tion your ladyship, but necessity has compelled me to it. It is evident that the insinuative tongue of malice has been busy, it is evident that some monster has robbed me of my good name, else your ladyship would not entertain such sentiments regarding me. You are my only friend, from whom I must expect a future provision. Can I receive your friendship, feed on your bounty, yet know that you positively think me a villain? for no other name will suffice, if I am guilty of the atrocious crimes you are pleased to lay to my charge. The world must own your ladyship's regard to my character is noble, humane, and worthy of yourself. Your ladyship will not, I hope, look on this as flattery: there are many who, if I had flattered them more, would have accused me less. I am grateful, not a flatterer. Suffer me then, madam, to plead my own cause and view my pleading with an eye of candour; if you can, of favour. I am

neither enraged nor flighty now: I am on a solemn matter, on the criterion of my life; and here is my life, partly at least (the faulty part of it):

"Not stooping to live in a kitchen, or open a gate, confirmed my dispute with Mr. Austin. I confess myself guilty of disobedience in some trifling matters, whimsical I may call them. I confess, in a fit of rage, after an unmerciful beating, I wrote some lines, which at evening I either tore or threw away: how he heard of them, I know not. Then see a poor orphan's little subscriptions by the hand of --a picture shocking to any tender mind on reflection! Then Mr. Berwick found me out in the prospect of misfortunes; for at the time I was giddy, and knew them not, Your ladyship generously sent me to a school-here I could, in the sincerity of my heart, say much; but it is over. Your ladyship thought it best, I am assured; but in all my misery, a year and a half sø

bitterly I never have passed. For God's sake, let the 1st of March be my day of delivery, if ever I am to see the day so welcome. Be then so good, so benevolent, as to let me know your ladyship's real sentiments. If they are so bad, innocence be my guardian!

"I am, with the most humble and sincere gratitude, your ladyship's servant, "THOMAS DERMODY."

86 Killeigh, April 7, 1791.”

That his antipathy to Killeigh was not occasioned by either the neglect or the severity of his humane and learned instructor, will appear from the following stanzas. It must therefore be attributed solely to his restless disposition, ever on the watch to grasp at new and delusive enjoyments; which, when attained, he seldom rendered useful to himself or profitable to society.

TO THE REVEREND HENRY BOYD, A. M.

"JUVERNA's tuneful boast, whose sapient skill
First bade the Muse's flatt'ring pinion soar,
Scale the proud summit of Perfection's hill,
And catch the brilliant spark of Latian lore:

"Whose eye poetic mark'd each sight sublime
That sunk on ardent Passion's throbbing breast;
Cloth'd in the magic melody of rhyme,
Or in the sage's sober period drest:

"Whate'er the tragic pow'r of Gallia sung,
Or what the tender Tuscan wildly wove,
Energic flow'd from your instructive tongue,
Softly to charm, and manlier to improve.

"While wrapt in bold Orlando's deeds you lean,
Truant the green wood's echoing arch I rove,
Trace the small elfin-path that prints the green,
And court coy Fancy in her ev'ning grove.

"Soon may your perfect labour public shine,
While Dante* robs the poplar pale to bind
His guerdon with your late-gain'd bay divine;
And share a portion of his mighty mind!"

* Alluding to the translation of Dante, by this gentleman.

The following whimsical rhapsody (which, it may be supposed, never met the eye of his benevolent patroness) will prove that grief and serious reflection were not always his companions in his solitary hours, and that fancy and whim were acceptable guests to him even in the gloomy habitation of care and despondency.

THE PETITION OF POOR TOM

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY MOIRA;

"SHEWETH,

"THAT your ladyship's fool

Is too long at school:

And needs not a rule

To keep his head cool;

For black bogs, and mountains, and wintry skies,

With some dozen of sighs,

Have måde him so sad

That he is, I'm sure, rather sorry than mad,

And less witty than wise.

"Then pardon transgressions,
Of conning no lessons:

And let him go free,
Without any degree;