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you shall have a peep at my journal, by way of recompense for defeat."

“ And have you really the conceit to think that you can checkmate me, after my bothering the Automaton at Liverpool ? I tell thee, Jack, had it not been for one oversight, I should have been victorious. Well, come, I will show you how brightly the stars shine on this green mountain ; and after we have convinced Mary that you are fonder of tea than either port or punch, for which I assure you she will pay you a well deserved compliment, I will attack you, though I would rather first look into your pocket companion.”

But this will require another number,

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N°. VII.


Unequal task, a passion to resign,
For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine !
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate !
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain, do all things but forget !


Of all things I like to hear men tell their own stories. The third person should never be employed in biography, when the first can be made to speak; for there are many little joints that actually contain the marrow of the narrative, which none but the first person can be acquainted with. I shall, therefore, speak for my friend Jack only when his journal is silent, leaving him, at all other times, to tell his own unvarnished tale.

It has been mentioned, that Mr. Malony was the son of a magistrate and a man of fortune. At an early age Jack's propensity for the army was gratified. I need not describe the natural exultation he felt upon seeing himself the first time in a handsome uniform of scarlet, blue, and gold. His regiment was then stationed in the lively town of Belfast. Jack had letters of introduction not only to his immediate commanding officer, but to many of the first families in the fashionable circle. With a very agreeable person, an easy air, a good horse to ride, and that delightful brogue which the higher orders in the South of Ireland pride themselves on, Jack was soon considered a lady-killer. He seemed insensible, however, to the charms of the fair. In fact, he had no heart to bestow. Emma Townley, beautiful

young creature in his own neighbourhood, had from his earliest age received the homage of his eyes at church, and he never after was able to transfer his devotion to any other saint.

While he was dreaming of Emma and promotion, an order arrived for his corps to embark at Cork for the East Indies. What could Jack do? His father would not hear of marriage. Indeed, it

a very

would have been quite absurd at the age of seventeen. He kissed

He kissed poor Emma’s hand, looked as though he loved her dearly, but his tongue told no tales: she saw the vessel that bore him off trembling and dying away in distance; she shed a few tears, repeated some lines of sentimental poetry, occupied herself with the amusements of the needle, and those charming accomplishments which enable the fair sex to kill time, and thought little more about young Malony. It was not so with Jack. Absence inflamed his love. He began to write most affecting letters to Emma and her mother; representing himself as feeling less from the burning rays of the Indian sun than from those glances which crossed the Atlantic, without being cooled, from the eyes of his charming young mistress. He said she haunted him in sleep: yet when he did not feel her influence, he could not rest; so that, according to his account, he was like the Irishman in the play, who sings

“ No rest I can take, aslecp or awake,

I dream of my jewel, I drcam of my jewel.” Mothers feel for their daughters, and fathers for their sons, though not always in proper time. Mrs.

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