1831.] the Elections and Prospects of Ireland. 635 



you're off again like shot out of a shovel. Come back again, I tell you, 

 and look at me. Oh ! I suppose there's nobody else that's deserving of 

 a cheer. Now, I'm burned, but I b'lieve you think you're all reformers 

 complete, and that the world wide couldn't match you for the laming. 

 But who enlightened you upon it ? who told you that the millenium was 



come, and (The idea is caught up by the grateful auditory, and 



before the priest can finish the sentence, an indescribable tumuli of voices 

 transmits the name of Father Murphy to the astonished welkin). 



A straw thrown up will shew the course of the wind ! 



LOVE AND NOVELISM. 



To the Editor. 



SIR : This, as every body knows, or ought to know, is the age of 

 novels. They are no doubt admirable things, and contain every charm 

 on earth but one novelty. In looking over them, I find myself in the 

 condition of the celebrated Madame du Deffand's husband ; to whom 

 that lady always gave the same book, which her innocent lord always 

 read through, observing f ' that it was very amusing, but that it now and 

 then struck him as having some resemblance to something that he had 

 seen somewhere else before." I feel in a similar predicament, and, like 

 him, though highly, delighted, yet cannot help thinking, on the perusal 

 of every new novel, that I am re-introducing myself to an old acquaint- 

 ance. However, as, when we cannot have new facts or feelings, we 

 must be content with variety of style, I send you, from the pen of an 

 accomplished friend, who never writes novels, a specimen of the variety 

 that may be produced by change of locale in the picture of the tender 



passion. 



IsOve-making. Cheapside. 



I met her at the Easter Ball ; the ' ' fair, the inexpressive she." Our 

 eyes met it was the electric fire, the penetrating spirit of passion, the 

 language of soul to soul. She was dressed a la Acker mann's last 

 magazine, and reminded me of the picture of Venus rising from the sea. 

 Our flame was mutual, we sighed together, drank lemonade together, 

 and waltzed together. We parted with a confession of unalterable faith 

 on both sides. Next day I sent her the following verses : 



TO ISABINDE. 



Come, sit with me on London Bridge, 



And look upon the river ; 

 For Cupid's sure to meet us there, 



And bring his bow and quiver : 

 And there we'll gaze upon the main, 



And revel in the storm ; 

 And Passion's rosy cup we'll drain, 



Delicious, wild, and warm. 



Come, sit with me on London Bridge, 



And hear the billows roar ; 

 And we will rove in Fancy's bower, 



And think of earth no more : 

 With breezes breathing round our heads, 



And at our feet the waves, 

 We'll tread where true love only treads, 



And laugh at Custom's slaves. 

 4 M 2 



