STANZAS, WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING OF KING'S-COLLEGE CHAPEL, MOST beautiful!--I gaze and gaze To me, dim Memory makes more dear The ground were still divine. II. Some awe the good and wise have felt, By haunted spring, or fairy well, Beneath the ruined convent's gloom, Beside the feeble hermit's cell, Or the false prophet's tomb. III. But when was high devotion graced The spirit here of worship seems IV. At midnight, when the lonely moon Makes that fair scene more deeply fair; And dusk and day-break, calm and storm, Are all religion there. THE CURSE OF PROPERTY. A SKETCH OF IRISH MISMANAGEMENT. BY MRS. S. C. HALL. "Give me neither poverty nor riches." "Poor "POOR Barry!" exclaimed Mr. Newton. Barry! it was melancholy to see that once fine property melted away, one could hardly tell how, until even the noble dwelling of his ancestors was sold in lots to a fellow who printed Architect' on his card, and disposed of the materials for what they would bring." "I was his uncle's friend," sighed old Sir Charles Stanley; "and the recollection of that family—it is strange, but it is nevertheless true-the recollection of the fate of the different members of that family affords me at once the most exquisite pain and pleasure. I mourn over the love of display, and the pauperising system, pursued by poor but proud relations, through which that fine estate was utterly ruined; and I mourn over it the more, because it is far from being a singular instance of destruction, effected by the same means. You, my dear friend, will readily believe that the pleasurable reminiscences I experience are owing to the noble conduct of that little black-eyed girl, Alice Lee, whom all the family, with the exception of Claudius, the heir at law, endeavoured to injure; and whom they even now grudge the fair name, and the fair fame she has acquired by her own industry and exertions." “I should like to hear you tell the tale, Sir Charles," replied Mr. Newton. "I have often heard sketches of the history; but the loss of property, owing to mismanagement, is unfortunately so common in our poor country, that many similar events may have confused my memory with reference to this particular instance." "My old friend Charles Barry," commenced the venerable baronet, "had the misfortune to inherit, with his estate, the charge of some five or six halfbrothers and sisters, who married, and had a greater number of 'blessings,' in the form of children, than usually falls to the lot even of Irish gentry. The being he at that time loved most in the world, was his own sister, a young woman nothing differing from other girls of her age and rank, and who, in due time, married two thousand a year (it. was called) and a fox-hunting 'Squire. Mr. Barry's health had for some months been on the decline, and he resolved to visit Bath, then esteemed the most fashionable and health-giving place on earth. "A little scene which occurred at Barrybrooke the evening before his departure, will best illustrate the ménage of an Irish bachelor's house in the year eighty-two. I was staying with him at the time, and we had agreed to travel together. I must, however, tell you, that he had determined upon not letting any of his numerous relatives, who came for 'sea air' to Barrybrooke, with the intention of remaining, some for three, others for nine, and others again for twelve months, know any thing of his movements. In the evening he summoned Jerry Keg-valet by inheritance-and whom I always remember the same stiff, upright, honestlooking fellow, with a grave air, a twinkling eye, and a twisted nose-into his study. Jerry entered, his high shoulders propping his ears, his head projecting like that of a tortoise, his hands folded behind his back, his old-fashioned, richlylaced livery sticking out on either side like the fins of a flat-fish. 66 6 Jerry,' said his master, 'I wish my valise filled with rather a better supply of things than I |