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Invulnerable nothings. We decay Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief Convulse us, and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

To the memory of Lord Byron there can be no more just or grateful tribute; because it shows at once the grounds upon which his fame rests, and the just title he has earned to that deathless reputation which his name must for ever enjoy. To the public no present can be more acceptable; because it exhibits to them, in a concise form, the prominent beauties of the best modern English poet; and, at the same time,

an interesting biography of one of the country's most distinguished or

naments.

Whilst Mr. Clinton appears to have diligently embodied all that is most interesting in the numerous publications which have issued from the press respecting Lord Byron since his decease, he has displayed talent as well as diligence; and in his volume will be found much original criticism, written with perspicuity and beauty. Another of its attractions must not be passed over: it contains no less than forty designs, from the exquisite pencil of George Cruikshank, which are alone worth more than the price of the volume.

FRAGMENT FOUND IN THE ROOM IN WHICH CHATTERTON DIED.

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ARM'D for death, I wait the coming hour;

Sure God approves, or He'd deny the power;

For life unasked He gave me ere I knew

'Twas boon or curse, or aught which might ensue ;
No choice was left, did not his justice give

The means of death, when I dislike to live;
Yet, ere on death's dark dreary path I go,

And quit a world which gave me nought but woe,
I must indulge a few regrets, that still,

Like human duties, act against the will

They would persuade that yet protracted days
Might find reward in fortune and in praise-

That youth's first dreams (alas! how grand and frail)
Might be fulfilled, and better hopes prevail.
So when the raft on angry waves is tossed,

And hope and life appear together lost,

Some master mind still grasps the useless oar,
And cheers his messmates with the hopes of shore;
But hopes are vain, new storms around them sweep
Till wretched life finds refuge in the deep.
Live me! ah, no! my youthful hopes are dead-
My prospects fade, and every joy is fied.
Relief I've sought-unless withheld by shame;
Yet three days' hunger still oppress my frame.

Conscious of merit, my unsuspecting mind
Thought in each name I should a patron find;
To show my worth I fancied would obtain
Applause from wits, and from the wealthy gain;
But Greatness heard not though I various sung,
And jealous Learning whispered'He is young'
Nay, some defamed me-though I did no more
Than Walpole's self and others did before;
I wronged no merit and aspersed no name,
My crime was but defrauding self of fame;
But, worthless wits, I know indeed too late

How small your praises, but how large your hate!
Ignoble foes, I scorn, but envy not,

For Chatterton shall live when you're forgot!

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Drawn by S. Catterson Smith Engraved by R. Cooper:

Published by JRobins & C°London & Dublin. Sep11825.

MEMOIR OF DANIEL O'CONNELL, ESQ.

IN countries even the most despotic there is generally deposited an inert, or rather chaotic, mass of mind, which requires only to be breathed on by some pure and ardent spirit, to make it shoot up into the form and character of public virtue. Ireland has frequently exhibited this moral phenomenon; but never more conspicuously than at the present moment. The nation seems now resolved, as one man, to cast off the slough of a slavish supineness, and assert their claims to those rights which impolicy and injustice would withhold from them. For this cheering and splendid spectacle we are, in a great measure, indebted to the patriotic individual whose portrait ornaments our present number. Daniel O'Connell, Esq. was born in 1775. He is descended from a line of ancestors who once enjoyed regal sway in that part of Ireland now known as the county of Kerry. Unlike many of the Irish families, the O'Connells have retained their ancient patrimony, or at least a reasonable equivalent, being now the most extensive proprietors in their native county.

Mr. O'Connell, being intended for the church, was sent at an early age to prosecute his studies at St. Omer's; for the bigoted policy of the times prohibited the education of Catholic youths within the dominions of the monarch whose laws they were subsequently to obey. Either Mr. O'Connell's parents mistook the disposition of their son, or, what is more probable, the son discovered his want of a vocation; for, after finishing his studies, he abandoned all thoughts of the sacred profession, and betook himself to Coke upon Littleton,' and the other erudite authorities on the

English laws. Before his twentythird year he had devoured the usual quantities of dinners in the Middle Temple, and in 1798 was called to the Irish Bar-a profession, to the minor honours of which Catholics had only just obtained admission.

Mr. O'Connell had not to complain of the difficulties which usually environ a candidate in his progress at the Bar. His great abilities, legal knowledge, and acuteness of intellect, soon procured him clients, and in a

few years he was in the enjoyment of what might be called respectable business. Of rather an ardent disposition, and having his political sensibilities irritated by the insulting vexations thrown in the way of a Catholic barrister, he quickly identified himself with those who were seeking redress from a code of oppressive laws which lay, and still lie, incubi-like, upon the energies of the Irish people. Public meetings afforded a peculiar field for the display of those talents with which Mr. O'Connell is gifted, and accordingly he soon became one of the most popular speakers at Catholic assemblies in the metropolis. His fearless advocacy of the rights of the people, his avowed attachment to the interests of his country and his unconquerable good humour, were claims on an Irish audience which were instantly responded to by heart-felt applause and unlimited confidence. The Catholics instantly recognised him as the Achilles of their cause; and, like the Grecian hero, he has proved invulnerable to the attacks of his enemies.

During the career of the Catholic Board, Mr. O'Connell was one of its most zealous members; and such was the sense entertained of his patriotic services, that his colleagues unanimously voted his lady a piece of plate, of a thousand pounds value.

Under the iron reign of the Richmonds and the Saurins, the Catholic Board was suppressed, and Mr. O'Connell was tacitly acknowledged

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leader' of the Irish people; since which time he has published an annual address to his ill-used and oppressed countrymen.

In 1815 politics ran more than usually high in the Irish metropolis. The Dublin Corporation-a knot of monopolizing bigots-not only petitioned the legislature against any further concession to nine-tenths of their fellow-citizens, but were in the constant habit of insulting them at all their convivial meetings. Being not only insignificant in talent and respectability, but, as a body, notoriously bankrupt, Mr. O'Connell, at a public meeting, called them a 'beggarly corporation.' The soup and

strawberry (they are too poor to eat turtle) devouring faction looked big, talked of the insult, and mumbled something about satisfaction. One of their needy members, excited by the hope of deserving corporation gratitude, assumed the bravo, and undertook to chastise the Catholic leader. The name of this unfortunate and deluded man was D'Esterre. Attended by some Orange satellites, he ostentatiously paraded the streets, with a horsewhip in his hand; but, not meeting Mr. O'Connell, he addressed to him a note, calling on him either to fight a duel or apologize. In a moment, we suppose, of irritation, the subject of our memoir forgot the claims of his family-of his country-the injunctions of religion, and the value of his own life-c -committed his conduct to the discretion of friends, and met his opponent. The result is well known-D'Esterre fell, contrary to the anticipation of a ferocious few, who confidently calculated on the death of Mr. O'Connell; for the victim of his own rashness was reckoned a good shot.

Soon after this melancholy affair, Mr. O'Connell was once more compelled to intrust his honour to his friends. A misunderstanding arose about some words spoken between himself and Mr. Peel, the then Irish secretary. A meeting was to have taken place, but, rumour of the intended duel having got abroad, both parties were bound to keep the peace. This result not proving satisfactory, they agreed to meet on the Continent; but Mr. O'Connell being arrested on his arrival at London, on his way to France, he was held to bail not to fight Mr. Peel, before the Court of King's Bench; and thus terminated this unpleasant affair.

As Mr. O'Connell's history is the history of the Catholic cause for the last five-and-twenty years, it must be quite unnecessary to go into details which cannot but be familiar to all our readers. His success at the Bar is the best evidence of his abilities as a lawyer, and the virulence of his enemies the best proof of his valuable services as a Catholic leader. Had it not been for his services, the Catholics would not now occupy the station they do on the verge of emancipation.

Our readers have, no doubt, read in our number for last month the observations of our esteemed contributor, S. on the merits and peculiarities of Mr. O'Connell's oratory. All who have heard the Catholic advocate can appreciate their justness, and we shall not weaken their force by amplication; for any further comment would be nothing more.

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As Mr. O'Connell is the life and soul of the great cause which now agitates not only Ireland, but the empire, we shall not now enter upon question of his recent conduct; numerous opportunities for doing so will be perpetually presenting themselves in the progress of our work; but we cannot even here omit doing justice to the good sense of the Irish people. The brand of discord was thrown among them by some thoughtless-though, we doubt not, sincerepersons; and the flame was augmented by the polluted breath of Ireland's worst enemies. The nation saw its dangers, and wisely averted it, by quenching the incipient spark of dissension in the cup of union and good fellowship. Want of success too often cancels former obligations; but Mr. O'Connell's countrymen are not the

Cynthias of a minute.' They recollected his past services, appreciated the purity of his motives, and loved him, as it were, the better for those attributes which allowed him to be in some measure deceived. His great mistake was in judging other men by the standard within his own breast: his error was an amiable one, and so thought the people of Ireland; for, since his return with the Catholic Deputation, they have drowned the

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still small voice' of censure in one general burst of national gratitude. Every where he has been received with feelings honourable to the nation, and worthy of the man; who is not immaculate, but who has rendered himself of incalculable service to a suffering people.

Mr. O'Connell is the beloved father of a numerous progeny; and, respecting his conduct in his own house-where the bad man can't be good-there is but one opinion. Calumny has never been able to discover aught to detract from his estimable qualities as a private individual.

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