76 A POET'S MISERIES. 'I hope that thou art dear,' is put So many blunders crammed? "Those gentle eyes bedammed? "The color of the 'rose' is 'nose ;' 6 'Affection' is affliction.' (I wonder if the likeness holds In fact as well as fiction?) "Thou art a friend.'—The r is gone; That such a trifling thing could change "Thou art the same,' is rendered lame; It really is too bad! And here, because an i is out, My lovely maid' is mad. They drove her blind by poking in An i-a process new And now they've gouged it out again, "I'll read no more.-What shall I do? The paper's scattered far and wide, Oh, fame! thou cheat of human life, I wish my poem had been burnt "Let's stop and recapitulate : I've dammed' her eyes, that's plain; I've told her she's a lunatic, And 'blind,' and 'dead,' and 'lame.' Was ever such a horrid hash, In poetry or prose? 1 Eve by eating led poor Adam Look for sorrow still, where Madam, Courtship is a slavish pleasure, Noisy clack and constant brawling, Gaudy dress and haughty carriage, 78 SPEECH OF THOMAS F. MEAGHER. Oh! what joys from woman spring, Till fair woman show'd her face. When she came, good honest Adam So our parent prized her charms. Courtship thrills the soul with pleasure; Kings have left their crowns to seek! Lovely looks and constant courting, Modest dress and gentle carriage, Love triumphant on his throne; Contra, Cr. M SPEECH OF THOMAS F. MEAGHER. Y Lords: It is my intention to say a few words only. I desire that the last act of a proceeding which has occupied so much of the public time, should be of short duration. Nor have I the indelicate wish to close the dreary ceremony of a state prosecution with a vain display of words. Did I fear that, hereafter, when I shall be no more, the country I have served would think ill of me, I might indeed avail myself of this solemn moment to vindicate myself and my conduct. But I have no such fear. The country will judge of those sentiments and that conduct, in a light far different from that in which the jury, by which I have been convicted, have viewed them; and, by the country, the sentence which you, my lords, are about to pronounce, will be remem SPEECH OF THOMAS F. MEAGHER. 79 bered only as the severe and solemn attestation of my rectitude and truth. Whatever the language in which that sentence be spoken, I know that my fate will meet with sympathy, and my memory will be honored. In speaking thus, accuse me not, my lords, of an indecorous presumption. To the efforts I have made in a just and noble cause I ascribe no vain importance, nor do I claim for these efforts any high reward. But it so happens, and it will ever happen so, that those who have tried to serve their country, no matter how weak the effort may have been, are sure to receive the blessings and thanks of its people. With my country, then, I leave my memory, my sentiments, my acts, proudly feeling that they require no vindication from me this day. A jury of my countrymen, it is true, have found me guilty of the crime of which I stood indicted. For this I entertain not the slightest feeling of resentment against them. Influenced as they must have been by the charge of the Lord Chief-Justice, they could have found no other verdict. What of the charge? Any strong observations on it, I feel sincerely, would ill befit the solemnity of this scene; but I earnestly beseech of you, my lords,-you who preside on that bench,-when the passions and prejudices of this hour have passed away, to appeal to your own conscience, and to ask if your charge was, as it ought to have been, impartial and indifferent between the subject and the crown. My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me, and, perhaps, it may seal my fate; but I am here to regret nothing I have done, to retract nothing I have ever said. I am here to crave, with no lying lip, the life I consecrated to the liberty of my country. Far from it; even here, here, where the shadows of death surround me, and I see my early grave in an unanointed soil open to receive me; even here, encircled by these terrors, the hope which has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon which I have been wrecked, still consoles, animates, enraptures me. No, I do not despair of my poor old country; I can do no more than bid her hope. To lift this island up, to make her a benefactor to humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar in the world; to restore to her her native powers and her ancient constitution,-this has been my ambition, and this my crime. Judged by the law of England, I know this law entails the penalty of death; but the history of Ireland explains this crime and 80 THE WHISKERS. justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no criminal, I deserve no punishment. Judged by that history, the treason of which I stand convicted loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a duty, will be ennobled as a sacrifice. With these sentiments, my lord, I await the sentence of the court. Having done what I felt to be my duty, having spoken what I felt to be the truth, as I have done on every other occasion of my short career, I now bid farewell to the country of my birth, my passion, and my death; the country whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies, whose factions I have sought to still, whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim, whose freedom has been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought, and spoke, and struggled for her freedom, the life of a young heart, and, with that life, all the hopes, the honors, the endearments, of a happy and an honorable home. Pronounce then, my lords, the sentence which the law directs, and I will be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. I hope to be able, with a pure heart, and perfect composure, to appear before a higher tribunal,—a tribunal where a Judge of infinite goodness, as well as of justice, will preside, and where, my lords, many of the judgments of this world will be reversed. A THE WHISKERS. PETIT maître wooed a fair, Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare, "Pity my grief, angelic fair, |