bring your honour's glory a letter from a company of gintlemin with whom I had the pleasure of spending the evening, underneath the ould church of Inistubber."

"A letter," said the man in black, "where is it?"

"Ho!" cried the black gentleman, on opening it, "I know the hand-writing. It won't do, however, my lad,— I see they want to throw dust in my eyes."

"Whew!" thought Larry, "that's the very thing. 'Tis for that the ould Dublin boy gave me the box. I'd lay a tenpenny to a brass farthing that it's filled with LundyFoot."

Opening the box, therefore, he flung its contents right into the fiery eyes of the man in black, while he was still occupied with reading the letter,—and the experiment was successful.

Curses,-tche-tche-tche,-Curses on it," exclaimed he, clapping his hand before his eyes, and sneezing most lustily.

'Run, you villains, run," cried Larry, to the ghosts— run, you villains, now that his eyes are off of you. O master, master! Sir Theodore, jewel! run to the righthand side, make for the bright speck, and God give you luck."

He had forgotten his injunction. The moment the word was uttered he felt the silvery ground sliding from under him; and with the swiftness of thought he found himself on the flat of his back, under the very niche of

the old church wall whence he had started, dizzy and confused with the measureless tumble. The emancipated ghosts floated in all directions, emitting their shrill and stridulous cries in the gleaming expanse. Some were again gathered by their old conductor; some scudding about at random, took the right-hand path, others the left. Into which of them Sir Theodore struck, is not recorded; but as he had heard the direction, let us hope that he made the proper choice.

Larry had not much time given him to recover from his fall, for almost in an instant he heard an angry snorting rapidly approaching, and, looking up, whom should he see but the gentleman in black, with eyes gleaming more furiously than ever, and his horns (for, in his haste he had let his hat fall) relieved in strong shadow against the moon. Up started Larry-away ran his pursuer after him. The safest refuge was, of course, the church,— thither ran our hero

As darts the dolphin from the shark,
Or the deer before the hounds;

and after him-fiercer than the shark, swifter than the hounds- fled the black gentleman. The church is cleared; the chancel entered; and the hot breath of his pursuer glows upon the outstretched neck of Larry. Escape is impossible-the extended talons of the fiend have clutched him by the hair.

"You are mine," cried the demon,-" if I have lost any of my flock, I have at last got you."

"Oh, St. Patrick !" exclaimed our hero, in horror,"oh, St. Patrick have mercy upon me, and save me!"

"I tell you what, cousin Larry," said Kinaley, chucking him up from behind a gravestone, where he had fallen," all the St. Patricks that ever were born would not have saved you from ould Tom Picton, if he caught you sleeping on your post as I've caught you now. By the word of an ould soldier, he'd have had the provost-marshal upon you, and I'd not give two-pence for the loan of your life. And then, too, I see you have drunk every drop in the bottle. What can you say for yourself?"

66

Nothing at all," said Larry, scratching his head,"but it was an unlucky dream, and I'm glad its over."

THE SLEEPERS.

BY MISS M. A. BROWNE.

I.

THEY are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Children, wearied with their play;

For the stars of night are peeping,
And the sun hath sunk away.
As the dew upon the blossoms
Bows them on their slender stem,

So, as light as their own bosoms,
Balmy sleep hath conquered them.

II.

They are sleeping !—Who are sleeping? Mortals, compassed round with woe;

Eyelids, wearied out with weeping,

Close for very weakness now:
And that short relief from sorrow,
Harassed nature shall sustain,
"Till they wake again to-morrow,
Strengthened to contend with pain!

III.

They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Captives in their gloomy cells;
Yet sweet dreams are o'er them creeping,
With their many-coloured spells.
All they love-again they clasp them;
Feel again their long-lost joys;

But the haste with which they grasp them
Every fairy form destroys.

IV.

They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping?
Misers, by their hoarded gold;
And in fancy now are heaping
Gems and pearls, of price untold.
Golden chains their limbs encumber,
Diamonds seem before them strown;
But they waken from their slumber,
And the splendid dream is flown.

V.

They are sleeping!-Who are sleeping? Pause a moment,-softly tread; Anxious friends are fondly keeping Vigils by the sleeper's bed!

Other hopes have all forsaken,

One remains, that slumber deep; Speak not, lest the slumberer waken

From that sweet-that saving sleep.