For ages, as they went and came, Have brought no dimness to that dream!

And, even amid our fainter faith,
How long! and oh, how far!
A thousand weary hearts look forth
For some unrisen star!

But all these vainly yearning dreams
That haunt our path of gloom,
May be but voices from the climes
That lie beyond the tomb-
Telling of brighter, better things
Than ever blest our earthly springs !"

The next volume on our list* is one that has interested us very much in many respects, and is entitled to consideration, as well from the taste and intelligence which it displays throughout, as from the circumstances under which it was written, and the class to which the author belongs. Mr. Herbison is one of those whom it has been the fashion to call "uneducated poets"-though "self-educated" would perhaps be a more correct expression-men who, in their childhood, have been deprived of the advantages of a school education, and who from early boyhood have been compelled to maintain themselves by unremitting manual labour. "At the age of fourteen," he says in his preface, "I was harnessed to the loom, and doomed for life to be an operative weaver—an occupation at which those engaged must either toil with incessant drudgery, or starve."

a

Not, however, satisfied with the material web on which he was industriously and incessantly employed, our poet has contrived to weave more lasting and more valuable woof, composed of the stuff which dreams are made of, embroidered with many a flower of fancy, and with the fine golden thread of nature running through the entire. The loom seems to have some particular attraction for the muse, as many men, both in the North of Ireland and in Scotland, who have creditably distinguished them. selves by their verses, have been engaged in the same pursuits as our author. We trust we may be enabled to return to this subject again, when our readers shall hear more of the

weaver-poets of the North. At pre. sent, we recommend this little volume to the public, and the author to such persons in his own neighbourhood (Dunclug, near Ballymena) who may have it in their power to assist him in his " way of life."

David Herbison, though an Irish patriot, up, we are glad to perceive, to the exigencies of the time, seems to have been influenced much more by the Scotch poets than by the Irish, if we except, perhaps, Mr. Ferguson. Burns, Tannahill, and Mac Neill, seem to have been his models, and he has not disgraced them. Some of his verses are very musical; take this stanza, for instance, page 195:

"The dew sparkles clear

-

O'er the green-spreading bushes; The linnet sings near

Where the crystal stream gushes; The dove in the grove

Is caress'd and caressing; Arise now, my love,

And partake of the blessing."

Or the three stanzas, page 198, notwithstanding the faulty grammar of the concluding couplet of the first

verse:

"'Tis no the slae-thorn blossom,

Or the wreath of feathery snaw,
Can show sae fair a bosom

As the flow'ret o' Buckna;
Her cheeks outvie the roses,

That open to the view,
When o'er their breast reposes
The silvery drops of dew.

"Her step is light, her eye is bright,
How meet for lady's bower-
I never saw, by day or night,
Sae beautifu' a flower;
Far frae the lofty city

And the joys that courtiers wear, 'Tis bliss to meet my Betty,

Whare there's nane to see or hear.

"When wandering by the river,

Yon willow trees amang,
Enraptur'd wi' my lover,

And the little linnet's sang,
I'll press her to my bosom,
Frae sorrow and frae care,
Nor let my peerless blossom
Feel the bitter chilling air."

THE house that had been deserted, as I have attempted to describe, did not long remain tenantless. The luckless fate of the last residents furnished the

neighbouring gossips with an abundant relish, until speculation on the newcomers began to erase the memory of their predecessors. People heard that the former were a newly-married pair; that the gentleman was young and rich, the lady young and handsome. A few of the servants came before their master, and the ladies'-maids around lost no time in visiting and learning all additional information that could be drawn from these very facile oracles. The old, confidential butler wrapped himself in grave and silent importance, but the others declared that their master was perfect though they were sorry they could not like their mistress quite so well. To be sure, she was very handsome, had a large fortune (they knew the exact sum), and was of a high family; but they could not admire people that were not free and affable-they did not like to see old heads on young shoulders.

They came at last, and the neighbours found they were very like what young-married couples of high birth and honour often are. The gentleman was a tall, slight, well-made person, with features that one would look at for their comeliness-nothing more. The lady was grave, to be sure, but it was a gravity that harmonized well with her dark loveliness of face and her figure of faultless beauty. They mingled freely in the festivities that graced their arrival, and returned them in becoming fashion, yet it was thought that the lady's whole soul never appeared given up to the merriment of the passing hour; and her female acquaintance and neighbours soon began to descant upon the heinousness of pride and reserve. Some said, perhaps she lived unhappily with her husband-that most likely her heart had been another's, when the tempting bait of rank and fortune

proved too strong for her own constancy, or the forbearance of her parents. This surmise, however, had no foundation; for if her outward lineaments had somewhat of a Spanish cast, her heart's love, too, had its own sunny glow, and was thrown entirely on the man whom she had chosen. But the gossips knew nothing of the taint of insanity which hung over his family-the dark, hereditary cloud, which the sun of wealth and rank cannot dissipate; and an infliction which had been dwelt upon by the lady's friends, but in vain, when they recommended her to decline the offer of his hand. Neither did they know anything of a certain passage of hate and gloom in the same family history; and perhaps it was thinking too deeply upon these that so often filled her eye with care and watchfulness.

After some time, a servant was wanted in the household; and, among the applicants for the situation, came a man who was unknown to any one in the neighbourhood. His testimonials of capability and worthiness were, however, very high, and the master of the house engaged him in preference to the other persons, many of whom had families and connexions round him. His wife and confidential butler were opposed to his choice. The former could assign no cause, except an indefinite dislike, and she was too strong-minded to persist in an opposition that had no better founda

tion.

But the trusty butler urged his more powerfully, though unavailingly. He said the man was too like the Reillys, ever to be employed by his master; he hoped he would turn out well, but for his part he could never warm to the black eye and thick eyebrows. His master only smiled at what he called groundless prejudice, and declared that even if the man were young Reilly himself, he would not decline to hire him, to show how little he cared for him or his enmity. Accordingly, all objection having been over-ruled or silenced, the new do