y PPP VASE Lprsgaroaa, THE GREEN ISLE OF LOVERS. BY ROBERT C, SANDS. They say that afar, in the land of the west, Where the bright golden sun sinks in glory to rest, ’Mid fens where the hunter ne’er ventured to tread, A fair lake urruffled and sparkling is spread; W here, lost in his course, the rapt Indian discovers, In distance seen dimly, the Green Isle of Lovers.

There verdure fails never ; immortal 1n bloom,

Soft waves the magnolia its groves of perfume ;

And low bends the branch with rich foliage depress’d, All glowing like gems in the crowns of the. east ; There the bright eye of nature in mid glory hovers ; Tis the land of the sun-bearn,—the Green Isle of Lovers!

Sweet strains wildly float on the breezes that kiss

‘The calm-flowing lake round that region of bliss, .

Where, wreathing their garlands of amaranth, fair choirs ;

Glad measures still weave to the sound that inspires

The glad dance and the revel, mid forests that cover

On high with their shade the-Green Isle of the Lover.

Sut fierce as the snake, with his eye-balls of fire, When his seales are ali brilliant and glowing with ire, Are the warriors to all, save the maids of their isle, © Whose law is their will, and whose life is their smile; Irom beauty their valor and strefigth are not rovers, And peace reigns supreme in the Green Isle of Lovers.

And he who has sought to sat foot on its shore,

In mazes perplex’d, has beheld it no more,

it fleets on the vision, deluding the view,

Its banks still retire as the hunters pursue ;

Obagho in th’s vain world of woe-shall discover

The home undisturb’d—the Green Isle of the Lover!

THE GHOST OF A STORY ABOUT A GHOST. BY ALFRED CROWQUILL.

My uncle always pooh’d and psha’d at all unbelievers when they answered to the question of * Do you believe in ghosts ?” by the positive denial of having any such weakness, or indeed, having any superstition at. all. “It is all nonsense,” said my uncle: “everybody be- Heves in ghosts—and I had a great belief in my uncle.”

Iie was aman who had entered the army in those glorious times when boys learned tactics in the field, instead of on a slate by a diagram, and when necessity compelled rulers, such was the universal fighting all over the globe, to make soldiers by the gross, like pins, and they were used up in like manner.’ Nobody knows what becomes of the pins, and very few troubled them- selves to know what became of the soldiers. We had victories, and the glorious fields were much greener for the farmer's scythe the next year.

My uncle. consequently, knew very little of civil life. The roll of the drum had been his early rattle; his childhood a drill, his manhood a fight, and his old age areview. Civilians he leoked upon as mere suttlers to the fighting part of human nature, born to supply the camp with necessaries, and keep things all right and

tight at home.

He laughed at anything like the idea of -a lasting peace. “As long,” said he, “as there is anything to fight for, so long will man fight. Now and then, indeed, nations must get second wind, but it is only to fight with more vigour. Nations, civilized or savage, always did fight, no matter about what. ‘The small birds fight upon the tree, domestic animals fight about your hearth, the wild beasts fight in their forests. In fact, a univer- sal pugnacity seems to pervade nature; and peace is nothing but time given, to think of what is to be fougit about next.”

All these savage ideas of human nature were only the military part of my uncle; for a kinder-hearted and more simple-minded man never existed. His love of children was delightful. We all loved him in return. although we rather kicked against his awful discipline. What was told us to do we were obliged to do; or woe

betide us. Then he had such a voice, which, coupled with his shaggy white eyebrows and towering height,| quickened the steps of the lagging youngster who ven- tured qn any little experiment that appeared like mutiny,

THE EXAMINER.

effect of his recital, and the power of his deep-toned | voice sinking-almost into a whisper, he would eo om suddenly the np nee os to the tongues of t °| incredulous by their pallid faces. | a3 One peelings cane large circle of our acquaintance had collected at my father’s old-fashioned country place| to spend the Christmas with us, my uncle was oer nb larly happy in his stories of adventure and frolic, gat oo | ed from his Peninsula campaign, where he felt himeelf more at home than in any other part of his career.

He promised usa ghost story, and we all er ie cazy places near to the large gaping chimney, up whic H the flame roared in the wintry wind, that we might look out into the dark corners of the room with feelings of | security. He took his place in his capacious arm-chair, with my little sister Emily on his knee, where she al-| ways seated herself as her prerogative, and commenc- | hee HAUNTED CHATEAU.

eee —— we were

trance of as pretty a piece of uncomfortable architecture as a nervous mun would wish to look upon. Many of the lower windows had been half boarded, to Keep out pilferers, and had a very Chancery like look. The building itself was in the rastellatad style, and appear- ed in pretty good repair. It had evidently been a resi- dence of great pretension. 10 try the legitimate en- trance was of no use, so we exercised our ingenuity upon some of the before-mentioned barricades for some time, but unavailingly, and began to look into each other’s faces, as we both felt we had done rather a silly thing. When we beheld the host trotting down the avenue, accompanied by one or two persons bearing our refreshments, we hailed his approach with pleasure. On reaching us he said, that if we were rash enough to still hold by our resolve of sleeping there, he thought we might find an entrance through some of the back offices; so, guided by him and his companions, we

{made our way through an old dilapidated garden wal!

1 . - ; F ack cou d found a door conveniently “Many years ago, my dear friends, when my home into a kind of beck court, and fi ’

- riends the companions ajar. Our friends seemed quite at home, and lighting that Raph tp toy! cite seiben beshde ine in the mid-|their lanthorn, proceeded through a very eo night bivouac; when home seemed but as a dream, and hall, very little the worse for ae u P a ? e gel my. relations, from my Jong absence from them, I felt|case, which led into’ what appeare oe nave ao the were. beings to be loved, almost without a hope of ever reception room. _ Much to our astonis a : e os again seeing them. But I was then young, and full of ture, though sadly wanting the dusting ye , Was 0 hope znd enthusiasm in the career which I had chosen, the richest kind, and the room altogether bore the ap and which hardly allowed me time to give way to any-| pearance of being beter y inhabited. Books, even, were thing like despondency. Gay spirits, ‘like myself, sur-| lying on the tables, and the remains of burnt logs were rounded me. Light of heart, and full of ambition, we/upon the hearth, We turned and questioned our host rushed forward after our guiding star—glory ; and sel-| as to these curious appearances. He whispered his dom, if ever, cast a thought behind. My favourite reply, evidently terror-stricken, that the family had fled friend and companion was a lieutenant about my own after the sad tragedy, about six months before. From age, then about two-and-twenty; an Irishman by birth,|the dreadful disturbances and appearances that he had named De Courcy; full of courage and devil-me-care ;| forewarned us cf, and, after many unavailing attempts of good family and bad fortune, which he had deter-| by some more courageous than the rest to keep posses- mined to better before he returned to the dilapidated |sion in spite of the ghosts, it had at last been abandon- mansion of his father; where he was resolved never to/ed in despair. , . go unless he carried the wherewith to keep at bay those| “ Without another word he, with the help of his com- troublesome things that swarm round the out-at-elbow| panions, soon raised a cheerful fiame in the chimney, estates in Ireland called bailiffs. He always said, after}and placed the refreshments they lad brought with a well fought field, in which he was sure to have sig-|them on the table, with a few bottles of wine. When nalised himself by some daring act or another, that to he had completed these little arrangements, he request- screw himse\f up to a pitch of desperation, he only|ed to know at what time we intended to march in the unagined the army before him to be a lot of scoundrelly|morning. ‘By the holy St. Patrick! said De Courcy. bailiffs so dreaded in his youth, and it then became the |‘ it’s not to-morrow we cross saddle again. We wait in

Notwithstanding the wholesome fear with which he! had imbued us, his visits were welcomed with the} greatest delight; for his long stories and quaint anec-| dotes were ever a fund of the greatest amusement io! our young minds, This power, of which he was not a!

1 ete tet : . ; oe sitte proud, he exercised with much tact; telling stories/nightly in the house,

of war ani valoroug deeds to the bold boy, and others! of kindness and humanity-to the mild mother’s darling, | until the one flushed with ardour, or the tears started in the eyes of the other. But. his principal luxury in| this way, was to get a large circle raund him, and tell) a ghost story. He here, with all the drollery of his ehar-|

! note, would seek to find out the belief of his listeners | and what quantity of strenoth or w have to combat with during his relation.

Often, at the very point, when breathing almost was’ hushed, and the young people huddled closer to each oiher, and the faces of the nos et nag IP :

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eakness he woulditributed to his affection to our I

unbelieving shewed the! darkened with the thick foliage of the tr

very acme of gratification to have the pleasure of sound-_ ly trouncing them.

“ Fither in the field or the town we always managed to get our quarters near to each other. If one had a bit of luck in getting well lodged, he always shared with the other; so in the story [ am about to relate to you he became my companion, and, as you will see in the sequel, a most useful one.

“One wretched evening, after a fatiguing day’s march, drenched to the skin, and scarcely able to sit our horses, that stumbled through the rough ways from sheer exhaustion, we entered a dreary Spanish village, that promised very little accommodation to our troop,— a few scattered cottages, without any signs of inhabi-! tants, and a wretched posado, round which lounged| two or three very questionable-looking Spaniards, who. peered at us from under their broad sombreros with no| very welcoming look. The host came out as we alight-| ed,—I should say got off our horses, for there was very | littie grace in that very awkward maneuvre, stiff as we | were from a ten hours’ ride, which made us, when we. stood on our own proper legs, feel as if we still had|

horses between them, which gave us anything but a) graceful carriage. The host welcomed us in with all! the magniloquence of a Spaniard, but the inside of his house was as wretched as the unpromising outside. A/|

good warm English stable would have been far prefer-| with 3

uble for many reasons—the one of cleanliness especially. We shuddered as we looked at the accommodation, if bare walls and uncomfortable stools could be called so,

;

and knowing from long practice that money would do| }

anything in Spain, as well as everywhere else indeed, we tried it on our host, to discover if we had any hope | of anything better. In the midst of his shrugs my man entered, and stated that he saw at the end of the lane| leading out of the village, the top of some old mansion, | where he thought we might be made comfortable, if the | owners were christians, This delightful news to us, seemed anything but so to the poor host, who begged us not to attempt the dreadful house, where no one had! resided for years, on account of one of those frightful tragedies of revenge and murder so frequent in Spain We laughed at his long visage and territied looks, and/ prepared to set out for the better quarters, bidding the’ soldier bring some wine and refreshments after us. Our! host seized me by the arm, and implored us not to ven- ture, as many had been foolhardy enough to do so, and never had been heard of acam; and it was reported | that strange noises and awful screams were heard’ supposed to proceed from the spirits of the departed guilty parties, doomed to enact| nightly as expiation the scenes of bloodshed and crime. | “This was quite enough for my friend De Courcy, who vowed he had never seen anything In the shape of a ghost, and would mightily relish the passing an even-| ing with one, ; “ The host looked at us with despair, which we at-|

yurses, and not our per-

sons, We tock no heed of him, but departed, deter-|

mined to force an entrance into the aveided mansion, | “Five minutes’ walk brought us, throuch an a

pproach rees, to the en-|

this district until farther orders, which I hope won't come till I’ve got some new skin on me, and rested my aching bones,’ With this he threw himself into a large cushioned chair, with a sign of great satisfaction.

“The host looked aghast, and exchanged glances with his companions. If laid my holster pistols on the table, and with great sang froid uncorked one of the long-necked bottles, with a pop that startled the group, and echoed through the spacious chamber.

“The host and his companions put us under the care of a whole battalion of saints, and prepared to depart. We did not forget to see them to the door, which we secured after them, before we returned to our comfourt- able quarters. We resumed our seats end-commenced our suppers, of which we were sadly in want, looking first carefully at the corks of our wine, to see that they had not been previously drawn, to play any trick with our drink, for such things were too common, although in the present case the proximity of our troop would act as a check upon anything like treachery; soa pret- ty good meal we made of it, without bestowing a single

jthought upon the unhappy ghosts who were to pay usa

visit at midnight. “ We turned our luxuriously cushioned chairs round to the welcome blaze, and stretched out our weary limbs, unused to anythine for weeks softer than rock, a counterpane of gross thinly spread over it, then ighting our cigars, prepared to make a night of it, hug- ging ourselves upon our resolution in avoiding the filth of the wretched posado and its occupants, A (To be concluded next week.)

i

aetna tates ceiling

A PATRIARCH OF THE CENTURY. It was at the end of a wedding ‘To the health of the happy couple!’ cried in a voice like a tailor’s a man with blue spectacles. ‘May they have a posterity as numerous as the sands of the sea.” “That is a good toast, observed my neighbor,’ but if this gentleman found himself with so numerous a pos- terity on his hands, his blue spectacles would hard}y help him out of the difficulty. Alas! did you knew Baron Forbach ” ‘ Never,’ ‘Then as you did not know him, of Him. He was a worthy man, @ worthy Baron, a worthy German, a friend of my father; his only fault was trying to act Priam, the primitive man. He had forty daughters, sir.’ ‘ Forty,’ [ exclaimed, ‘do you not exaggerate ?” ‘Forty, L tell you, he had this notion, and took liie- rally the toasts at his wedding, for he married seven times, which was not too often for the project he had in his head. A child every year, and always A hind but he flattered himself with the hope ofa pension, he even petitioned the Germanic confederation which bid him walk off, we Instead of obeying, and ‘ walking, however, he shu: himself up in his castle. and passed ‘Cédais the names of his forty girls mory he could never compl

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NINETEENTH

dinner—

7 I may speak to you

d his time in studying ; butas he hada bad me- stely succeed in retaining