bottom of the house should also be removed every three or four months, as the effluvium which arises from it when in a large mass, and in a state of fermentation, is injurious to the health of the birds, and also prevents them making use of the lower tiers of nest-holes. In point of situation, a gentle acclivity, exposed to the south, and open to the rays of the sun, in which the pigeon delights to bask and repose, is the most favourable. It ought not to be too far removed from a plentiful supply of water, as the pigeon is a great and frequent drinker; neither too closely surrounded by trees, as, when near, they interfere with the free egress and ingress of the birds, and are supposed to be disagreeable to them, from the noise they make in winds and storms. The pigeon being a bird of a timid nature, and easily alarmed, the house should stand at such a distance from all the other offices, as not to be incommoded by any noise or movements about them. From a pigeon-house of tolerable dimensions, a produce of many dozens of young may annually be procured, and that for nearly eight months out of the twelve, as they are in full breeding from March till the end of May, and again from August till the close of November; and all that is required to keep up the breeding stock, is to permit a limited portion of the latter hatchings to escape.

"Domestic or fancy pigeons are generally kept confined in aviaries, or lodged in appropriate buildings attached to or near the house of the breeder, in order that they may be regularly and easily fed, cleansed, and duly attended to in all matters having reference to their condition and

health; for their natural instinct and their feeling of li berty have been so nearly effaced, or placed in abeyance by the captivity to which they have been subjected for so many generations, that they have become nearly dependent upon man for support, and have lost the power or ca pability, even when allowed to fly at large, of looking for and finding their own food, insomuch that, if left to themselves, they would in all likelihood perish from hunger and want. In these buildings, it is usual to erect a certain number of boxes or divisions against the walls or sides, each calculated to accommodate a pair of pigeons, with their nest and young. They are best when separated and distinct from each other, with a small platform, and an entrance just large enough to admit the bird; as, when disposed in a continuous row, and open in front, the birds are apt to interfere with each other, and, by their jealousies and contentions, to prevent the due increase of eggs and young. To ensure the purity of any particular kind, the young males, as soon as they shew symptoms of maturity, which is known by particular gesticulations and their cooing-notes, are placed apart in a chamber constructed for the purpose, with a female of the same variety. Here they remain till a mutual attachment has taken place, after which they may be returned to the general aviary or dove-house; for, when once an alliance is effected, it generally continues undissolved and inviolate till the death or removal of one of the parties; on which account many different varieties may be kept in the same aviary, or associated together in one building, with out much apprehension of having a contaminated breed."

The above is a correct representation of the equestrian statue of William III., which stands in College-green, on a pedestal of granite stone, considerably elevated, and surrounded by iron palisades. The pedestal is formed into pannels, and decorated with military emblems. The statue itself is well executed, the king is crowned with a laurel wreath, and on the pedestal is the following inscription :-

GULIELMO TERTIO

MAGNE BRITANNIE, FRANCIA, ET HIBERNIÆ

REGI,

OB RELIGIONEM CONSERVATUM,
RESTITUTAS LEGES

LIBERTATAM ASSERTAM.

CIVES DUBLINIENSIS HANC STATUAM POSSUERE.

This statue was erected, in 1701, by the citizens of Dublin, to commemorate the Revolution of 1688.

It would appear that from the very first moment of its erection, this statue has been a source of discord and ill will. During the government of the Duke of Wharton,

VOL. IV.-No. 21.

an attack was made upon it, which called forth the interference of the Irish government. On the 25th of June, 1700, the Jacobites or Tories very much defaced ittwisted the sword from one hand and the truncheon from the other, and daubed the face and body with some black substance, which could not be removed without scraping. The House of Lords, then assembling in College-green, addressed the Duke of Wharton on the transaction; who, the next day, issued a proclamation, offering a reward of one hundred guineas or pounds for a discovery of the guilty persons. The House of Commons was at the time adjourned, but when they assembled, on the 1st of August following, they also addressed his Excellency on the same subject. The authors were never discovered; but the city having caused the statue to be repaired, the thanks of the House of Commons, without a dissentient voice, were given to the Lord Mayor and citizens for so doing. In more modern times its annual commemoration was a source of much exasperation among the lower orders. This feeling, however, has of late very much died away.

161

On a bright summer's morning, as I stood on one of the tremendous cliffs which overhang the broad Shannon at its mouth-where the unceasing war of the Atlantic's gigantic waves had fretted and foamed for ages, among the caves and hollows of this iron-bound coast-gradually a shade was thrown on the bosom of the placid glass-like river. As I gazed on the smooth waters the shadows increased, and imperceptibly began to take palpable forms. My wonder increased on perceiving, slowly developed, the shadowy forms of towers, steeples, and turretted castles, which spread themselves on every side. There was to be seen, clearly defined, a noble town. On

a sudden I heard a noise, as of rushing waters, accompanied with what I took to be wailings and lamentations, Looking towards the sea, I saw the white-crested waves rushing with impetuosity towards the shadowy town. On they came, and in a moment all had vanished, except one solitary castle, at its farthest extremity. From this (as I gazed with increased astonishment) issued the form of a warrior, armed, and mounted on a jet black horse; on his crupper was seated a female form, who clung closely to the warrior with one hand-the other she alternately waved towards where the town was, and the shore where I stood. They buffetted with the waves for a few moments, and then sunk amidst the boiling surges. As I turned, with melancholy feelings, from viewing these strange appearances, I heard a voice calling me, in a commanding tone, to remain. I stood transfixed. A venerable old man, in the garb of a monk, was advancing from the face of the cliffs towards me.

"Stay, oh, man!" said he, "and hear from me the melancholy story of the strange sights to which you have been an unbidden spectator. I, alone, (destined for my punishment to remain on earth till time shall be no more,') can explain these wonders. Centuries have passed," he continued, "since these now deserted shores were enlivened by the neighbourhood of a large and po pulous town, such as you have just now seen reflected on the waters. Buried many fathoms beneath these waves lie the palaces and castles of princes and barons of this land. How so great a calamity happened you shall

hear.

"The castle of king Ulic was illuminated for a genera: banquet and rejoicing. His queen had given birth to a daughter, heiress to his throne and possessions. The numerous retainers of the king occupied each side of the

immense board, which reached from end to end of the great hall. At the head, on a throne elevated above the rest, sat the king himself. The night was nearly spent, and many of the revellers retired, when a stranger was observed standing just within the threshold, intently gazing on the king. All eyes were quickly turned on the intruder, who, seeing he was observed, walked deliberately up the hall. When he approached the king, he drew from under his ample robe a scroll of parchment, placed it before him and retired, as if to observe its effect. Tke king took up the parchment, and read as follows:

“Oh, king! when thy daughter a stranger shall wed, Whose hand with the blood of her father is red, Where thy castles now stand, the broad Shannon shall cover, And thy court-yard the grave of the maid and her lover.' "Seize that evil-boding stranger,' cried the king, greatly excited by what he had read. An hundred armed men started to their feet, but the stranger was no where to be found; how he had entered, or how departed, no man could tell. All present, deeply moved at the incident, deserted the banquet and retired to rest.

"Adjoining Ulic's territories, were those of Mac Murchard, the powerful chieftain of Leinster. These princes had united in amity in order to repel the English

invader. Mac Murchard had a son, then six years old, to whom Ulic determined to betroth his infant daughter; he sent a trusty messenger to negociate this treaty, and the marriage contract was ratified with the full consent of all parties. Mac Murchard, in order that his son should possess that learning of the schools which his ancestors despised, sent him to his brother's convent in France, where he was to remain until able to bear arms. Sixteen years had passed-the young Mac Murchard had long since returned, and became a successful wooer in person to the beautiful Eva. The day was fixed for the Some days previous to the marriage Mac Murchard's broceremony, and all was preparation for the festivity. ther, the monk, unexpectedly arrived from France. He came, he said, to look once more on his native land before he died.'

"At length the bridal morn arrived, most inauspiciously his timid bride to the altar-they pledged their mutual gloomy and tempestuous; the young Mac Murchard led vows, and the ceremony was finished. At this moment a voice was heard, saying, Ulic! Ulic! thy destiny is nearly, accomplished.' All eyes immediately turned towards that part of the chapel from which the voice came, and Ulic's followers instantly recognised the figure of the stranger monk, who had so mysteriously entered with the prophetic scroll.

"Ulic,' said he, as he advanced, 'look on me and reHast thou forgotten the day when you disgraced my cognise the enemy of thy youth, Alan Mac Murchard. manhood with a vile blow? thinkest thou, that because my father, treating me as a hot-brained boy, interfered, to that I have forgotten that degrading stain? You were prevent my staining my hands with thy coward blood, my senior in years and strength-you struck me; I swore an oath that I would not die until I had amply revenged the dishonour-that hour is now arrived. Far towards the black north I travelled, to a mighty sorceress, to procure that prophetic scroll; I it was who placed it on thy board; by my means thy daughter is wedded to a stranger, ther's son, the young Mac Murchard, lived but a few hours and thy ruin certain. Know, proud king, that my broafter his arrival at the convent; I, knowing of the marriage contract with your daughter, reared up an orphan peasant as the heir of Mac Murchard, and a base born Frenchman's son is the bridegroom you have chosen.'

"Then, perish, minion,' said Ulic, drawing his sword, and, with thy death, leave that accursed spell still unaccomplished;' he made a lunge at the bridegroom, but the monk, seeing his intention, threw himself between them, received the wound in his side, and fell.

then obliged to defend himself from the furious king, "The young Mac Murchard, (as we shall still call him) being hard pressed, made a desperate pass at Ulic, who fell mortally wounded.

"Fly,' cried the monk, with a faint voice; hear you not the roar of the raging waters-take up your fainting bride, and fly while there is yet hope.'

"All fled from the chapel on hearing this awful anchard, bearing the inanimate form of the lady, hastened nouncement of the dying monk. The young Mac Murtowards the stables, and led forth his trusty black war horse. The lady, now restored to animation, he placed behind him, and prepared to ride from the threatened danger; but it was too late. The lamentations and drowning cries of the inhabitants, borne on the winds,

announced that some dreadful occurrence had taken place; as he advanced to the gate the rush of the mighty ocean was heard-in a moment the gates were closed by the violence of the waves. Mac Murchard, still hoping to escape, clung to his horse, supporting his bride, but a gigantic billow was seen rolling along, with resistless impetuosity they rode on its summit for a moment, and were overwrelmed to rise no more. All that inhabited that peninsula were totally swallowed up by the rapacious element. Once in a hundred years the Phantom Town is seen in its wonted situation, and the events of that tremendous day are acted over again; and I, the guilty monk, Mac Murchard, an unwilling spectator of my evil work."

He ceased. I looked once more at the waters, now

ruffled by the western breeze, and turned again to address the spectre monk: he was gone. I departed, and never since visited the neighbourhood of the Phantom Town. W.F.G.

FOUR SONNETS.

MORNING.

Fresh fro n the chambers of the eastern skies Morning walks forth in gold-the shadows troop Gradual away-the mountain summits rise, Struggling thro' ambient darkness; now a group Of things confused and indistinct appears, Dim as to memory's eye the scenes of bygone years. 'Tis yet not quite clear morn—the shades of night, Still darkling on the western welkin, stray; But now another radiant glow of light Spreads far its lustre, quick they melt away, While, burnished with the orient's roseate hue, Earth and her fairest scenes stand full reveal'd to view. NOON.

Now, flaming up the heaven, the sun has made His mid-day journey; beneath his burning rays Earth torrid lies: delightful now the shade That spreads its coolness where a fountain plays In silvery meanders-there, there to lie, Nor feel the sultry influence of the summer sky; Serenely meditative right the soul Traverse throughout the farthest realms of thought, Gaze raptur'd on the landscape, and unrol Nature's page, with heavenly wisdom fraught. How fair and lovely the elysian scene, While all things smile beneath the sun's meredian beam.

EVENING.

Cool, zephyry, etherial, and serene, Mild evening walks along the western sky, A thousand shadows follow in her train; How slow and stealthily they move, the eye Scarce sees them stealing onward; like a sea, Whose waves still roll unseen vet gain upon the lea, Ever and anon another shadow sends, Along the earth, its deep and dusky fold. A balmy, soft, and freshening dew descends, Reviving Nature, curtained round with gold: Just on the verge of heav'n, with tranquil motion, The broad-orbed sun sinks wearied in the ocean.

NIGHT.

'Tis night-the mourning vest of Nature-dark And gloomy is the starless sky; around A melancholy stillness reigns; but, hark! 'Tis but the hooting of the owl. A sound Again breaks on the silence !-'tis a shrill

Where now the grandeur of creation ?

which, at the place, is of considerable breadth and depth. A good deal of damage has been done, but not so much as has been spoken of in the daily papers; upwards of thirty acres of arable land are completely covered, one house is nearly so, and a considerable quantity of corn and hay has been lost; the tops of corn stacks and hay ricks are scarcely visible: fortunately, no lives were lost. It is reported that the birds and hares fled from it, as fasc as possible, on hearing the first noise. This bog underwent a similar convulsion, but on an infinitely smaller scale, in November, 1810. This extraordinary occurrence is evidently to be attributed to water, lodged beneath the peat; which, it should be observed, in this district, lies on a stratum of blue clay, impervious to water, so that when any large quantity of water accumulates below, it must, of necessity, force up the bog, as it evidently has done in the present instance, the bog being now, through a vast extent, full of great rents filled with water. Ballymena, Oct. 5, 1835. G-Y.

THE PLEASURES OF HOPE.

Life is subject to a variety of sorrows and disappointments; even the wealthiest, who with "velvet pace go o'er its primrose path," are not exempted from a share in the many ills that "flesh is heir to "-none, from the highest rank to the lowest, from the king to the peasant, are totally free from the intrusions of care. Sorrow, in To counteract this natural heritage of man, there are some shape or other, is the common lot of mortality many feelings of the mind which, when existing to a high degree, tend, if not completely to neutralize, at least greatly to alleviate its acerbity. To bear with mild, but not, at the same time, passive resignation, whatever annoyances we meet with in our journey through life-to push forward with ardour, fearless of whatever apparent obstacles may lie in our way-are necessary to all who would aim at success; to repine and give way before disappointment is not only unmanly, but foolish, when we reflect that none are free from the same difficulties that we ourselves experience. Of all feelings, however, which give to the mind a tone of energy and perseverance, none seem to be so efficacious as hope. Hope, while we are in the darkness of care and sorrow, darts its warm sunbeam upon our minds, and chases away our inward gloom

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,
Adorns and cheers the way,

And as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.

Where

The crowds that mingled in the busy strife? All's now a dismal chaos, lone and drear, Rayless and black; and thus is it with lifeAwhile the scene is beautiful and bright,

MOVING BOG.

W. R.

This bog is generally known by the name of Slogan, or rather Sluggan bog, and lies on the right of the mail coach road from Randalstown to Ballymena. It is one of the largest in the County of Antrim, measuring upwards of fifteen hundred acres. On Saturday night, September 19th, the inhabitants of the neighbourhood were alarmed by repeated loud reports, in some measure resembling thunder, and which they soon discovered to proceed from the bog. Shortly after the immense mass began to move, and, taking a N.W. direction, spread over about fifty perches of the mail coach road, on which it now lies, from ten to fifteen feet deep. Passing the road, on an inclined plane, it moved on to the river Main, into which it flowed. The water and mud soon formed a channel of about twelve feet deep, in the centre of the part that was moving; and is, at this date, (October 5th,) still running, having nearly dammed up the river Main,

perty among his followers, what he reserved for himself, he replied-Hope. Hope, however, when indulged to excess, may be injurious, as it may prevent us from making the proper exertions ourselves. Johnson, in a beautiful allegory, represents hope seated upon a throne, which was approached by two gates, one guarded by reason, the other by fancy. Reason admitted none without a close examination; fancy admitted them indiscriminately. Those, says he, who went in through reason's gate, soon reached the throne of hope; while those who went in through fancy's, either as they advanced found some impenetrable barrier between them, or turned at once into the valley of idleness. Thus showing that hope, as well as other passions, may exist in the extreme; and thus that it either causes men to pursue objects which a little reflection would tell them could never be realised, or that it makes them remain in total inactivity, revelling in an ideal dream of happiness which is flitting before their imagination.

But hope, when indulged in moderately, gives a feeling

of buoyancy and fervour to the mind, which carries it forward through life without being oppressed or overpowered by trifling calamities.

Ancient mythology tells us, that when Jupiter wished to punish Prometheus, for stealing the fire from heaven, he sent a beautiful woman, Pandora, to present him with a box, from which, when opened, there flew out all the train of miseries and calamities that have since continued to afflict mankind. Hope, alone, remained at the bottom-it was it that was to alleviate and soften all the rest. There is, indeed, no feeling which is so generally prevalent, or to which men so frequently have recourse, as hope; and to men in affliction what so powerful to lighten the weight of sorrow, as to look forward to the prospect of happier days. The mind is ever active-the things of the present time are never sufficient for its gratification-it must, then, have recourse to subsidiary means; and, therefore, even in prosperity, it darts forward, upon the wings of hope, into futurity, and indulges itself in the elysian prospect which is there presented to

its view. The soldier and the philosopher must be equally animated by hope; the hope of success is as necessary for the exploits of the field as for the achievments of the study. Hope gilds our life, it makes sorrow lighter, and prevents fruition from degenerating into satiety. Even the captive in his dungeon, on whom for years, perhaps, the light of day has never beamed, is comforted by the genial rays of hope, which are able to burst through the bars of his prison, and shed their radiance upon his soul. Let one stand around the couch of a dear and departing friend-the last flicker of life is not yet out, the eye still rolls, and the pulse beats; death seems to be gradually advancing-yet, however, while the slightest breathing of life remains, hope cheers the sorrowing train, and never is that hope totally extinguished till the immortal spirit has broken away from its earthly tenement. To conclude, in the words of Addison, "Hope is a kind of vital heat in the soul, that cheers and glad dens her when she does not attend to it. It makes pain W. R. easy and labour light."

figure, which were accordingly submitted at the appointed time for their inspection; but the model of the master being considered on too large a scale, Smyth's was on the point of being chosen, when Van Nost begged a postponement of the choice for a short period longer. In the interval he cut his model in two, and omitted part of the centre, and thus presented it a second time for judgment; but this alteration had so cheated every other part of the figure of its fair proportions, that Smyth's model was immediately chosen; and the copy completely justifies the selection of the original.