Part 2

To see the length'ning days, To feel the glowing hours, As step by step, the smiling spring Steals on her bright and glorious wing, And strews our path with flow'rs; This may be joy, but me it sends Warnings of banishment to friends.

Soon as the rose's bloom Breaks up the social tie, And those whom winter gather'd round The cheering hearth, no more are found, But east and west they fly; Some roam the mountain, some the deep, But, ah! leave those at home to weep.

'Midst winter's sullen blast, How many a friendly band Cheered the dark moments as they passed, And bid me think they fled too fast While circled hand in hand; But summer breaks the charming spell, And makes me feel, I lov'd too well!

Now, 'midst the fairest glow, The scene with clouds is drear, And _empty_ mansions crowd the street, No hand to beckon, eye to greet, Or friendly voice to cheer; The colony of love is shaken, And summer leaves our hall forsaken!

Away, then, summer flowers! Thou glowing rose, away! Come let me wreathe the gloomy bowers With cypress bathed in stormy showers, Where sunbeams never stray; But let the flow'r of _snowy_ crest Impart its chillness to my breast.

EQUIVOCAL GENTLEMEN.

Equivocal Gentlemen! Pray, who are they? Why, they are rather a curious class of persons. But if you are in the habit of noting character, we rather think you must know them. They are to be seen in every city, and almost in every town.

The equivocal gentleman has, in general manner and bearing, and, as far as a very limited exchequer will allow, in dress also, a curious smack of the real gentleman about him, of whom he is, altogether, a sort of amusing caricature. His pretensions are high, very high, and, conscious of the doubtfulness of his claims, always noisy and obtrusive. He endeavours to bully the world into respect for him. But it won't do. When he turns his back, the world winks one of its eyes, and says, with a knowing smile, "that's a queer sort of chap." It does'nt, in fact, know what to make of him--how to class him. It has, however, a pretty good notion that, with all the equivocal gentleman's pretension, he has by no means an unlimited command of the circulating medium.

And this is not an incorrect notion. Scarcity of funds is, in truth, at the bottom of all the equivocal gentleman's difficulties, as, indeed, it is of almost all those of every body else. He, however, may be emphatically said to be born of a warfare between his poverty and "gentility."

It is, of course, in the matter of dress that the equivocal gentleman is most anxious to establish his claim to be considered a genuine article; and it is in this matter, too, that his peculiar position in the world is made most manifest; dress being in his particular case, as it is less or more in all others, a strongly marked and faithful expression of character.

The struggle here, then, to keep matters right, is dreadful. None but himself knows how dreadful--none but himself knows the thousand shifts and expedients he is compelled to have recourse to, to maintain appearances in this most important and most troublesome department.

First, of the hat. It is a merciless and unfeeling hat; for it is obstinately hastening to decay, though it well knows that its sorely perplexed owner does _not_ know where on earth to get another. See what a watching and tending it requires to keep it from becoming absolutely unfit for the public eye, as the headpiece of a gentleman! Why, the watching and tending of a new-born infant is nothing to it.

Consider how carefully it must be examined round and round every morning, that no new outward symptom of decay has made itself manifest. Consider the brushing, the smoothing down, the inking of corners and rims, the coaxing and wheedling, by softly squeezing it this way, and gently pulling it that, to induce it to keep as near as possible to its original shape. Nay, desperate attempts may sometimes be detected to make it assume yet a smarter form, in defiance of decay and dilapidation.

Then, there is the stock. Stitching and inking again, with careful daily supervision. Then there is---- But we need enlarge no further on this part of our subject.

But, mark, reader! every thing about the equivocal gentleman is not in this state of seediness. He would not be the equivocal gentleman at all, if this were the case. Some of the particulars of his outward man are good--in fact, stylish--and it is this incongruity that makes him out, that makes him what he is, and which so much puzzles you to class him when you see him.

The equivocal gentleman _always_ manages to have one or two of the component parts of his dress of unimpeachable quality, but never can manage to have the whole in this palmy state. There is always something wrong--something below par; and, we may add, generally something outré, absurd, or extravagant. Perfect consistency and propriety in dress he never can attain, and perhaps would not, if he could; for one of the most marked features of his character is a craving after singularity, in the art and fashion of his habiliments.

Overlooking himself what partial deficiencies there may be in this department of his entire man, and thinking that the world will overlook them too, the equivocal gentleman affects the "bang up." He is not content with desiring to impress beholders with the idea of his being merely a respectable sort of person: he desires much more than this. They must take him, if not certainly for a lord, at least for some great personage--for a--a--he does not himself, in fact, well know what--for a mysterious, indeterminate somebody, of mysterious and indeterminate consequence.

There are two or three points in which the equivocal gentleman displays a very remarkable degree of ingenuity. One of these consists in the dexterity with which he not only conceals defects of dress, but converts them into positive elegancies. Thus, if he have to button up for want of a clean shirt, he contrives, by the very smart way in which he does it, to make it appear not only to be matter of mere choice or fancy, but, in fact, by much the genteeler thing.

But it is in the enacting of character that the equivocal gentleman particularly shines.

Not having either the cash or the credit necessary to enable him to adapt his dress to his identity, he is compelled to adapt his identity to his dress. In other words, placing, for the reason alluded to, little or no influence over the shape, fashion, or quality of his clothes, but being obliged to conform to circumstances in this matter to a most unpleasant extent--to wear, in short, whatever he can most conveniently get--he is driven to the expedient of adapting his character to the particular description of dress he may be wearing at the time. Thus, if it is a short coat, he probably enacts the country gentleman, or sporting character; if a braided surtout, then he is a military man; if he is driven to hide the deficiencies of his other garments by a cloak, he adds a cloth cap with tassels, frizzles up his whiskers, and comes forth a Polish count; and so on of other varieties of dress.

In person the equivocal gentleman is stout and robust, his age somewhere about forty. He is bushy-whiskered, and affects a swaggering, bold, off-hand manner, talks large to waiters, and looks with edifying ferocity on every body.

This rabidness of disposition on the part of the equivocal gentleman proceeds partly from his habit of attempting to bully the world into a high opinion of his consequence, and partly from the irritation produced by a constant dread that the world suspects the true state of his case. It is thus partly affected, partly real.

Being always miserably short of funds, the equivocal gentleman is necessarily much circumscribed in his enjoyments; and this is particularly unfortunate, for he has a very keen relish for the good things of this life. He likes good living, good drinking, good every thing; but cruel fate has denied them to him, except in very limited quantities, and on very rare occasions. If he even gets them at all, it is by mere chance, mere casual accident. Occasionally it is by an effort of ingenuity, through which he has contrived, by some mysterious means or other, to get possession of a little of the circulating medium.

And pray, then, what _is_ the equivocal gentleman? What is he in reality, and what does he do? How does he support himself? Why, friend, these questions are a vast deal easier put than answered.

Just now, the equivocal gentleman is doing nothing--literally and absolutely nothing. He was something or other at one time; but at this moment, and for many years past, he has pursued no calling whatever. The equivocal gentleman, in short, is a gentleman of shifts and expedients. He has a little world of his own, in which he manoeuvres for a living. Being rather respectably connected, his friends occasionally remit him small sums, and these god-sends, few and far between, and his own ingenuity, are all he has to depend upon.

The equivocal gentleman, notwithstanding the dashy appearance he aims at, and the large style in which he speaks, is, we are sorry to say it, a bit of a rogue in grain, and a good deal of one in practice: he is, in short, somewhat of a scamp, partly from circumstances, and partly from the natural bent of his genius, which is ever urging him to take the shortest cuts towards the objects he desires to possess. He is, in truth, a sort of human bird of prey; tailors, bootmakers, and lodging-house keepers, being his favourite quarries, and the class who, therefore, suffer most from his non-paying propensities. On one or other of these he is ever and anon pouncing, and woe be to them if he once gets them within his clutches: he will leave his mark, be sure, if he does.

The tailor, the bootmaker, and the lodging-house keeper, again, knowing that he is their natural enemy--and as well do they know him for this, as the small bird does the hawk--stand in great awe of him; they have an instinctive dread of him, and put themselves in a posture of defence the moment they see him.

Our equivocal gentleman, in truth, lives in a constant state of warfare similar to this with the whole world--not open hostility, perhaps, but lurking, secret aversion. The world looks shyly and doubtfully on him, and he looks fiercely and angrily on the world in return.

Amongst the two or three little foibles by which the equivocal gentleman is distinguished, is a rather urgent propensity to strong drink. He is, in fact, pretty considerably dissipated, as the florid or brick-red face on which his luxuriant whiskers vegetate, but too plainly indicates. He is not, indeed, always drunk; for his very limited command of means keeps him, on the whole, pretty sober; but he gets drunk when he can, and no gentleman can do more, nor can more be reasonably expected of him.

The equivocal gentleman is a man of refined tastes, and hence it is that he patronizes the drama. He is a great play-goer. On such occasions he figures in the sixpenny gallery; and here he has a difficult part to play, as difficult as any on the stage. He has to make it appear to the gods, who wonder to see so fine a gentleman amongst them, _why_ he has come to such a place, and at the same time to parry the very natural conclusion, that it proceeds from a limited exchequer, which he must on no account permit to be presumed for a moment.

The way he manages this very ticklish point is this:--he assumes a look at once dignified and supercilious, which look is meant to impress you with the belief that his being in the shilling gallery, which he generally enters at the half-price, is a mere freak, a whim of one who could have gone to the boxes had he chosen--that he has come where he is, just to see what sort of a place it is, what effect the actors and the scenery have when seen from such a distance.

To confirm this impression, the equivocal gentleman never sits down in the gallery: this would look like premeditated economy. He stands, therefore, during the whole time of the performance, and stands aloof, too, from the ragamuffin audience, with his arms folded on his breast, and an expression of awful majesty on his brow.

Reader, do you know the equivocal gentleman now? We are sure you do. That's he there! see--that odd-looking personage with the battered drab hat, the flashy surtout, the shabby stock, the fashionable vest crossed by a German silver chain, the questionable small-clothes, and the large patch on his left boot.

IRISH PROVERBS.

The proverbs and moral sayings of a nation have always been considered to possess a remarkable interest, not only on account of the practical wisdom embodied in them, but for the insight which to a great extent they afford into the peculiar character and habits of thought of the people to whom they belong. Wisdom, it is true, is essentially the same in all countries, but the expression of it must vary according to the temperament and modes of thinking which are found to characterise the people of different nations; and hence the proverbs of every people have been deemed worthy of preservation, as well for purposes of comparison as for their own intrinsic value. If, however, there be any nation the proverbs of which remain almost wholly unknown to the people of the British islands generally, it is the Irish, of whose popular sayings no specimens have ever been given in an English dress, except a collection of about eighty, which were contributed to the first volume of the _Dublin Penny Journal_ by our able and estimable friend Mr O'Donovan, who well observes, that "a perfect list of the proverbs of any people is, as it were, an index to the national character, or the elements of the moral notions, customs, and manners of a people." A vast body of such characteristic popular wisdom still remains hidden in the obscurity of its original vernacular form, and we trust that we shall render our readers an acceptable service in presenting them from time to time with translated portions, accompanied by the original Irish, which we are equally anxious to preserve.

1.

#fearr mine na buirbe ṁor# #fearr coir na dul ċum dliġe# #fearr teaċ beag is teann loin# #na teaċ mor is beagan biḋ#

Gentleness is better than violent anger.. Compromising is better than going to law. A small house and a plentiful store Are better than a large house and little food.

2.

#Iomad gloir ag neaċ# #to ḃeir sin neiṁċion ara ċeill# #deineann duine le hiomad gloir# #Spaidean don ċoir fein#

Too much talkativeness in a man Brings his good sense into disrepute; Because a man by a superfluity of words Only detracts from the force of truth.

3.

#ni troimede an loċ an eala# #ni troimede an t'eaċ a srian# #ni troimede an ċaora a holann# #'sni troimede an ċolann ciall#

The lake is not incumbered by the swan, The steed is not incumbered by its bridle, The sheep is not incumbered by its wool, Nor is the body incumbered by good sense.

4.

#milis glor gaċ fir# #ag a mbiḋ cuid agus spreiḋ# #Searḃ glor an te ḃios loinin# #bunoscionn do laḃrann se#

Sweet is the voice of every man Who possesses means and affluence; But harsh is the voice of the indigent man; His language seems topsy-turvy.

5.

#naċ buaiḋearṫa ḃid na daoine ar uireasbaiḋ loin# #'san uaiġ da lionaḋ dioḃ go memic san lo# #ni luaiṫe ton ċill an fioṫal fuiriḋṫe dereoil# #na an luaiṫḟear groiḋe no an naoiṫean lemiḃ ḃig oig#

How much do people sorrow for their want of possessions, And the grave meanwhile filled with them often in the day! Not sooner to the cemetery goes the emaciated invalid Than the robust and brave man, or the now-born infant.

INTERESTING TRIAL.

The following account of an extraordinary criminal trial which took place in Hertfordshire in the year 1628, we have extracted from _Reilly's Dublin News Letter_ of the 16th of August 1740. It was published for the first time in London in the preceding year (1739) by Dr Rawlinson, who had discovered it among the papers of the eminent lawyer, Sir John Maynard, formerly one of the Lords Commissioners of the Great Seal of England.

"The case, or rather history of a case, that happened in the county of Hertford, I thought good to report here, though it happened in the fourth year of King Charles the First, that the memory of it may not be lost by miscarriage of my papers, or otherwise. I wrote the evidence that was given, which I and others did hear; and I wrote it exactly according to what was deposed at the trial, at the bar of the King's Bench, namely,

Johan Norkott, wife of Arthur Norkott, being murdered, the question was, How she came by her death? The coroner's inquest on view of the body, and depositions of Mary Norkott, John Okeman, and Agnes his wife, inclined to find Johan Norkott _felo de se_; for they informed the coroner and jury that she was found dead in her bed, the knife sticking in the floor, and her throat cut: That the night before she went to bed with her child, her husband being absent, and that no other person after such time as she was gone to bed came into the house, the examinants lying in the outer room, and they must needs have seen or known if any stranger had come in. Whereupon the jury gave up to the coroner their verdict, that she was _felo de se_; but afterwards, upon rumour among the neighbourhood, and their observation of divers circumstances, which manifested that she did not, nor, according to those circumstances, could possibly murder herself, thereupon the jury, whose verdict was not yet drawn into form by the coroner, desired the coroner that the body, which was buried, might be taken up out of the grave, which the coroner assented to; and thirty days after her death, she was taken up in the presence of the jury and a great number of the people: whereupon the jury changed their verdict. The persons being tried at Hertford assizes, were acquitted; but so much against the evidence, that Judge Hervey let fall his opinion that it were better an appeal were brought, than so foul a murder escape unpunished. And Pascha 4 Car., they were tried on the appeal, which was brought by the young child, against his father, grandmother, and aunt, and her husband Okeman. And because the evidence was so strange, I took exact and particular notice, and it was as follows:--

After the manner above mentioned related, an ancient and grave person, minister to the parish where the fact was committed (being sworn to give evidence according to custom), deposed, that the body being taken up out of the grave thirty days after the party's death, and lying on the grass, and the four defendants present, they were required each of them to touch the dead body. Okeman's wife fell upon her knees, and prayed God to show a token of her innocency, or to some such purpose; her very words I have forgot. The appellees did touch the dead body; whereupon the brow of the dead, which was before a livid and carrion colour (that was the verbal expression _interminis_ of the witness), began to have a dew or gentle sweat arise on it, which increased by degrees till the sweat ran down in drops on the face; the brow turned and changed to a lively and fresh colour, and the dead opened one of her eyes and shut it again; and this opening of the eye was done three several times. She likewise thrust out the ring or marriage finger three times, and pulled it in again, and the finger dropped blood from it on the grass.

Sir Nicholas Hide, Chief Justice, seeming to doubt the evidence, asked the witness, Who saw this besides you?

Witness--I cannot swear what others saw; but, my Lord, (said he) I do believe the whole company saw it; and if it had been thought a doubt, proof would have been made of it, and many would have attested with me.

Then the witness observing some admiration in the auditors, he spoke further. My Lord, I am minister of the parish, and have long known all the parties, but never had any occasion of displeasure against any of them, nor had to do with them, or they with me, but as I was minister. The thing was wonderful to me; but I have no interest in the matter but as called upon to testify the truth I have done.

This witness was a very reverend person, and, as I guessed, was about seventy years of age; his testimony was delivered gravely and temperately, but to the great admiration of the auditory. Whereupon applying himself to the Chief Justice, he said:--

My Lord, my brother, here present, is minister of the next parish adjacent, and I am assured saw all done that I have affirmed.

Therefore that person was also sworn to give evidence, and did depose in every point--to the sweating of the brow, the change of its colour, opening of the eye, and the thrice motion of the finger, and drawing it in again. Only the first witness added, that he himself dipped his finger in the blood which came from the dead body, to examine it, and he swore he believed it was blood.

I conferred afterwards with Sir Edmund Powell, barrister-at-law, and others, who all concurred in the observation. For myself, if I were upon oath, I can depose that these depositions, especially of the first witness, are truly reported in substance.

The other evidence was given against the prisoners, namely, the grandmother of the plaintiff, and against Okeman and his wife; that they confessed that they lay in the next room to the dead person that night, and that none came into the house till they found her dead the next morning; therefore, if she did not murder herself, they must be the murderers. To that end further proof was made.

First--That she lay in a composed manner in her bed, the bed-clothes nothing at all disturbed, and her child by her in bed.

Secondly--Her throat cut from ear to ear, and her neck broken; and if she first cut her throat, she could not break her neck in the bed, nor _contra_.

Thirdly--There was no blood in the bed, saving there was a tincture of blood on the bolster whereon her head lay; but no substance of blood at all.

Fourthly--From the bed's head there was a stream of blood on the floor, which ran along till it ponded in the bendings of the floor to a very great quantity; and there was also another stream of blood on the floor at the bed's feet, which ponded also on the floor to another great quantity, but no continuance or communication of blood of either of these two places from one to the other, neither upon the bed; so that she bled in two places severally. And it was deposed, turning up the mat of the bed, there were clots of congealed blood in the straw of the mat underneath.

Fifthly--The bloody knife was found in the morning sticking in the floor a good distance from the bed; but the point of the knife as it stuck was towards the bed, and the haft from the bed.

Lastly--There was a print of the thumb and four fingers of the left hand.

Sir Nicholas Hide, Chief Justice, said to the witness--How can you know the print of a left hand from the print of a right hand in such a case?

Witness--My Lord, it is hard to describe; but if it please that honourable judge to put his left hand upon your left hand, you cannot possibly place your right hand in the same posture. Which being done, and appearing so, the defendants had time to make their defence, but gave no evidence to any purpose.

The jury departed from the bar, and, returning, acquitted Okeman, and found the other three guilty; who being severally demanded what they could say why judgment should not be pronounced, said, 'Nothing;' but each of them said, 'I did not do it, I did not do it.'

Judgment was given, and the grandmother and the husband executed; but the aunt had the privilege to be spared execution, being with child.