180 JVaUci- in Ireland. [[Aug. 



Parthenon in Montague Street — to snatch from the hands of ignorant 

 Ijarbarians, the mummies and the tombs of the mysterious Pharaohs, 

 and bear them in antiquarian piety to the Panthean shrine of the British 

 Museum ; — a solitary ruffian — he must have been alone — who would have 

 shared the cowardly guilt ? — what two (for villains despise each other) 

 would have encountered the mutual scorn ?^ — had stolen into the quiet of 

 this so long venerated sanctuary, to destroy the monument, whose pious 

 simplicity six hundred years of desolating strife had spared ! 



As I was looking on the broken stone, full of a vain wish that I had 

 come upon the mutilator in his spitefid sacrilege, an aged mountaineer 

 approached ; his dark brow, and gaunt muscular figure, would have 

 been a study for Salvator, as he bent over the tomb, and muttered an 

 imprecation that Shakspeare might have copied — it was not needed ; 

 the cold and sordid cowardice which prompted the act is a seven-fold 

 and abiding curse. 



I do confess to you, that I am unwilling to commit to paper the full 

 extent of my feelings on the subject, but you shall not tell me that I 

 have spoken too warmly. The Christian religion, by affirming the doc- 

 trine of the Resurrection, has hallowed the tomb. The grave of her 

 votary is not a pit of rottenness and corruption, but a place of rest ; he 

 closes his eyes in the assurance that he shall sleep but for a season ; his 

 bones, Avliile they moulder, are consecrated to immortality, and the hand 

 that disturbs them is sacrilegious. 



One word more, and then farewell for the month. Suffer me to quote, 

 in justification of my own feelings, though " familiar to our mouths as 

 liousehold words," the emphatic appeal which saved the dust of Shak- 

 speare from translation, and checked the officious hands which would 

 have torn him from his beloved Stratford : 



" Good Friend, for Jesus' sake forbear 

 To dig the dust enclosed here ; 

 Blest be man that spares these stones ! 

 And ciust be he that moves yiy bones !" 



I tliought on these lines as I left the mutilated tomb. 



^ J. R. O. 



TO ***, WITH FLOWERS. 



Flowkrs to the Beautiful ! To them belong 



The lyre, the garland, and the voice of song — 



All that like them are lovely — all the earth 



Brought forth to glad them when she gave them bii th. 



Flowers to the Beautiful ! For thee I save 

 These opening blossoms from an early grave ; 

 Snatched from tlie dark cold earth, to thee they come. 

 And in thy bosom find their happy home. 



All wildly sweet and fresh they fly to thee. 

 Types of thyself — the innocent, tl;c free : 

 Beneath thy sunny smile, oh ! bid thcin bloom. 

 And yield their kindred tribute of perfume. 



Short are their lives, but lovely. Time, who brings 

 Sickness to us and sorrow, o'er them flings 

 Sunshine and Joy ; and, dying, they bequeath 

 Their breath to Beauly — to the Muse a wreath ! 



