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at least £40,000 at the present day. He rigorously enforced the edict which was at one time engraved on the walls of his sacred city, and truly expressed his religious convictions, “Turk, Jew, and Atheist may enter here, but not a Papist." Protestant alms-houses, Protestant schools for the old and young respectively, powder and ball for the able-bodied Protestant males, the Bible and spinning-wheel for the Protestant females-all were introduced, and flourished under his active superintendence. He thoroughly understood the capabilities of his adopted country, and no one ever strove to develop its resources with greater success. To take one instance alone. He became a master manufacturer of iron. Gerald Boate, the author of the very remarkable pamphlet written in 1645, from which we have already quoted, tells us the result.

"The Earl of Cork," he says, "whose iron works being seated in Munster, afforded him very good opportunities of sending his iron out of the land by shipping, did in this particular surpass all others, so that he hath gained great treasure thereby; and know. ing persons who have had a particular insight into his affairs do assure me, that he hath profited above £100,000 clear gain by his iron works."

And Lord Arthur Chichester, the Lord Deputy, writing to Cecil, Lord Salisbury, on the 12th December, 1610, describes Sir Richard Boyle as "being the best skilled and enabled to carry such a business" (the manufacture of iron) “of any man in this kingdom." His woods were equal objects of his care, and the same enlightened spirit guided, and similar success rewarded his efforts in that direction. In a word, it may be said that Lord Cork introduced busy industry, active life, prosperity and plenty, in districts which had been wasted and made desolate. He should have earned the title of benefactor of his species and deservedly the epithet of "Great," but for the one fatal mistake which was at the foundation of all his work, and caused what seemed a fair, substantial structure to prove no more stable than a house of cards. The next genera tion saw all his improvements disappear; his son and heir became Lord Lieutenant of Yorkshire, owner, through his wife, of a fine estate in England, and (word of illomen!) an Irish absentee. The only lasting legacy bequeathed to us by Lord Cork was sectarian rancour the effects have survived to our own times, and are only now passing away.

We have to add a few words on Lord Cork's character as head of a household and father of a family. In the former capacity he was the personification of order, discipline and well-regulated hospitality."The form for the government of the Earl of Cork's family at Stallbridge," drawn up in his own handwriting, and printed at the close of Lady Warwick's biography, is a model for masters and mistresses of the present day. As a father of a family, we have his portrait drawn by two unexceptionable witnesses-the Honourable Robert Boyle, who tells us how he brought up his sons; and the Countess of Warwick, who gives us an insight into his peculiar treatment of his daughters. He had, in all, sixteen children--eight sons and eight daughters. Three of the former died in infancy; all the latter survived him. His object with regard to the former seems to have been to train them up, by a university education, foreign travel, and the practice of all manly and martial exercises, to make a figure in the world. His object with regard to the latter was to get them married to peers, or the eldest sons of peers. The following is the testimony of the famous Robert Boyle, to which we have just referred. It must be premised that he writes in the third person, and under the somewhat pedantic name of Philaretus :

"When once Philaretus (Robert Boyle) was able, without danger, to support the incommodities of a remove, his father, who had a perfect aversion for their fondness who used to breed their children so nice and tenderly, that a hot sun or a good shower of rain as much endangers them as if they were made of butter or of sugar, sends him away from home, and commits him to the care of a country nurse, who, by early inuring him by slow degrees to a coarse, but cleanly diet, and to the usual passions of the air, gave him so vigorous a complexion that both hardships were made easy to him by coustom, and the delights of convenience and ease were endeared to him by their rarity." Philaretus pays a visit to his father, the earl, at his manor-house of Stallbridge, in Dorsetshire-for Lord Cork had made purchases also in England-and thus describes his reception:-"The good old earl welcomed him very kindly, for whether it were to the coustom of old people (as Jacob doted much on Benjamin and Joseph) to give their eldest children the largest proportion of their fortunes, but the youngest the greatest share of their affections; to a likeness in Philaretus, both to his father's body and to his mind; or, as it seems most likely, to his never having lived with his father to an age that might much tempt him to run in debt, and take such other courses to provoke his dislike, as in his elder children he severely disrelished--to which of these causes the effect is to be ascribed, it is not my task to resolve, but certain it is that from Philaretus'

birth until his father's death, he ever continued very much his favourite." We need no apology for citing the foregoing unique piece of domestic narrative from the famous pen of Robert Boyle. Nor were Lord Cork's sons mere holiday soldiers.

At the battle of Liscarrol, so disastrous to the Confederate Irish, three of Lord Cork's sons, Lords Kenalmeaky and Broghil, and Francis Boyle, afterwards Lord Shannon, and also his son-in-law, Lord Barrimore, were engaged in the hottest of the fight, and took a conspicuous part in ensuring victory to the parliamentary forces. There, too, Lord Kenalmeaky perished by a chance shot, and Francis Boyle, at the risk of life, rescued his brother's corpse from the hands of his enemies; and there, too, Lord Broghil took one of his earliest lessons in blood-shedding, wherein he became in after years so expert a proficient.

From war to lady-love is but a step; so we pass without apology to a few extracts from the autobiography of the Countess of Warwick, the youngest daughter but one, as Robert Boyle was the youngest son of the Earl of Cork:

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"I was born November the 8th, 1625. three years old, and some time after I was sent by him to a prudent and virtuous lady, my Lady Claytone, who grew to make so much of me as if she had been an own mother to me. Under her government I remained at Mallow till I was, I think, about eleven years old, and then my father called me. Soon after my father removed to Stallbridge; and there, when I was about thirteen or fourteen years of age, came down to me one Mr. Hamilton, son to my Lord Clandeboyes, who was afterwards Earl of Clanbrassell, and would fain have had me for his wife. My father and his had, some years before, concluded a match between us. Now he returned out of France, and received from my father a very kind welcome, looking upon him as his son-in-law; and designing suddenly we should be married, with a command to me to receive him as one designed to be my husband. Mr. Hamilton passion for me

.. professed a great my aversion for him was extraordinary, though I could give my father no satisfactory account why it was so my father showing high displeasure; but though I was in much trouble about it, yet I could never be brought, either by fair or foul means, to it, so as my father was at least forced to break it off." The fair biographer then gives an account of Mr. Richa's sur reptitious courtship, Mr. Rich being only second son of my Lord Warwick, and heir to but £1,300 a-year, and of how she responded to his passion. Never was tale of true love better told. Her father discovers the situation of affairs through Laly Staford, a cunning old woman, who had been herself too much and too long versed in amours, "is furious, and forbids her his presence. The narrative thus proceeds: "But after some time he was persuaded by the great esteem he had for my Lord of Warwick and my Lord of Holland, to yield to treat with them, and was at last brought, though not to give me my before-designed portion, yet to give me seven thousand pounds, and was brought to see and be civil to Mr. Rich, who was a constant visitor of me at Hampton almost daily; but he was the only person I saw, for my own Family came not to me; and thus I continued there for about ten weeks, when I was at last, by my Lord of Warwick and my Lord Goring, led into my father's chamber, and 1 there, upon my knees, humbly begged his pardon, which, after he had with great justice severely chid me, he bid me rise, and was, by my Lord of Warwick's and my Lord Goring's intercession, reconciled to me."

The lady in her sixteenth year-if she be correct in her statement of the date of her birth-was shortly afterwards married to young Rich, who, all lovers of proprieties will rejoice to hear, became in the sequel, by the death of his elder brother, al of Warwick. Richard Boyle, the subject of our sketch, was created Baron Youghal in 1613; and Viscount Dungarvan and Earl Cork in 1620. His second and third sons, Louis and Roger, were made peers in infancy, their patents reciting, as the cause of this unusual distinction, the eminent services rendered by their father as an undertaker.

Lord Cork chose for his motto, "God's providence is my inheritance." If we admit its truth, it can only be by interpreting the word "God" in the sense it bears in Spenser's lines,

God of the world and worldlings, I me call,
Great Mammon, greatest god below the sky.*

THOMAS GALLWEY.

"Fairie Queen." Bk. ii., can. 7, st. 8..

THE WATCHING NUN.

She kneels. Her face is bright and calm, As angels stay their feet,

To catch the high and gen'rous vow

In accents firm and sweet,

And scarcely deem the words of earth
For crowned saints above,

Through all the shining courts of Heaven
Breathe like pure words of love;

As girt by gentle sisterhood,

She kneels before Thy shrine,

And vows to be, through life, through death, Thine, Lord! and only Thine.

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When the eyes of morn, in all their depths, Fill with the rising sun,

Through the slender chapel-lattices

They smile on the watching nun;
And oft, when azure deep on deep
With large soft stars is sown,

One hallowed moonlight crowns her head,
And crowns, dear Lord! Thy throne.
She heeds not-blinded by Thy love,
She heeds but Thee alone.

On through the sacred watches,

Through storm and gloom of night,
Her soul, like a lamp of the altar,
Yieldeth its fragrant light.

And if tears pass over her shining gaze,
Would I such tears could shed!—
Tears which spring from the wells of love,
Tears which quench the chast'ning fires,
For some beloved dead;

Tears which the angels gather,
That this Bride of Christ may wear
These heart-gems pure and fair,
Placed by the sacred Bridegroom
As a coronet round her head.

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And beautifully curve the hills,
And richer scents the rose.
The sacred night is closing down,
Sweeter her soul's pure breath,

And a wistful light shines in her glance,
The evening star of Death.

Come with the last bright ointment—
For the lips which spoke but love,
For the eyes worn dim with yearning
To gaze on the Face above;

There are angels round thy pathway;
There are unseen hands with flowers
Which never bloomed on earthly fields,
Nor drank our earthly showers.
Come! God's own stately acolytes
Will meekly go before;

Come with the Lord, she sought so oft,
Whom she may seek no more,
And whisper soft confiteors.

And admonitions meet,
Thanksgivings glowing into love,

And absolutions sweet.

Come! lights burn round the Crucifix--
E'er soul and body part,

On the virgin heart which watched with God,
Lay thou God's Sacred Heart.

They chanted soothing Requiems,

And many tears were shed,

And through the tranquil morns of spring,
Among the flowers, the bright birds sing
Sweetly above her head.

And afar upon the eternal shore,

With the angels' harmony,

Her voice ascends :-" For evermore,
Dear Lord, I watch with Thee."

G. E.

THE MOORES OF MOORE'S COURT.

BY DENIS F. HANNIGAN.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHARLES CALLANAN had noticed of late, with deep anxiety, that, while his father's manner had become kinder and more considerate than before, his mind seemed to be overshadowed by a dark cloud of sorrow. He rarely smiled, and, whenever he was addressed, replied with an air of abstraction, as if his thoughts were far away. Even the energy which hitherto had never failed him in his commercial pursuits, now seemed to be waning fast. He spent only about an hour each day in his office; and even there he seemed incapable of concentrating his attention on whatever he happened to be engaged at, for he would stop while reading a letter or overlooking some accounts, and, leaning his head upon his hand, heave a deep sigh. It appeared, indeed, as if some hidden trouble were preying on his spirit and embittering his whole existence.

Charles sometimes fancied that Ellie's death might be the cause of this mental suffering; but when he saw with what calm resignation his father always alluded to that event, he began to think that he had been mistaken in his conjecture. In his eagerness to solve the mystery, he recalled some of those strange expressions used on one memorable night, which had often filled him with astonishment. He remembered the fierce language in which his father had denounced Sir Valentine Moore, and the intense bitterness with which he had then, and on every other occasion, referred to that family. How exultingly he had spoken of the prospect of their ruin! How jealously he had heard Frank Moore praised, and how vehemently he had retorted that it was impossible for any of the Moores to be either generous or good! Surely there must be something in all this which had its root in some dark memory of the past-some dire calamity which could never be forgotten!

At last he resolved to question his father, and, if possible, discover the source of so much anguish of mind. One night, father and son sat together before the fire in the parlour; Mr. Callanan staring moodily into the red coals, as if he saw in them some picture of the future, and Charles looking into his father's face with painful curiosity.

At length he ventured to break the silence.

Father," he said, "I am afraid there is some secret trouble which is making your life very unhappy. I see that you are carrying some burden within your breast too heavy, perhaps, for

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