have had, accordingly, knights of many new orders: "Satanic" -"Spasmodic "-"Metaphysical "—and so forth; and now, "Nobles and heralds, by your leave," an old knight of an older order asks permission to run a course for the honour of the lady in white muslin. But, allegory apart, and to say a few plain words to this socalled prosaic age, the matter of fact is this:-I have great faith in the universal love of rhyme. I think it is inherent in our nature to be pleased with measured sound; and if with measure there is also syllabic echo (I mean rhyme), I think the pleasure is increased; and it is this belief that has tempted me to try the experiment of telling a few simple stories in simple rhyme, and testing if the nineteenth century be not as open as the earlier ones to be pleased with composition something after the fashion of the ancient ballads. And though not adopting their structure as to stanza, and though incapable of equalling the exquisite tenderness in which many of them abound, I have endeavoured to adhere to their unaffected simplicity. BARNES, LONDON, November 1, 1859. SAMUEL LOVER. The Fisherman who is the hero of the following tale is not merely a creature of imagination, for the self-denying spirit which forms the staple of the story is, I am happy to say, in accordance with fact; and the last magnanimous achievement of the poor Fisherman is literally true. Magnanimous may seem an inflated word to employ in connection with so humble a subject, but it is believed that the reader, on arriving at the end of the story, will not think the epithet unwarrantable. "Twas down by the shore of the steep coast of Kerry And what made the darkness of young Donoghue ! And what made his brightness! A lovely young girl— But parents are thoughtful, as lovers are blind; Young Donoghue's friends used to rally him often, "Twas thus that he spoke, but the thoughts were more deep But fancy would trouble his feverish rest, For in dreams the sweet vision still haunted his breast; Fresh, fair, round, and lovely, she tripped down the glen, 1 See Notes at the end of the Volume. O, dream too delicious !-he'd start and awake, And Peggy knew this-and she lov'd him the more; She would gather the flowers from the dark cliff, and pass And, attaching her nosegay, would fling it from high, Than those flow'rs dropp'd on him from that Heaven-crown'd height! Then would Dermot take heart-and he thought some fine day He thought he'd "get up out o' that," and go fishing; And thus it went on-weeks and months passed away, Grew fairer and fairer with every day, And was courted by all sorts of men. The long, and the short, and the fat, and the lean, In Peggy's long list of admirers were seen, But Dermot, in all these great hosts round her thronging, Poor Dermot !—What projects prodigious would start To haunt his poor brain !-Could he seize on some chance The forces of evil and good in the breast Of the deep-loving dreamer-soon doom'd to a trial But if spirits of darkness do wait, as 'tis said, if towards wrong we would tread, 3 |