THE Castle of Dun-garbry, or properly Dun-cairbré, signifying the Dun or Fort of Cairbre, is situated on a hill, on the south side, and not far from the mouth, of the Drowis, or Drobhaois a river very celebrated in Irish history-and the estuary of the beautiful Lough Melvin, in the lower part of the county of Leitrim, bordering on the county of Sligo. Though marked on the maps made in the reign of Elizabeth as an important fortress, its ruins are now but inconsiderable, and consist only of a side wall perforated by an arched doorway. But trivial as these vestiges are, they impart some historic interest to scenery of the most delightful character by which it is surrounded, and are valuable as a memorial of an ancient Irish family, once of great rank in the county, though now reduced to utter decay, at least in their original locality. Dun-garbry Castle was erected by the chief of the MacClanchys, or correctly Mac-Fhlannchadha, a sept or clan who possessed the ancient district called Dartree, the present barony of Rossclogher, and of which the Castle of Rossclogher, situated on an island in Lough Melvin, was their chief residence. The name of its founder and the date of its erection are not preserved; but the latter may with probability be referred to a period anterior to the reign of Henry VIII., as the Annals of the Four Masters record at the year 1538, that "Cahir (the son of Feradach, the son of William), the son of Mac Clanchy, heir-apparent to the chieftainship of Dartree, died in that year in Dun-cairbre." It may be proper to state that there are in Ireland two perfectly distinct families of the name Mac Clanchy, or, as it is now more usually witten, Clancey; first, the family of Thomond or Clare, some of whom were hereditary Brehons or judges to the O'Briens, and who were a branch of the Macnamaras; and, secondly, the family of Dartree, who were hereditary chiefs of that district from a very remote period. The notices of the chiefs of this family, as preserved in the Irish Annals from the twelfth till the seventeenth century, will serve to convey a very vivid impression of the insecurity of life resulting from the unsettled state of society, and its retrogression towards absolute barbarism during this unhappy period of our history, and will teach us also to appreciate the blessings we derive from the progress which civilization has made within the last century. 1241. Donnell Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, died. 1274. Cathal Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, died. 1278. Gillchreest Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, was slain. 1301. William (the son of Cathal) Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, was slain. 1303. Murtogh Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, was slain. 1337. Teige (the son of William) Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, was slain by O'Conor, 1349. Hugh Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, and Gillchreest Mac Clanchy, were slain. 1366. Cathal (the son of Teige) Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, was slain. 1418. Teige (the son of Cathal) Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, died in a monastery. 1420. Cathal (the son of Teige) Mac Clanchy, chief of Dartree, and Hugh boy (or the yellow) Mac Clanchy, were slain in their own house, about the festival of St Bridget, by their own kinsmen Teige, Maurice, and Henry. 1421. Cathal O'Rourke and his sons made a nocturnal attack on Mac Clanchy on Iniskeen, an island of Lough Melvin, and the guards of the lake delivered up the boats of the lake to them. They took young Mac Clanchy prisoner, and possessed themselves of Lough Melvin and its castle. Five of the sons of Mac Clanchy, and a great number of the men of Dartree, were slain by them, and the remainder of the sons of Mac Clanchy went after that into Carbury. 1532. Turlogh, the son of Mac Clanchy, was slain by his own two brothers in the doorway of the mansion of Mac Clanchy. In revenge of this murder, Brien O'Rourke destroyed a great portion of Dartree. 1536. Mac Clanchy (Feradach, the son of William, the son of Teige), chief of Dartree, died. He was a charitable and humane man. 1578. Mac Clanchy (Cathal Duff, the son of Feradach), chief of Dartree, died, and his son Cathal Oge assumed his place. 1582. Mac Clanchy (Cathal Oge), chief of Dartree, was slain by his own kinsman Teige Oge. It appears from an inquisition taken at the Abbey of Creevelea, on the 24th September 1603, that Cathal Oge Mac Clanchy died on the 3d of January 1582, seized of the castle and manor of Dun-carbry, and of the whole country called Mac Clanchy's country, leaving a son and heir, Cathal Duff, then aged twenty-eight years. and to whom, at some distant period, he intended to confide the entire, as a legacy richer than the hoarded treasures of a miser; nay, more valuable than even the philosopher's stone. William Collins (for such was his name) was a fine-looking young fellow, standing about five feet ten inches in height, and possessed of a light, active, muscular, and admirably proportioned figure; indeed, Sally was known to have told her female friend in the strictest confidence that William had the brightest pair of eyes, and the handsomest brown curls, that young man could well be vain of. William, on the other hand, could find no language sufficiently comprehensive to express his ideas of Sally's beauty; and as for her good qualities, her temper, her cheerfulness, her sweet-toned merry laugh-to describe them was quite an impossibility. The fact was, they were both young, both amiable, both warm-hearted, and very naturally both lovers! Yet poor old Jerry never dreamed what the real state of the case was. Wonderful as was his penetration, deep as was his knowledge, and great as was his skill in all matters appertaining to the building of a boat, in affairs of the heart he was blind and stupid as a mole. He, honest simpleton, could never dream that Sally's frequent intrusions into the work-yard could be attributed to aught else than that most natural spirit of curiosity common to young people who desired to witness the interesting process of a delightful and important art! Besides, Jerry never wore his spectacles within doors; and, therefore, it must be presumed he never saw the eloquent flushing of his daughter's cheek, or the additional brilliancy of her dark eye, when he spoke of the young man's attention to his duty, and of his surprising advancement in the nicer labours of the profession. Early in the month of May, a gentleman ordered a race-gig from Sullivan, and from time to time sent his man Duggin to see after the progress of the work. This Duggin was held to be the crack oarsman of the harbour, and consequently prided himself not a little on his reputation. He was a powerfully made though not a tall man, and his features were rather good than otherwise, but rendered displeasing from a peculiar expres lip. Duggin had heard of Sally Sullivan's fame as a beauty; and being quite of a gallant temperament, he conceived the very natural design of rendering himself agreeable to the old boat-builder's daughter. The moulds were laid down, and soon the outline of the future race-gig began to be formed more distinctly, when Mr Curly Duggin one day entered the work-yard to pass his opinion on what had been already done, and to offer any suggestions as to the future, that his scientific judgment might deem necessary. On his entrance he found the peerless Sally seated on a chair, and apparently employed at some feminine labour-apparently so, for in reality her eyes were fixed on every movement of William Collins, who was busily engaged in the building of this future wonder of the race-gig class. Sally, observing the stranger enter, and not relishing the familiar stare of a pair of wicked-looking optics, nor the too evident admiration they expressed on their mas ter's part, immediately left the yard, and retired to the neatly painted cottage of her father. As for Collins, looking up from his work at that very instant, he saw, with the quickness of jealousy, the manner of Duggin and the retreat of Sally; and from that hour he felt an unconquerable aversion to the bold looking oarsman. It appears, however, that in accordance with the Brehon law, the chieftainship of Dartree passed at his death not to hission of cunning about the eyes, and a perpetual sneer on his son, but to the eldest surviving representative of the name, as an inquisition taken at Rossclogher on the 3d of October in the same year, finds that the greater part of the country, including the Castle of Dun-carbry, and the castle and chief town of Rossclogher, &c, were in the possession of Malaghlin Mac Clanchy, who died so seized on the 13th of August 1603, leaving a son and heir, Cahir Mac Clanchy, three years and ten months old at the time of his father's death; and it is stated that all these castles, lands, &c, were held of the king by knights' service in capite, but the quantity of the service was not ascertained by the inquisitors. By the will of this Malaghlin Mac Clanchy he bequeathed to his son and heir, Cahir, all his lands except such as were nominated wife's jointure; and to his wife, Katherine Ny Rourke, who was found to have been his legitimate consort, he bequeathed his Castle of Dun-garbry, as also his chief town called Rossclogher, in pawn of her marriage goods, until his heir should redeem it. The property of the Mac Clanchys was confiscated after the rebellion of 1641, but their name is the prevailing one in the barony of Dartree, or Rossclogher, to the present day. P. THE GIG RACE, OR A PULL FOR THE SILVER CUP. In the prettily situated village of Ring, within the beautiful harbour of Cove, lived an old man named Jeremiah Sullivan, who was by profession a boat-builder, and who, being unrivalled in that art, justly regarded himself as one of the most important personages in the said village, if not in the county of Cork itself. It was indeed the conviction of Jerry that the man who, if any such man there were, could surpass him in the plan, the construction, or the finish of a race-gig, must be a wonder, and far above the general standard of human excellence. After his divine art, and the equally divine productions of that art, his daughter Sally Sullivan was next best loved by the enthusiastic and honest old man. Sally had the reputation of a snug little fortune and of an infinite deal of beauty, the latter founded, no doubt, on the possession of a pair of roguish black eyes, a blooming cheek, and a rosy pair of lips, that half disclosed two rows of the prettiest and whitest teeth in the world. Jerry had one favourite apprentice, to whom he had already imparted some of the most important secrets in his profession, Come, now, I'm blessed," said Duggin, "that's a nate tidy craft, if I'm a judge in the laste! I say, Mister what's-yourname, is'nt that purty girl the ould fellow's daughter ?" "Yes, she is," replied William, with a growl; "that young woman is Miss Sullivan." " Sartinly she is a beauty without paint! Has she a heap of fine strapping fellows, that's sweethearts, following of her has she, my hearty?" "How the devil should I know! What have I to do with any one's business but my own?-and that gives me enough to mind." Why, my fine fellow," said Duggin, rather annoyed at the reply, "I tell you what, that same aint over partiklar civil.” “Is'nt it ?—then if you don't like my civility, I can't help your liking; so that's all I care about the matter." Duggin made no reply, but marching round and round the half-built boat, he made several slighting observations signifying his utter contempt for the plan, as well as its execution. "Why, blow it!" said he, "look at that. I tell you there's no living use for that infernally outlandish keel. You might as well turn a lighter, as such a tub as that, in the water!" Poor William's feelings were almost too great for words, so indignant was he at this coarse and vulgar attack on the object of his zealous labours. He, however, merely said, : She's very unlike a tub, for the matter of that; and as for the keel, that will give her a sure grip of the water, and make her hold her way.' "Who's the out-and-out judge that said them wise things, I'd like to know?" asked Duggin, with a mocking sneer on his lip. "Them that's as fine judges as any in the harbour," replied Collins; "there's Dan Magrath, and Ned Desmond, and Mark Brien, down at the ferry; and there are'nt better men to be found at handling an oar.' "Bother!" said Duggin, "little I'd give for a score of 'em; and as for that fellow Magrath, he's a regular lubber, that is'nt no more fit in a race than I'm fit to bite a piece out of this anchor at my feet!" "I know nothing about biting the anchor," said Collins; "but I tell you what: the four of us will try you at the regatta for the ten-pound cup!" "Done! done! my hearty mind ye don't go back, and be forgetting yer promise!" said Duggin, with the air of one already certain of the prize. "Don't be afraid of me," Collins replied; "I never broke my word yet, and I don't intend to begin now. Again did Duggin criticise the boat, and declare himself dissatisfied with nearly every point about her. The temper of the young builder was severely tried; but rather than turn away a customer from his master's yard, he with difficulty succeeded in curbing his rising passion. Scarcely had Duggin, however, left the yard, when a piercing shriek rang from the house, through which lay the general passage. William heard it, and flinging aside the plane he was then using, he rushed in to ascertain its cause. What was his amazement at beholding Sally struggling violently to release herself from the arms of the gallant Duggin, who was endeavouring in vain to snatch a kiss from the maiden's rosy mouth! "Ha! you villain ! there, take that !" said Collins, as with one fierce spring he gripped him by the throat, and flung him headlong on the floor. Duggin was for a moment nearly stunned by the fall, but when in a measure recovered from its effects, he rose from the ground, and eyeing the pair with a fiendish expression of malice and revenge, he said," Collins, mark my word for it, if I was to go to hell for it, I'll be into you for that fall! Mind you keep a look-out, my tidy fellow! Good morning to you, Sally-good morning, purty Sally! Don't forget the race, unless you're afraid, Collins !" So saying, Duggin left the house; and no sooner had he gone, than Sally, frightened by his brutal insolence, burst into a flood of tears; but she at length allowed herself to be consoled by William, who used the most persuasive and powerful arguments in order to soothe her ruffled spirits. As might be anticipated, the gig was disliked, and left on old Sullivan's hands. Jerry was a little peevish on the subject, and was continually regretting his unfortunate attack of the gout, which prevented himself from superintending the work, and of a consequence rendering it a model of perfection. But poor William bore up manfully against all, and even had the audacity to prophesy, for the old man's comfort, that in two days after the coming regatta, he would procure for the gig no less a sum than two-and-twenty guineas The boat was finished, launched, and christened "the Darling Sally;" and her fair namesake worked with her own pretty fingers a white silken flag, that was intended to adorn the beautifully-moulded bow. It was summer, and the sun was in his meridian glory, pouring a flood of light and beauty over one of the loveliest combinations of landscape the tree-clad hill, the many-coloured rock, and the widely-extended water-that can by possibility be found within the limits of the British empire. The month was glorious July, and the scene was the far-famed Cove of Cork. How beautiful did all appear on the last day of the regatta, as a fleet of fairy-like yachts, yielding to the light breeze that just broke the surface of the sea into tiny waves, dashed aside from their bows the silver spray, and skimmed like sea-birds over the bosom of the Cove. The sea actually blazed with light, and the islands seemed like emeralds set in gold. Green were the hills that encircled in their embrace the beauteous sheet of water, and cloudless was the heaven that overhung the loveliness of earth. A stately man-of-war rode at anchor nearly opposite the town of Cove, and gay were the flags and streamers that enlivened by their hues the dark maze of rigging rising from the nobly proportioned bull. Several merchantmen were also there, and decked in like manner as the floating citadel-the seaman's pride. The marine picture was finished by myriads of boats of all sizes and shapes, from the one-oared punt and the light wherry, to the family whaler or the well-manned race, gig, that were ever gliding to and fro, imparting life and animation to the beautiful scene. On the Regatta Quay might be observed hundreds of elegantly dressed females, with their attentive cavaliers; some of the latter arrayed in divers fantastic styles of costume, intended to resemble the garb of the sailor, and resembling it about as much as their affectation and the swagger of their gait resembled his manner. Naval and military officers added by their brilliant uniforms to the liveliness of the picture. On an erected platform was stationed a brass band, that from time to time played some fine pieces of music and exhilarating airs-a fitting accompaniment to the soft murmur of the wave, the harmony of nature. Outside the gate of the privileged yard were ranged tents of every variety- -some few in the form of an oblong square, with a slanting roof-others like an Indian wigwam-some covered with bleached, and some with dirty canvass, while in each of them a piper or a fiddler might be heard discoursing most peculiar music, responded to by the clatter of some score of feet, whose movements would puzzle the eccentric genius of Fanny Elsler herself. Outside these temples, erected equally to Bacchus and the lively Terpsichore, more intellectual food was offered to the youthful mind in the antics of Punch and Judy; and there was, besides, a magnificent theatre, the approach to which was by a ladder, and on a platform before which the distinguished company-Turkish warriors and Christian knights, princesses and Columbine, assassin and clown-were threading the intricacies of a fashionable dance, to the sound of three trumpets and a drum. Fun, frolic, and delight, reigned within as well as without. In fine, it was the last day of the regatta, and "now or never" was the universal motto. In obedience to the warning gun, the twenty-ton yachts had drawn up in line near their starting buoys. For a moment their mainsails flapped idly in the breeze as they wore gracefully round. Another gun, and up went jibs and gafftop-sails, as they began to move in one cluster of snowy canvass. At first they seemed scarcely to stir through the water that lazily rippled around their bows; but as the breeze began to be felt, they got under weigh, and the waves were broken into foam by the dividing stem. Sally was seated in the well-cushioned stern of her father's four-oared family gig, which was steered by that worthy individual himself; she wore a Leghorn bonnet with smart pink ribbons; and as she sat near her bluff, broad-shouldered, honest old parent, she looked as handsome a maiden as ever lent willing ear to a lover's vows. She was now all anxiety, as the time for William's race was near at hand. Duggin's crew were on the course; and if one might judge from the perfect appointment of the gig, the lively strokes pulled on her, and the rapidity with which she was turned, one should seem to run no risk in betting on her certain success. The Norah Creenah-for such was her name was painted on the outside a delicate buff, and on the inside pink. One of the best and most fortunate cockswains in the harbour steered her; and as he glanced on the powerful limbs and the muscular chests of his men, and saw the exquisite regularity with which the blades were dipped into the wave, his heart swelled with anticipated triumph. "Sally, my dear," said old Jerry Sullivan to his daughter, "take the ropes for a minute, and mind what you're about, child." Jerry stood up in the boat to have a peep at the preparations for the race; but hardly had he time to satisfy his curiosity, when the bow of the gig came slap against the side of a large yawl, and he was laid sprawling in the bottom from the concussion; and to mend the matter, Sally began to scream most energetically at the mischief she herself had occasioned. The truth was, she had mechanically obeyed her father's directions, by taking the tiller-ropes, but that was all, for her thoughts were far otherwise engaged. "Back water, ye infarnal ould lubber! Do you want to stave the side of us in? Where's yer eyes, ye ould fool?" Such were the pleasing queries which the parties in the assaulted boat levelled at the innocent Jerry. Why don't you look out yourselves, and be hanged to ye!" said the choleric builder, as he replied in the true Irish fashion by putting another question. After plentifully heaping the choicest epithets on each other, the belligerent parties at last separated, the victory being equally divided. "Come, boys," said Jerry to his crew, "heave ahead, and let us see are they getting all ready for the start." In a few moments the boat reached that part of the strand where William Collins and his companions were busily employed in rubbing black lead on the 66 66 66 bottom of the new gig. "Well, Bill, my hearty, how're you coming on? What do you think of her now? don't she look handsome?" "She does, sir, look very beautiful," answered William in reply to his master's last remark, as he gazed with admiration on Sally. 'Is the paint hard on her, Bill?" asked Jerry. "Paint! paint on her, sir!" exclaimed William, still looking at Sally. Why, what ails you, boy? I said paint; is the paint dry?" All right, sir; hard as a bone. Very good-now see are the stretchers the regular length and well lashed down." But though he received an affirmative answer, he was not satisfied till he had convinced himself by examination that all the arrangements had been attended to by William. "I'm aisy in mind now, any how. I hope she'll do; eh, Bill?" Never fear, sir; we'll do our best; and if we don't come in first, it won't be our own fault. Did you hear the news, sir? A gentleman the same that was in the yard over on Friday- -came up to me and said if the boat won the race, he'd give five-and-twenty guineas down on the nail." Bless my soul!" exclaimed old Sullivan, charmed at the offer. "But what good is a man offering of such a price when there isn't any great chance of her winning?oh, if I wasn't laid up in my bed when she was building! Well, it can't be helped now; more's the pity!" "Well, sir, we must do our best; won't we, boys ?" said William, turning to his crew. "We'll try, any how," was the reply, as they raised the light gig carefully from off the stones on which she rested, and gently floated her on the water. 'William, here's the flag," said Sally. "Ha! there's the gun!" "'Tis the gun, sure enough. I'll bring you the cup, Sally, I hope. Come, lads," he continued, "take your places. There-step gently! Magrath, tread on the kelson, and don't stand that way on the ribs !" "Run down a bit," said Jerry, "and lave me see your trim. Give the long steady stroke, for the breeze is freshening. Now start away; and, Bill, my boy, mind you win!" Away they pulled from the strand; and as they shot quickly out, Jerry could not help exclaiming with delight, as he noticed how evenly the gig went under the stroke, and how regular was the time kept with their oars; but his former misgivings returned, as he remarked the great difficulty with which she was brought round. Duggin, in the meantime, was dashing about, attracting all eyes by the beauty of the Norah. "Clear the course!-clear the course-pull out of the way!" So bawled the racing steward, as by entreaty or by threat he succeeded in clearing a space sufficient for the rival boats. "Take your places!" again shouted he. Oh! how Sally's heart beat as she saw the gigs drawn up opposite the quay where the fashionables were assembled, and on which was placed a small signalbattery. She leaned against her father for support, as she observed the crews gently "backing water" to keep on a line till the word was given. "Which side will you take?" asked the cockswain of the Sally. "All the same, my hearty; stay where you are," answered Duggin with a voice as if confident of success. "Ready!" shouted the steward. All oars were thrown forward, as the men bent ready for the first dash. 66 Fire!" Scarce had the gun boomed over the water when the blades were dipped together. "Pull, boys, pull!" cried the cocks wain of the Norah. "Heave away, my lads, heave! now for the start!" cried the other. After about five strokes the buff shot right ahead, clearing completely the bow of her sable rival. A sneer of bitter triumph might be seen on Duggin's lip as he darted past his hated opponent. In a very few minutes more, however, the buff ceased to gain, as the black, under the powerful and steady stroke of her crew, began to move gallantly through the water. As they came alongside the ruined barracks below the town of Cove, the Sally had come up to the Norah, and for a short distance they went stem and stem together. From that point they had to shoot over towards a large buoy, round which they must turn. The cockswains now urged on their men, who answered by a cheer, as the wave foamed under their strokes. Duggin's crew pulled with desperate vigour in order to gain the turn, but the black continued the same even regular pull that was evidently telling well. "Look now, father; is the white flag first? is it ahead, father?" asked Sally. "No, child; the Norah is- No! she is not! Bravo, Bill! there they go for the buoy! That's it. More power to you, Bill! Don't they walk out of the saucy buff!" It was true for Jerry; the black boat was now fairly six lengths ahead, and was gaining more at every stroke. They reached the buoy; and now began the difficulty. "Back water, larboard side; pull-pull on the starboard," said the cock crew, 66 66 swain. "Magrath, heave! Brien, that's the go!" shouted "Hurra for the William, as he backed with all his might. honour of Passage! Pull, my lads, pull!-rattle into 'em. Hurra!" bawled the Norah's helmsman, with a voice hoarse from exertion. Before the Sally could be well got under weigh after the turn, the Norah had darted round the buoy, and was in a moment three lengths beyond her. "Oh, heavens, they're beat!" said Jerry, as he sank back on the cushion in utter despair. "Don't say that, father! Look again!" entreated Sally. "There!" cried the old man, as he ventured another glance, "she's clane out of her again! Bravo, Bill! Give it to her! There she clips, the beauty! I always said there wasn't your equal except myself at building a gig! Now, boys," continued he, addressing his own pull a rattling touch over, and we'll give them such a cheer! Heave, my lads-that's it; bend your lazy backs!” The course was about two or three miles in length from the buoy to the old convict-hulk, round whose dark mass the boats must pull before they made for the quay from which they had started, and which was also the winning place. The struggle up along the bank was indeed a beautiful sight, as from time to time the chances seemed to vary in favour of each, and as the crews appeared to gain new vigour from the cheering that came from the numerous boats which met them on the course. Gallantly did the long stroke tell on the Sally, as she shot far out of the rakish buff. She was dashing on in noble style for the convict-ship, when, smash! away went the bowman's oar! All was in confusion. On came the Norah! At that very moment Jerry Sullivan arrived; and seeing the terrible disaster, he caught at the oar next his hand, and flung it within reach of the bowman. "You have it now, my boys. Now, Bill, pull, my darling fellow, hurrah!" shouted Jerry, as the crew gave back the cheer, and the Sally bounded after the lively Norah. Thirty strokes more, and the Sally was stem and stem with her well-manned rival. They passed the man-ofwar, and the sailors who crowded the side of the noble vessel gave them a cheer. Before them rose the hull of the old convict-ship, and now the struggle was, who should round her first. Still was the same quick stroke pulled on the buff, and still did the other crew continue to keep the same powerful one on the black. The stern of the hulk was neared; the Sally was five boats ahead, but the Norah dashed on gallantly in her wake. “Pull, boys, pull !" was the word in both boats. "Back water hard! Pull on the bow! Hurra! Back her well! Hurra!" shouted both cockswains. The Sally had not well rounded the bow of the convict-ship, when the Norah had turned, as if on a pivot, and again was stem and stem with her opponent. Now, indeed, was the true time for testing the capabilities both of the men and the boats, for a breeze was blowing from the west, and as the tide was making fast out of the harbour, there was a swell as both met in opposition. Shouts now greeted the gigs as they dashed on to the winning-place. Again did old Jerry meet them, and cheer aloud! Duggin literally foamed at the mouth, as he plied his oar with the energy of desperation, while William shouted to his crew to pull; and pull they did. In spite of all the exertions of Duggin, the Norah dropped back, as the Sally bounded on to the goal. Duggin cursed and raved, but all to no purpose; for the high-pointed bow of his gig caught the wind, and she had not the same power of keeping her way as the other, owing to her want of keel. "Stand by with the match!" cried the steward. "There they come; the black boat is long ahead! Fire! No sooner had the loud report followed the quick flash, than the oars were tossed on high, and the Sally rode triumphant! Loud were the shouts that rang from land and sea, as the victors dropped their blades into the wave, and shot into the landing-place to receive their well-earned prize. Who can describe the pride and joy of the old man, or the deep rapture of his daughter, as they saw the steward present the silver cup to William, flushed as he was from the exertion and triumph of the moment ! As it would be quite impossible to do justice to their feelings, the attempt must be modestly refrained from. The gig was immediately purchased for twenty-five guineas, and orders were given to Jerry for the building of two more on an exactly similar plan. As for Duggin, he was so subdued in spirit by the loss of his reputation as a crack oarsman, that he never after that day was known to try his fortune on the course, and neither visited Ring to woo Miss Sullivan, nor to make good his threat on the body of the victorious William. It has been since whispered among the gossips of the village that old Jerry Sullivan, though much surprised at hearing Ha ha! old pilgrim! may I go with thee, Thy doings fearful and strange to see? He nodded his head; not a word said Death, For he had little need to waste his breath: A man of short speech, he speaks in his brow; He looks what he means, when he says "Come thou!" We paused near a maiden with rosy cheek, A lovely maiden, with blue eye meek; But her youthful bloom, how it faded away! We stood by the cot of a widowed dame; At a palace we tarried, and there one lay Mine must thou be-I have here thy name!" We hovered around where a Christian sire Lay waiting to join the eternal choir; He sank as the sun on a May-day's close: He rose as the sun with beams tricked anew, We crossed the path of a beautiful bark, How many the corses, all stiff and stark! Down sank the vessel beneath the wild wave, No hand was near one poor soul to save! We glanced at a ship by an iceberg crushed, We gazed but a moment-then all was hushed. We asked of a miser to yield up his gold, But he loosed not his clutch when his hands were cold. We stayed our flight o'er a funeral pile, ANCIENT SEAL OF THE ISLAND OF THE prefixed woodcut of an impression of an ancient monastic seal hitherto unpublished, will, we think, interest some of our readers both in Scotland and Ireland, as, though it is certainly not Irish, it is intimately connected with that bright period of our history when Ireland sent forth her crowds of learned ecclesiastics to preach the gospel and instruct the people, not only to Scotland and England, but also to Germany, France, Switzerland, Belgium, Mecklenburg, and even distant Iceland, in all which their memories are still venerated as patron saints -that period to which Spenser alludes in the lines: 66 Whylome, when Ireland flourished in fame Of wealth and goodness, far above the rest The matrix, which is of bronze or brass, was discovered among old brass at a foundry in London some three or four years ago, and is now in the possession of Mr Thomas, a merchant of that city, who has the largest collection of remains of this kind ever formed in the British empire. The legend, which is in the semi-Saxon character of the twelfth century, reads SI. COMMUNE. DE. INSULA. SANCTI. COLMOCI: THE COMMON SEAL OF THE ISLAND OF SAINT COLMOC. The locality of this seal has been hitherto referred to the celebrated Irish monastery of Iona, or Hy-Columbkille, and such we ourselves deemed it when the impression was first sent to us. But on maturer reflection we are now disposed to consider this conclusion erroneous, and that the seal should with greater probability be referred to the monastery of InchColm, a small island in the Frith of Forth, lying between Edinburgh and Inverkeithing, and which was anciently called Emonia, or Y-mona, i. e. the Island of Mona. On this island the Scottish King Alexander I., in gratitude for his escape from a violent storm, by which he was driven on the island in 1123, founded a monastery dedicated to its patron saint, and of which there are still considerable remains. It was plundered by the English in the reign of Edward III., who, as it is said, suffered shipwreck for their sacrilege; and if we might hazard a conjecture, it would be, that the seal may have been carried into England at that time. But be this as it may, the seal perfectly agrees in style with similar remains of the twelfth century, and we have little doubt that this is its true locality, as the name in the legend will not with correctness or propriety apply to any other known to exist. For, in the |