dirge or cione she uttered over her beloved youth. The original words are sung to a melancholy air by the peasantry of Roche's country.

"O! deep despair! O, dreadful doom, to view thee laid low in death, bedewed by the tears of thy wretched Mary. I little thought when I gave thee the vow, that I should send thee to an untimely grave; but heaven beholds I would yield my life to preserve thine.

"We exchanged in mutual love a token, and never shall I break the holy promise. I will prize for ever the sacred pledge that bound me when thy chaste modest arm circled my waist.

"Ye fair maidens whose pearly tears are falling, whose bosoms are melting with generous compassion, ye are sensible that Shemus Oge had many a charm to win me, and warm into love the heart that breaks in my bosom.

"His was the speed of the wild roe of the mountain, the unrivalled blush of the rose, the mildness of the dove, the retiring modesty of the cowslip. Many a virgin sighed for his love.

"Our favourite thorn has heard the vows we plighted, and though artifice has doomed me the bride of another, I shall be thine, pure and undefiled. Though my father basely sold me for gold, I shall fly to thy embrace-no power of earth can restrain me.

"A hated husband-let other arms embrace him-the virgin's bridal bed shall be the grave of her lover. His blest spirit shall hover on the wing, till his betrothed fly to his eternal society.

“Wait, wait awhile! my soul warm sighs to rejoin thee. Our greetings shall be unalloyed in the realms of peace, and our bridal sleep shall know no waking. This song of sorrow shall cease, for Shemus Oge calls his beloved-I go! I go!"

Her song of lamentation was hushed; she laid her bosom on that of her lifeless lover, and heaved one deep sigh-it was her last; for when the mourners that attended the corpse sought to remove her, they found her heart and its sorrows hushed in eternal repose.

Fleming would not permit that the remains of his unfortunate daughter should repose in the same grave with Shemus Oge O'Keefe; they rest in the respective buryingplaces of their families, which were contiguous; and the next spring beheld two trees planted by unknown hand, unite in midway, and form by their intertwining branches the figure called a true lover's knot, emblematic of their changeless fidelity in life and death.

THE WHITEFOOT.

BY A LADY.

'Twas on a drear and stilly night,
When all had sought repose,

When scarce a gleam of cheering light,
Amid the gloom arose,

Young Edward reach'd our lonely home,
Ere forc'd from all he lov'd to roam-
His father land, companions gay,
With whom Life's morn swift pass'd away.

How like his heart was that drear night,
There hope had ceas'd to dwell;
Sweet hope, which misery cannot blight,
O'er him you cast no spell.

He seem'd in this wide world as one
Wretched, forsaken, and alone;
For by his rashness were the few
Devoted to him wretched too.

He once had friends, and kindred dear,
Till civil discord's strife

Robb'd him of all he held most dear,
Even his intended wife.

The idol of his soul was she,
Aye, from his very infancy ;-
Oh! mad'ning thought, that from his heart
She's sever'd by a villain's art.

Revenge now fill'd the generous heart,
That love so long had sway'd-

He vow'd ere life's last throb should part,
To avenge his dear, lov'd maid;

E. W.

Then sought his base false-hearted friend,
And soon of parleying made an end.
In deadly struggle now they meet-
He lays him lifeless at his feet.
A haggard wanderer here he stood,
Of wild and reckless mien ;
How different in air and mood

From what he late had been!
His bosom heav'd as if the air
In flowing wave were pent up there;
While from his eye a light was cast,
As if his warm soul beam'd its last.
Awhile he stands in silent maze,

Where oft he stood of yore,
As 'twere to take a farewell gaze

Of scenes he'd view no more;
His burning glance then full he cast
On one whose heart was with'ring fast-
A heart that lov'd him far too well
For peace within it now to dwell.
That glance a pardon would entreat,
For ev'ry painful sigh,

Caused by his hapless wayward fate—
Since tears first dim'd her eye.

Ah, me! how many bitter tears

Have dim'd those eyes for three long years-
Will dim them should the feeling still
Remain, their glassy orbs to fill.

He tho' long school'd in deep distress,
Felt now the poignant grief
That will a gentle spirit press

Where hope gives no relief;
He felt a burning feverish glow

That seem'd through his swollen veins to flow;
Tears like a torrent rapid gushed,

And from his once loved home he rushed.
The broad Atlantic's wave soon bore,
From his dear native land,
Young Edward to a distant shore,

Where midst a patriot band,
Two ling'ring years he nobly fought,
And found at length the grave he sought--
For life a burden had become,

His hopes all pointed to the tomb.

Kilkenny, September.

THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE FAIRY. BY THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. Would'st thou know what tricks by the pale moonlight Are played by me, the merry little sprite, Who wing thro' air, from the camp to the courtFrom king to clown, and of all make sport,

Singing, am the sprite,

Of the merry midnight,

Who laugh at weak mortals, and quaff the moonlight.

To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept,
And dreamt of his cash, I slily crept ;
Chink, chink, on his pillow, like money I rang
And he wak'd to catch, but away I sprang.

I saw through the leaves in a damsel's bower;
She was waiting her love at that star-light hour
"Hist, hist! quoth I, with an amorous sigh,
And she flew to the door, but away flew I.

While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love,

Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from above;

And he swoon'd-for he thought 'twas the ghost, poor man Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran,

Singing, I am the sprite,

Of the merry midnight,

Who laugh at weak mortals, and quaff the moonlight.

TO OUR READERS.

As we have been informed since the publication of our last Number, that the story of Squire Beamton, which we gave in it, had previously appeared in another periodical in this city, we feel called upon to say, that the author sent the manu script of the story to us some time ago, with a request that we would publish it; and finding it had merit, but wanted some slight alterations, which we had not then time to make, we allowed it to remain over. The gentleman who forwarded it, has since assured us, that he never sent it to any other person for publication; we therefore presume that the story having been, like many others, often repented in company, was furnished by another hand, to the miscellany in which it appeared.

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This chaste and elegant edifice, situated in lower Abbey-street, consists of three stories; in the basement there is a loggia or recess, ornamented by two fluted columns, of the Doric order, supporting the first story. Over the entrance is a head of Palladio, representing Architecture; over the window on the right, one of Michael Angelo, representing Sculpture, and on the left, of Raphael, emblematic of Painting. These are by J. Smyth, Esq. an associate. Passing through an entrance-hall, and ascending a broad flight of steps, the first exhibition room, 40 feet by 20, and intended for water-colour drawings, is entered. This communicates by an arch-way with the great saloon, for the exhibition of oil paintings, 50 feet by 40, lighted by a lantern. From this room a door-way on the right leads to the new Sculpture gallery, which is a beautiful octagonal apartment.

The Academy is possessed of a fine collection of casts from the antique, a few pictures by the old masters, and a tolerable library of works, chiefly connected with the Fine Arts, the greater number of which were presented by the late Edward Houghton, Esq.

A very ingeniously contrived stair-case leads to the council-room, keeper's-apartment, &c. which are all in the front building. The first stone of this edifice was laid on the 29th of April, 1824, by F. Johnston, Esq.; and on a copper plate which was firmly bedded in the stone, was the following inscription: Anno. Dom. MDCCCXXIV. His Most Gracious Majesty, George

the Fourth, King of the United Kingdoms of Great Bri tain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. having by his Royal Letters Patent, bearing date the 5th of August, 1823, incorporated the Artists of Ireland, under the name of The Royal Hibernian Academy of Painting Sculpture, and Architecture;' Francis Johnston, Esq. Architect, one of the members of that body, munificently founded this building for their use, to form a National School of Art; and laid this, the first stone, April 29th, 1824, the day appointed for the celebration of His Majesty's birth, in the presence of the Academy." Then follow the names of the original members. Messrs. Carolan were the builders.

This body was founded by Royal Charter, August the 2d, 1823, and consists of fourteen Academicians, and ten associates, all of whom must be professional Painters, Sculptors, or Architects. For the last few years it bas, like the Royal Irish Academy, received an annual Parliementary grant of £3000. To the generous and patriotic spirit of its first President, the late Francis Johnston, Esq. architect, it is indebted for the noble suite of rooms which constitute the Academy house, and which were given to the Academy for ever, at a rent of five Shilling per annum. To these rooms a statue gallery has been since added by his widow, and presented to the Academy for ever, at a similar rent.

Dublin; Printed and Published by P. D. HARDY, 3, Cesilia stress;

whom all communications are to be addraged,

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ROYAL DUBLIN SOCIETY. This valuable Institution originated in the private meetings of a few eminent men, Dr. Prior, Dr. Madan, and others, in 1731, for scientific purposes, and was supported solely by their subscriptions for eighteen years. On April 2d, 1749, George II. granted a charter of incorporation, as the "Dublin Society, for promoting Husbandry and other useful Arts," and £500 per annum; since which period, parliament have lent liberal patronage and support: it is governed by a President (his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland,) and six VicePresidents. The Governors and Company of the Bank of Ireland are Treasurers; the officers are, seven Vice-Presidents, two Honorary Secretaries and an Assistant, a Professor and Lecturer on Botany and Agriculture, Professor of Chemistry, Professor and Lecturer on Mineralogy and Geology, Lecturer in Experimental Philosophy, Librarian, Master of the School for Ornament and Landscape Drawing, Master of the Figure School, Master of the School for Agricultural Drawing, Master for Sculpture, and Curator at the Botanic Gardens, Glasnevin. There is a General Meeting every Thursday at two o'clock, except during summer recess.

The subscription to become a member of the Society for life, is 20 guineas; the number of members is about

600.

The original object of the institution was to enurage husbandry and all useful arts; and premiums are conually offered in various departments. anThe first regular place of meeting used by the Society

VOL. IV. NO. 18.

Engraved by Clayton,

was in Shaw's court, till October, 1767, when they rcmoved to a convenient building which they had erected in Grafton-street; from this latter place they removed, in 1796, to Hawkins'-street, where they had built an edifice for their Repository, Laboratory, Galleries, Library, &c.

In 1815, the members of this patriotic institution purchased, for £20,000, the noble mansion of the Duke of Leinster, in Kildare street, long celebrated as one of the most splendid private residences in Europe. A grand gateway of rustic masonry leads from Kildare-street intc a spacious court, forming an immense segment of a circle before the principal front, which is 140 feet long by 70 deep. The front is richly decorated by Corinthian columns, an entablature, pediment, and balustrades, and the windows are all ornamented by architraves, &c. On each side, short Doric columns communicate with the chemical laboratory and lecture-rooms. A fine lawn, in the rere of the building, extends to Merrion-square, from which it is separated by a dwarf-wall. The interior fully corresponds with the external magnificence of this edifice.

HALL.

In three square niches, above the front arcade, are large busts of Nero, Vespasian, and Brutus; over one of the doors, on the right hand side, are busts of Mithridates, Alexander, and Homer; and on the adjacent chimney piece those of Plautia, the Farnese Hercules, and Galatea. Above one of the doors, on the opposite side, are

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