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nothing would be left for her to reign over in Munster, but the ashes of burned villages, and the dead bodies of their inhabitants.

Under the milder government of Sir John Perrot, the condition and prospects of Ireland presented a somewhat brighter aspect. With Elizabeth, however, this Lord Lieutenant was no favourite. His motives and his actions were misrepresented by the dependants upon the English government, and he was harassed by restrictions which prevented the execution of many of his plans for the benefit of the distracted country over which he presided. “I can govern,” said Sir John Perrot, “ the Queen's Irish subjects; but not her English servants in Ireland.”

Almost the only satisfactory event on record during this period is the establishment of the University of Dublin. Sir John Perrot, who was succeeded in the Lord-Lieutenantcy by Sir William Fitzwilliam, had strongly advised the formation of such an institution ; but the plan, in his time, had been, like many other of his benevolen and beneficial designs, successfully opposed. At length, however, obstacles were removed or overcome, and the University was founded in the year 1591. From this measure, great advantages to Ireland were reasonably to be anticipated, and have, in truth, resulted; yet its efficacy was lamentably diminished by the fact, that the advocates and supporters of the new institution desired and endeavoured, with mistaken and mischievous policy, to suppress or extinguish the Irish language. That tongue was not learned by the students; and, by consequence, multitudes of those who spoke it were left without the means of receiving Protestant instruction.

It has been reserved for the present age, to repair, in some measure, this evil; the greatest, perhaps, of the many evils which have afflicted our Sister-Island. Wide and deep have been the streams of English benevolence which of late years have flowed, to relieve the miseries of Ireland. "Man," however, “ does not live by bread alone;" and happy is it for Ireland, that “The Irish Society, for the Promoting of the Scriptural Education and Religious Instruction of the Native Irish, through the medium of their own language," offers to our Irish fellow-subjects "the Bread of Life ;” thus supplying them with that spiritual food, of which, in many parts of the island, they are no less destitute than they are of earthly sustenance.

The ill-advised policy which prevailed at the period of the establishment of the Dublin University, must ever be regretted ; the evils resulting from that policy are, however, daily decreasing; and while the agents of the Irish Society are labouring with zeal and success in behalf of the best interests of the poor native Irish, the higher classes of Irish society may well rejoice in the many advantages which they derive from their University.

The largest of the inner courts of Trinity College, Dublin, is called Parliament Square, in consequence of a parliamentary grant to the College in aid of its erection. This noble court is three hundred and sixteen feet in length, and two hundred and twelve feet broad; its lofty buildings being fronted with granite, while the ornamental mouldings and other architectural decorations are of Portland stone. The accompany ing plate exhibits in the foreground, on the right hand, a portion of the front of the

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THE SOLDIER OF THE FORLORN HOPE.

97

Commons Hall; an elegant and well-proportioned structure. Near the centre of the engraving, is the beautiful Corinthian Portico of the Chapel. Opposite to this Portico is another, precisely similar, and constituting the entrance to the Theatre. Parliament Square contains, also, the students' chambers, and the different College Lecture-rooms. To the celebrated architect, Sir William Chambers, who designed this magnificent court, Ireland owes one of the main ornaments of her metropolis.

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Then came the trumpet's sudden blast,

The clarion's instant call;
Arm! warriors, arm ! A Forlorn Hope

Must scale the Fortress wall !

The wall is scaled; the fortress won;

See England's standard wave
From its proud towers; but where is he,

The leader of the brave !

She heedeth not, poor Isabel !

The shouts that rend the air; Where is the valiant Lord Fitzurse ?

And her fears whisper—where?

Onward she hastes, with faltering step,

Toward the well-fought field; Past the bright watch-fires, in whose blaze,

Still glitter sword and shield.

A cloud comes o'er the summer-moon;

She hears the night-wind sigh ;
The rain-drops fall, and dark mists hide

The erewhile starlit sky.

It recks not; still the tents are near,

Their night-fires burning bright; And on she speeds her on her way,

By their red, lurid light.

She knows Fitzurse that day had rush'd

Into the deadly fray,
In hope the sting of her cold frown

In death to chase away.

And is he slain ? Ah! Isabel !

Thine is the hope forlorn;
Might he not have return'd to thee,

But for thy pride this morn?

Madly she seeks him, 'mid the dead,

Beneath the murky skies; The moon breaks forth—and her pale beam

Points where Lord Fitzurse lies !

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