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THE KING'S BRIDGE.

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by his faithful Irish subjects, should be appropriated to the construction of a handsome Bridge; which, crossing the river Liffey, should open a communication between the military road and the principal entrance to the Phænix Park.

This intimation failed not to meet the entire approbation of those to whom the inhabitants of Dublin had committed the execution of their loyal purpose. In fact, King George could not have suggested anything more perfectly agreeable to his devoted subjects in the Irish metropolis ; the existing approach to the Phænix Park being so inconvenient, that the citizens of Dublin were in a great measure deprived of the advantages naturally resulting from the vicinity of so large an extent of picturesque and ornamented ground.

The principal architects of the city were requested to supply designs for the proposed structure; and the king having selected, from the plans presented to him, that which he deemed the best, the necessary measures were taken for the actual erection of the Bridge.

The first stone of this loyal monument was laid on the twelfth day of December, 1827, by the Most Noble the Marquis of Wellesley, at that time Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. A silver trowel, of exquisite workmanship, was the implement employed on this interesting occasion ; the foundation-stone bearing the following inscription :

On the 12th day of December, 1827,

His Excellency the Most Noble
RICHARD MARQUIS OF WELLESLEY,

Knight of the Garter,
Lord-Lieutenant General,

and
Governor-General of Ireland,

laid the first

stone of this Bridge,
erected by subscription, as a national

Testimonial,
In Commemoration of the most gracious Visit of
HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE THE FOURTH

To IRELAND,
on the 12th day of August, 1821.

To this Inscription the names of the Chairman and Secretary of the managing Committee, together with that of the Architect who had supplied the successful design, were appended.

Most enthusiastic was the cheering when the first stone of The King's Bridge was lowered into its place. “God save the king !” “Long live the king !" were the loyal aspirations echoed and re-echoed on every side

“ Loud, as from numbers without number.” Cordial, however, as were those loyal cheers, they equalled not in enthusiasm the greetings, which, on the occasion of the recent visit of ANOTHER SOVEREIGN, burst, on the self-same spot, from assembled thousands. The vice-regal park was indeed “ alive that day,” when Queen Victoria there presented herself—a wife and a mother, accom

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S. S.-VOL. III.

panied by her Husband and her Children—to her Irish subjects. The shouts of triumph, “half British cheer, half Irish hurrah,” which in “The Fifteen Acres," on the ninth of August, 1849, rent the very air, was swelled by thousands and thousands of voices, and prompted by as many warm and loyal hearts; prompted, not by the memory of an absent monarch, but by the living presence of Her, to whom the spontaneous homage of affection, which, on this memorable occasion, she received from her Hibernian subjects, is more welcome than all the pomp of royalty; all the pageantry of state. Yet pomp was not wanting. Cavalry formed in squadrons around The Queen; infantry deployed into glittering lines; and artillery gave forth its thunders; but amid the roar of cannon, and the gush of martial music, Victoria listened with yet more delight to the living accents of the Irish multitudes who greeted her with "a hundred thousand welcomes."

The visit to Dublin of King George the Fourth was commemorated by the erection of a Bridge of enduring stone; the memory of that of Queen Victoria will be perpetuated yet more effectually in the loyal and grateful hearts of her Irish subjects. May He by whom kings reign, long preserve Her, to be a blessing to these islands and to the world !

RE M EM B R A N C E.

On! tell me not of smiling skies,

And a tideless, azure sea ;
Oh! tell me not of gorgeous flowers,

That bloom so radiantly!
Speak not to me of fragrant bowers,

Where Love and Joy may stay;
I long for the bright skies and seas,

That smile far, far away.

What reck I of thy skies of light,

Or of thy sunny strand ?
I know thee fair, bright Italy !

But dearer mine own land !
E’en while thy fragrant breezes fan

My faded, care-worn brow,
I think upon the far-off home,

I never more may know.

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