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called to me, “ Poll, who is that?” I answered, “ Red tape and sealing wax;” and raised a general shout at the expense of the little diplomatic pedant. An Irish midshipman present, a Mr. O'Gallagher, pointing to Mr. Henry, asked me,“ Who is that, Poll ?” “ Good for nothing," I replied ; and Mr. Henry few at me in a rage, swore I had been taught to insult him, and that he would wring my neck off. This he would have done but for the protection of the chaplain, to whose breast I flew, and who carried me away to his own room. In a few days I was consigned to Mr. O'Gallagher the midshipman, as a present to the chaplain's patroness, a lady of high rank and celebrated sanctity in Ireland, near to whose Propaganda the family of O'Gallagher resided. I was the bearer of a letter of introduction, in which my pious education and saintly acquirements were set forth, my knowledge of the Creed exposed, and myself recommended as a means of aiding her ladyship's proselyting vocation, as animals of less intelligence had done before. I embarked therefore on board the British frigate-an honor which had been refused my old master, and was treated with great care and attention during the voyage. On arriving in a British port, my young protector got leave of absence, and took a passage in a vessel bound for Dublin. On the morning of our coming to anchor, my cage was put on shore on the quay, while O’Gallagher returned to look after his luggage. Thus left to myself, I soon attracted the attention of a wretched, squalid-looking animal, something between a scare-crow and a long-armed gibbon. His melancholy visage dilated into a broad grin the moment he saw me; and coming up and making me a bow, he said, “ Ah! thin, Poll, agrah, you're welcome to ould Ireland. Would you take a taste of potato, just to cure your say-sickness ?” and he put a cold potato into my cage, which he had been gnawing with avidity himself. The potato was among the first articles of my food in my native paradise, and the recollection of it awakened associations which softened me towards the poor, hospitable creature who presented it. Still I hesitated, till he said, " Take it, Miss, and a thousand welcomes ; take it, agrah, from poor Pat.” I took it with infinite delight; and holding it in my claws, and peeling it with my beak, began to mutter “ Poor Pat! poor Pat!” “ Oh musha, musha ! oh, by the powers !” he cried, “ but that's a great bird, any how—just like a Christianlook here, boys. A crowd now gathered round my cage, and several exclamations, which recalled my old friends of the Propaganda, caught my attention. Oh! queen of glory !” cried one; • Holy Moses !” exclaimed another ; " Blessed rosary !” said a third. I turned my head from side to side, listening; and excited by the excitement I caused, I recited several scraps of litanies in good Latinity. There was first an universal silence, then an universal shout, and a general cry of “ A miracle ! a miracle !"

66 Go to Father Murphy,” said one; “ Off with ye, ye sowi, to the Counsellor,” said a second ; Bring the baccah to him,” cried an old woman; “ Mrs. Carey, where is your blind son ?” said a young one. Could faith have sufficed, I should indeed have worked miracles. In the midst of my triumphs, Mr. O'Gallagher returned, and carried me off, put me in a carriage, and drove away, followed by the shout


ing multitude. That night we put up at an hotel in Sackville-street, and the next morning the street re-echoed with cries of “ Here is a full account of the miraculous parrot just arrived in the city of Dublin, with a list of his wonderful cures, for the small charge of one halfpenny.” Shortly after we set off by the Ballydangan heavy fly, for Sottrcraut Hall. I was placed on the top of the coach, to the delight of the outside passengers; where I soon made an acquaintance with the customary oratory of guards and coachmen, which produced much laughter. I rapidly added to my vocabulary many curious phrases; among which the most distinct were, Aisy now, aisy,” « Get along out of that,” “ All's right,” &c. &c. &c. with nearly a verse of “The night before Larry was stretched,” tune and all, and the air of “ Polly put the kettle on,” which the guard was practising on his bugle, to relieve the tedium of the journey. Like all nervous animals, I am extremely susceptible to external impressions; and the fresh air, movement, and company, had all their usual exhilarating effects on my spirits. Our lady of Sourcraut Hall, Lady C-, received myself and my protector with a ceremonious and freezing politeness; asked a few questions concerning my treatment, gentleness, and docility; and, desiring my kind companion to put me on the back of a chair, she bowed him out of the

When he was gone, the lady turned to a gloomy-looking man, who sat reading at a table, and who looked so like one of the Portuguese brothers of the Propaganda, that I took him for a frate“What a poor benighted creature that young man seems to be !” she said. The grave gentleman, who I afterwards found was known in the neighbourhood by the title of her ladyship's “ moral agent,” replied, "What, Madam, would you have of an O’Gallagher-a family of the blackest Papists in the county ?” My lady shook her head, and threw up her devout eyes.—Dinner was now announced, and the moral agent giving his hand to the lady, I was left to sleep away the fatigue of my journey.

• Í awoke very hungry, and consequently disposed to be very talkative, but was silenced by finding myself surrounded by a crowd of persons of both sexes who were eagerly gazing on me. A certain prostrate look of sly, shy humility, lengthened their pale faces, to the exclusion of all intellectual expression. They formed a sort of religious meeting, called a tea-and-tract party; but the open door discovered preparations for a more substantial conclusion to the obligato prayers and lecture of the evening. My new mistress was evidently descanting on my merits, and read that paragraph from the chaplain's letter which described my early associations, my knowledge of the Creed, and announced me as a source of edification to her servants. Two or three words of this harangue operating on my memory, I put forth my profession of faith with a clearness of articulation and fidelity really wonderful for a bird. What exclamations ! what turning-up of eyes! I was stifled with caresses, intoxicated with praises, and crammed with sweetmeats. The moral agent grew pale with jealousy, when Doctor Direful was announced. He rushed into the room like a whirlwind, but stood aghast at beholding the devout crowd that encircled me. Instead of the usual apophthegms and serious discourse, he heard nothing but “ Pretty Poll," “ Scratch a poll,” “What a dear bird,” &c.—The malicious moral agent chuckled, and explained that the bird had, for the moment, usurped the attention which should exclusively belong to his reverence, who had taken the pains to come so far to enlighten the dark inmates of Sourcraut Hall. Dr. Direful stood rolling his fierce eye (he had but one) on the abashed assembly; and, pushing me off my perch, drove me with his handkerchief into the dense crowd which filled the bottom of the room, and consisted of all the servants of the house, with some recently converted Papists from among the Sourcraut tenantry. All drew back in horror, to let one so anathematised pass without contact. I coiled myself up near a droll-looking little postillion, who, while turning up the whites of his eyes, was coaxing me to him with a fragment of plumb-cake, which he had stolen from the banquet-table. Dr. Direful returned to the centre of the room, and mounted a desk to commence his lecture. The auditory crowded and cowered timidly round him, while he, looking down on them with a wrathful and contemptuous glance, was about to pour forth the pious venom which hung upon his lips, when a sharp cry of “ Get along out of that,struck him dumb. Inquiry was useless ; for all were ready to swear they had not uttered a word. Dr. Direful called them “ blasphemous liars,” and proceeded one and all to empty the vials of his wrath through the words of a text of awful denunciation, which I dare not here repeat; but his words were again arrested by the exclamation of " Aisy now, aisy-what a devil of a hurry you are in !” uttered in quick succession. He jumped down from his altitude; and, in reply to his renewed inquiries, a serious coachman offered up to the vengeance of this Moloch of methodism the mischievous postillion, who had that morning detected the not always sober son of the whip in other devotions than those to which he professed exclusive addiction. When I saw the rage of all parties, I thought of the roasted Indians of the Brazils, and shuddered for the


lad. After a short but inquisitorial examination, in which he in vain endeavoured to throw the blame on me, he was stripped of his gaudy dress, and in spite of his well-founded protestations of innocence, turned almost naked from the house. When peace was restored, a hymn was sung as an exorcism of the evil spirit that had gotten among the assembly; when being determined to exculpate the poor postillion, I joined with all my force in the chorus, with my catholic * Gloria in excelsis,which I abruptly changed into “ Polly put the the kettle on.” Thus taken in the fact, I was, without ceremony, denounced as an emissary from Clongowes, brought to Sourcraut Hall by the Papist O’Gallagher, with a forged letter, to disturb the community. I was immediately cross-examined by a religious attorney, as if I had been a white-boy, or a ribbon-man.

“ Come forward,' he said, “you bird of satan!-speak out, and answer for yourself, for its yourself can do it, you egg of the devil! What brought you here ?" I answered, “ It was all for my sweet sowl's sake, jewel;"and the answer decided my fate, without more to do. And now loaded with all the reproaches that the odium theologicum could suggest, I was cuffed, hunted, and finally driven out of the gates by the serious coachman to perish on the highway. On recovering from my fright I found myself at the edge of a dry ditch, where the poor

• What parrot,

shivering postillion sat lamenting his martyrdom. I went up to him, cowering and chattering ; and at the sight of me the tears dried on his dirty cheeks, his sobs changed to a laugh of delight; and when I hopped on his wrist, and cried “ Poor Pat,” all his sufferings were forgotten. While thus occupied, a little carriage drawn by a superb horse, with the reins thrown loose on his beautiful neck, ascended the hill; at the sight I screamed out “ Get along out of that !” which so frightened the high-blooded creature that he started, and flung the two persons in the carriage fairly into the middle of the road. One of them, in a military dress, sprung at once on his feet, and laying the whip across the naked shoulders of the postillion, exclaimed, “I'll teach you, you little villaip, to break people's necks.” “ Ob! murthur! murthur!” cried the poor boy..."shure, it was not me, plase your honor, only the parrot, Captain. you lying rascal ?" “ There, Captain, Sir, look forenenst you." The captain did look up, and saw me perched on the branch of a scrubby hawthorn-tree. Surprised and amused, he exclaimed, “By Jove ! how odd !--What a magnificent bird !- Why Poll, what the deuce brought you here?” “ Eh, Sirs," I replied-at randum, it was aw' for the love of the siller.” The captain, and his little groom Midge, who had picked himself up on the other side of the cabriolet, shrieked with laughing—" I say, my boy," said the captain, “ is that macaw your's ?” “ It is,” said the little liar.--" Would you take a guinea for it ?” asked the captain. “Troth, would I ; two," said the postillion.—“ Done," said the captain ; and pulling out his purse, and giving the two guineas, I suffered myself to be caught and placed in the cabriolet: the young officer sprang in after me, and, taking the reins, pursued his journey. We slept that night at a miserable inn in a miserable town: the next morning we arrived at my old hotel in Sackville-street, and shortly after sailed for England.

• The Honorable George Fitz-Forward, my new master, was a younger brother of small means and large pretensions. He had been quartered at Kil-mac-squabble with a detachment, where he had passed the winter in still-hunting, quelling ructions, shooting grouse and rebels, spitting over the bridge, and smoking cigars; and having obtained leave of absence, pour se d'écrasser, was on his way to London for the ensuing season. We travelled in the cab by easy stages, and halted only at great houses on the road, beginning with Plas Newyd, and ending at Sion House. My master's rank, and my talents, were as good as board-wages to us; and as the summer was not yet sufficiently advanced for the London winter, we found every body at home, and had an amazingly pleasant time. My master was enchanted with his acquisition. I made the frais of every society; and my repartees and bon-mots furnished the Lord Johns and Lady Louisas with subjects for whole seams of pink and blue note-paper. My master frequently said, “ That bird'is wonderful! he is a great catch !” and my fame had spread over the whole west end of the town a full week before our arrival in London.'

[To be continued.]

THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. • Here is a day! an English day in February !-rain, snow, wind-sleet, snow, rain--snow, rain, sleet,--reciprocated ad nauseam, and all in the course of three little hours of sixty minutes each ! Horrible climate !-Wretched beings who are heirs to it !-Lapland is a perpetual Paradise to it-Siberia an eternal summer!... Why should I stay here and die ? for die I must—Who can live in such a country ? and how can people, respectable people, be guilty of such a lie as to say that they do live in such a country? They don't; and they know they don't. It is not life, nor is it death—it is some intermediate state which they cannot understand, and have no term to express. But I see the horrid distinction too palpably, and sink, sink hourly under the knowledge!

• I'll go out :--I cannot catch more than fifty entirely English complaints, which no man attached to the institutions of his country can wish to be without.-Yes, I'll go out; for I shall have that simpering Simpson calling again, who pretends to cheerfulness-the impostor !-Cheerfulness in the city!-Preposterous lie !—and comes here grinning, chuckling, and crowing out his good-humour, as he thinks it—his melancholy, the unhappy man!—That Johnson, too, threatened he would call-Heaven avert such an infliction! I hate that fellow; and I hate bis fat French poodle, waddling and wheezing about the place, like a hearth-rug with an asthma !-And that Mr. Mountmidden, the poet-poet, pah!—That's a puppy-one of the sore-throat-catching school-fellows who think a sonnet and a neckcloth incompatible! He'll be coming here, with his collar down on his shoulders like a greyhound's ears, and his eyes turned up to the attic windows, as if he was apostrophising the nursery-maid over the way. Thank heaven, I hate every affectation most heartily!

· I must go out; for, only listen a moment to those Miss Thompsons, next door, beating Rossini to death with wires !--and he deserves the martyrdom ;—that intolerable Italian has done more to break the peace of this country than all the radicals and riotists in the last quarter of a century. And there's that Betty, below, buzzing about like a bee, with that eternal Barcarole! I begin to be of opinion with Mrs. Rundell (Domestic Cookery, p. 18.), that “ Maids should be hung up for one day at least.” If I stay at home, I shall be bored again with that rhubarb-headed Doctor counting my pulse and the fractional parts of his fee at the same time-one, two, three, four, five pulsationsshillings, he means, in fewer seconds ; and looking at my tongue-What's my tongue to him, the quack !as Figaro sings,

« Let bim look to his own. • Yes, I'll go out; for it is as safe out of doors as in.-More wind !--There's a gust! A Trinidad tornado is a trumpet-solo to it !—More sleet—now snow—and that's rain! What a country! what a clime !-Good heavens! there's a gust !--Ha! ha! ha! the chimney-pots at No. 10 are off on a visit to those at No. 11! -and the fox which surmounted the chimney at No. 9, is at his old tricks with the pigeons at No. 8!-Whew !-well-flown pigeon !-well-run fox! --Down they go over the parapet, with a running accompaniment of tiles and coping-stones!--That slow gen

May, 1831.-VOL. 1, NO. 1.


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