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SECTION XXV.

I.

117. THE FAMINE IN IRELAND.

HERE lies upon the other side of the wide Atlantic a beautiful island, famous in story and in song. It has been prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and of greatness. Its brave and generous sons have fought successfully in all battles but its own. In wit and humor it has no equal; while its harp, like its history, moves to tears by its sweet but melancholy pathos.'

2. In this fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrible of all those fearful ministers who fulfill his inscrutable' decrees. The earth has failed to give her in'crease; the common mother has forgotten her offspring, and her breast no longer affords them their accustomed nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, has seized a nation with its strangling grasp; and unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, the gloomy history of the past.

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3. In battle, in the fullness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier whether the hissing bullet sing his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he who dies of hunger, wrestles ălōne, day after day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. He has no friends to cheer him in the terrible conflict; for if he had friends, how could he die of hunger? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him; for his foe, vampire-like, has exhausted his veins.

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4. Who will hesitate to give his mite, to avert such awful results? Give, then, oncrously and freely. Recollect, that in so doing, you are exercising one of the most god-like qualities of your nature, and, at the same time, enjoying one of the greatest luxuries of life. We ought to thank our Maker that he has

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1 Pathos, passion; that which excites passions and emotions; that which awakens tender emotions.

> Inscrutable, (in skrô'ta bl), that can not be found out by human reason; unsearchable.

Rē' qui em, a hymn imploring rest for the dead.

Văm' pire, a fabulous devil or spirit, that was supposed to suck the blood of persons asleep; hence, one who lives by preying on others.

permitted us to exercise equally with himself, that noblest of even the Divine attributes,' benevolence.

5. Go home and look at your families, smiling in rosy health, and then think of the pale, famine-pinched cheek of the poor children of Ireland; and you will give according to your store, even as a bountiful Providence has given to you—not grudg ingly, but with an open hand; for the quality of benevolence. like that of mercy,

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"Is not strained;'

It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven,
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed;
It blessès him that gives, and him that takes."
S. S. PRENTISS.

II.

118. ONLY THREE GRAINS OF CORN.

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IVE me three grains of corn, mother,
Only three grains of corn;

It will keep the little life I have,

Till the coming of the morn.

I am dying of hunger and cold, mother,
Dying of hunger and cold,

And half the agony of such a death
My lips have never told.

2. It has gnawed like a wolf, at my heart, mother,
A wolf that is fierce for blood,-

All the livelong day, and the night beside,
Gnawing for lack of food.

I dreamed of bread in my sleep, mother,
And the sight was heaven to see,—
I awoke with an eager, famishing lip,
But you had no bread for me.

3. How could I look to you, mother,
How could I look to you,

For bread to give to your starving boy,
When you were starving too?

'At' tri būte, that which is con- to, a person or thing.

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sidered as dwelling in, or belonging Strained, forced; unnatural.

For I read the famine in your cheek,
And in your eye so wild,

And I felt it in your bony hand,

As

you laid it on your child.

4. The queen has lands and gold, mother,
The queen has lands and gold,

While you are forced to your empty breast
A skeleton babe to hold,-

A babe that is dying of want, mother,
As I am dying now,

With a ghastly look in its sunken eye,
And famine upon its brow.

5. What has poor Ireland done, mother,
What has poor Ireland done,

That the world looks on, and sees us starve,
Perishing, one by one?

Do the men of England care not, mother,
The great men and the high,

For the suffering sons of Erin's isle,
Whether they live or die?

6. There is many a brave heart here, mother,
Dying of want and cold,

While only across the Channel, mother,
Are many that roll in gold;

There are rich and proud men there, mother,

With wondrous wealth to view,

And the bread they fling to their dogs to-night,
Would give life to me and you.

7. Come nearer to my side, mother,
Come nearer to my side,

And hold me fondly, as you held

My father when he died;

Quick, for I can not see you, mother;
My breath is almost gone ;

Mother, dear mother! ere I die,
Give me three grains of corn.

MISS EDWARDS,

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One silent woman stands,
Lifting, with meager hands,
A dying head.

5. No mingling voices sound,——
An infant wail ălōne;

A sob suppressed,—again
That short, deep gasp, and then
The parting grōan.

6. Oh, change!-oh, wondrous change!-
Burst are the prison bars,-
This moment, there, so low,
So agonized, and now
Beyond the stars!

1 Rěv'erent, submissive; humble. 2 Im mortal, imperishable; undying; lasting forever.

3 Paltry,(pål'tri), mean; worthless. 'Court' ier, one who attends or

frequents the courts of princes; one who flatters to please.

'Mēa' ger, having little flesh; thin; lean ; without richness, strength, or the like.

7. Oh, change!-stupendous' change!
There lies the soulless clod;
The Sun eternal breaks,-

The new immortal wakes,

Wakes with his God!

CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY.

T

IV.

120. THE PAUPER'S DRIVE.

HERE'S a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot

To the church-yard a pauper is going, I wot,'

The road it is rough, and the hearse has no springs;
And hark to the dirge which the sad driver sings:
"Rattle his bōnes over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!"

2. Oh, where are the mourners? Alas! there are none-
He has left not a gap in the world, now he's gone-
Not a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man;
To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can :
68 'Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!"

3. What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din! The whip how it cracks! and the wheels, how they spin! How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is hurled!The pauper at length makes a noise in the world! "Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!"

4. Poor pauper defunct!' he has made some approach
To gentility, now that he's stretched in a coach!
He's taking a drive in his carriage at last ;
But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast :
"Rattle his bones over the stones!

He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns!"

5. You bumpkins! who stare at your brother conveyedBehold what respect to a cloddy is paid!

1 Stū pění doŭs, astonishing; wonderful; amazing; especially, of amaz ing height or extent.

Wŏt, to be aware; know.

De funct', deceased; dead.

* Bump' kin, an awkward, heavy rustic; a clown, or awkward coun tryman.

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