524 The March of Mind : u Tale of Crutched-Friars. [Nov. 



quite a pony in its dimensions ; and at the further end of the room, near 

 the door, stood a pot of half-and-half, a pen'orth of pickled cabbage in a 

 tea-cup, a twopenny French roll, a black horn dinner knife, and a fork 

 with two prongs, both of which were broken. On observing these evident 

 symptoms of domestic conviviality, I abruptly hastened my departure ; 

 but, on my return home by way of Crutched-Friars, could not refrain 

 from stopping an instant in order to survey my old friend's establishment. 

 It was in the most deplorable condition possible. The voice of its till 

 was mute ; the very fixtures themselves were removed ; and advertise- 

 ments, three deep, specifying in lai-ge red characters the virtues of 

 Daffy's Elixir, were posted up on door, wall, and window-shutter. 

 Altogether, the scene was of the most affecting character, and forcibly 

 impressed on my mind the calamities attendant on what Shakspeare calls 

 " ill-judged ambition." 



FAREWELL TO DUBLIN. 



Fahewell to Dublin, threadbare city. 

 Where all are debtors — niore's the pity ; 

 Where, like bagged cats, or spiders bottled. 

 Each bankrupt s by his brother throttled. 

 Farewell to catchpoles, tailors, duns. 

 Those modern Vandals, Goths, and Huns, 

 Farewell to Dan's Association, 

 Cockpit of swaggering starvation. 

 Farewell to Bradley King's old glorious ! 

 Farewell to city feasts, uproarious ; 

 Attorney, sheriff, turnkey, gaoler, 

 Dust, gas, and smoke, and Major Taylor. 

 Farewell to Nelson and his Pillar 

 (Beanstalk, and Jack-the-Giant-killer) ; 

 To sleepy levees, ill attended. 

 Nobody happy till they're ended ; 

 To creaking concerts, timeless squalls ; 

 To kick-shin parties, nicknamed balls ; 

 Dull drawing-rooms, and birtli-day nights. 

 State-carriages, and Lord Mayor's sights ; — 

 To these, and ten times more, adieu ! 

 Dublin, I hope I've done with you. 



And is it thus, with careless heart. 

 From all my early ties I part? 

 Sail, laughing, from my native shore. 

 Friends, kindred, home, to see no more ? 

 Is there no fond remembrance nigh 

 To chase the smile, and wake the sigh — 

 No spot, amid the dark dull scene. 

 To weeping Memory ever green ? 

 Alas ! the heart will often hide 

 Its wounds beneath the folds of pride : 

 The sun will smile on ruined towers, 

 The frost will gem the leafless bowers ; 

 The rose will blossom o'ei the tomb. 

 And mock the faded with its bloom ; 

 And cold Despair will bring relief 

 To pangs that lie too deep for grief. 



Away with care ! I'll woo the breeze 

 That speeds me o'er the willing seas. 

 Dimly recedes my once-loved home, 

 Faint and more faint gleam spire and dome ; 

 Mountain and grove, and stream and dell. 

 Melt like a dream ;— Farewell !— farewell ! J. R. O. 



