very smallest piece of bread and cheese, or I can support myself no longer. Are we, or are we not, to have a morsel of breakfast this day?" He cut off about an inch long piece of cheese from that identical double Gloucester that you yourself, Mr. North, chose for me, on your last visit to London, and declared that it had been rendered most poisonous by the anotta used to colour it. "There is here, Mrs. Trollope, a quantity of red lead. Have, you, madam, never experienced, after devouring half a pound of this cheese, an indescribable pain in the region of the abdomen and of the stomach, accompanied with a feeling of tension, which occasioned much restlessness, anxiety, and repugnance to food? Have you never felt, after a Welch rabbit of it, a very violent cholic?" "Yes! yes—often, often, I exclaimed." "And did you use pepper and mustard?" "I did even so." "Let me see the castors." I rose from my knees -and brought them out. He puffed out a little pepper into the palm of his hand, and went on as usual, “This, madam, is spurious pepper altogether-it is made up of oil cakes, (the residue of linseed, from which the oil has been pressed,) common clay, and, perhaps, a small portion of Cayenne pepper (itself probably artificial or adulterated) to make it pungent. But now for the mustard,”—at this juncture the servant maid came in, and I told her that I was poisoned-she set up a prodigious scream, and Mr. Accum let fall the mustard pot on the carpet.

But it is needless for me to prolong the shocking narrative. They assisted me to get into bed, from which I never more expect to rise. My eyes have been opened, and I see the horrors of my situation. I now remember the most excruciating cholic, and divers other pangs which I thought nothing of at the time, but which must have been the effect of the deleterious solids and liquids which I was daily introducing into my stomach. It appears that I have never, so much as once, either eat or drank a real thing — that is, a thing being what it pretended to be. Oh! the weight of lead and of copper that has passed through my body! Oh! too, the gravel and the sand! But it is impossible to deceive me now. This very evening some bread was brought to me. Bread! I cried out indignantly-Take the vile deception out of my sight. Yes, my dear Kit, it was a villanous loaf

of clay and alum! But my resolution is fixed, and I hope to die in peace. Henceforth, I shall not allow one particle of matter to descend into my stomach! Already I feel myself "of the earth, earthy." Mr. Accum seldom leaves my bedside-and yesterday brought with him several eatables and drinkables, which he assured me he had analyzed, subjected to the test-act, and found them to be conformists. But I have no trust in chemistry. His quarter-loaf looked like a chip cut off the corner of a stone block. It was a manifest sham loaf. After being deluded in my Hollands, bit in my brandy, and having found my muffins a mockery, never more shall I be thrown off my guard. I am waxing weaker and weaker-so farewell! Bewildering indeed has been the destiny of

SUSANNA TROllope.

P. S.-I have opened my mistress's letter to add, that she died this evening about a quarter past eight, in excruciating tor

ments.

SALLY ROGERS.

"Luctus" on the Death of Sir Daniel Donnelly.

LATE CHAMPION OF IRELAND.*

[WE felt too deep sympathy with the afflicted population of a sister kingdom, to venture the publication of the following Luctus, till time had in some measure alleviated the national suffering-and, to borrow a figure from an oration attributed to Coun

*For the proper understanding of the "Luctus" on Donnelly, it is necessary 10 state a few particulars relative to the career and character of that pugilistic worthy. Daniel Donnelly was an Irishman by birth and a carpenter by trade. He possessed lofty stature, great agility, and powerful strength. His skill in throwing was great. His straight-forward blow would almost fell an ox. But he was deficient in science. He fought only two great battles. The first, with Cooper, on the Curragh of Kildare, was a great victory over the English pugi list. Donnelly, on this occasion, had been trained by the celebrated Captain Kelly, and was in fine condition, -Pierce Egan said " strong as a lion, and active as a prize-fighter." The reputation this encounter procured for him caused him to visit London, where he was pitted against Oliver, who had some pretensions to the Championship. Donnelly was in very bad training for this battle, and, though he beat Oliver, displayed inferior science-not even sufficiently availing himself of his known power with the right hand. This fight came off in July, 1819. He declined further contests, at that time; extravagantly wasted the battle-money which he had won; injured his health by drinking and other excesses; and actually returned to Ireland with only forty shillings in his pocket. A great reception awaited him on the green sod. A ridiculous report that the Prince Regent (afterward George IV.) had knighted him, obtained currency and credence among the mob of Dublin, and about 20,000 persons assembled at Dunleary, to receive “Sir Daniel Donnelly," and, mounting him on a white horse, escorted him to his house in Townshend street, where he made them a speech and drank to their health in a noggin of the native.— Donnybrook Fair, (then a fact and now little more than a tradition,) commenced, (on August 27, 1819,) shortly after his arrival, and Sir Daniel exhibited himself in one of the tents or booths-sparring with Gregson and Cooper, and realizing a good deal of money thereby. After this Sir Daniel retired into private life, in “the public” line, as landlord of The Shining Daisy in Pill Lane, where he flourished for several months, making friends and money. But in February, 1820, having drank an almost incredible number of tumblers of punch at one sitting, (out of mere bravado,) and swallowed half a bucket of cold water, while in a state of profuse perspiration, after the aforesaid tumblers, he burst a blood vessel and departed this life in the 44th year of his age. His funeral, on a Sunday, was quite a "monster demonstration," as regards the num

sellor Phillips, "wiped off with his passing pinions the daily dews which a sympathetic people had poured on the shining daisy that sprung through the unshaven shamrock, round the gloomy grave of the demolishing Donnelly!" But as the moon has thrice renewed her horns since the demise of Sir Daniel, we trust that we shall not now be thought to be interfering "with the sacred silence of a nation's sorrow," by publishing a selection from the "numbers without number, numberless," of Luctus that have been for the last quarter pouring in upon us from every part of the united empire. We confess, that we are not of that school of philosophy, which considers the loss sustained by Ireland in the death of Donnelly altogether and for ever irreparable. Surely a successor will step into his shoes. But what although centuries should pass by, without an Irishman willing

bers who followed him to his last resting-place, in Bully's Acre. It was calculated that 100 carriages, 400 horsemen, and over 50,000 of the "rag, tag, and bobtail" were in the procession. The horses were unyoked from the hearse, which was drawn to the burial ground by the crowd, and most prominent among the trappings of woe were the Gloves (demonstrative of his Championship,) borne on a cushion in front of the hearse. There was a report that the Resurrectionists had exhumed Donnelly's body, but this was strongly denied, eight of his friends having visited his grave on February 24, 1820, and having opened it found that the body was untouched. They reported accordingly, and kept nightly watch until March 2, when a regular grave was built. A subscription was made to raise a monument to Sir Daniel, and a large sum was obtained, but I believe that the monument never was erected. In the sporting article entitled "Boxiana, No. VI." which opened Blackwood for March, 1820, the death of Donnelly was thus alluded to:-"We feel that it is utterly impossible for us to conclude this article, without adverting, in such terms as are becoming the melancholy occasion, to the great, indeed irreparable, loss which the boxing world has lately sustained in the death of Sir Daniel Donnelly. Ireland, we understand, is inconsolable. Since the heroic age of Corcoran and Ryan no such leveller had appeared. Happy and coutented with the fame he had enjoyed under his native skies, it never had been the desire of Sir Daniel to fight on this side of the Channel. Accordingly, he past his prime in and about Dublin, satisfied with being held the most formidable Buffer (so our good Irish friends denominate Pugilists) among a potato-fed population of upwards of five millions. No one who has been in Ireland will suppose that Sir Daniel Don nelly walked up to the "good eminence" of the championship, with his hands in his breeches-pockets. We are not in possession of the facts of his early career we know not when he dropped the sprig of shillelah, and restricted himself to the unweaponed fist. It must have been deeply interesting to have

What are centuries
For ourselves, we

to contend with the Champion of England? but short links in the long chain of time? shall be satisfied with the destinies of Ireland, should a Donnelly appear once in a thousand years. Whoever may be the Editor of this Magazine in the year 2820, let him pay particular attention to our words,—and, if our views on the subject prove to be correct, we hope that all the subscribers to our work at that period, will purchase "sets" from the beginning. But these are idle speculations,-so let us address ourselves to graver matter. To prove our strict impartiality, we wrote the titles of their respective authors on separate slips of paper, which were all shaken strenuously in the Adjutant's old foraging cap, and as the titles came out in the hand of Mr. Blackwood, (whom we occasionally admit into the divan,) so are they now printed. It is singular

marked the transition. We have heard it said, and are inclined to think the theory true, that Sir Daniel's style of boxing showed, perhaps too strikingly, that he had excelled at the miscellaneous fighting of Donnybrook Fair. He was not a straight-nor yet a quick hitter. His education certainly had not been neglected, but it had been irregular. There were not only Iricisms in his style-but even provincialisms which were corrected in the London ring, not without danger to the success of his first prize essay. But the native vigour of the man prevailed over the imperfect institutions of his country-and with all the disadvantages of an irregular, imperfect, and unfinished education, Sir Dauiel Donnelly not only triumphed over all his compatriots, but sustained the honour of Ireland in a country, perhaps, too much disposed to disparage her; and, in his last battle, with the renowned Oliver, the shamrock sprang up beneath his feet, rejoicing in the blood that died its threefold beauty, more proudly than it ever rejoiced, when, sprinkled with the dews of morning, it waved its verdant locks to the breezes that swept the level expanse of the Bog of Allen, or the rugged magnificence of Macgillicuddy's reeks. The death of this illustrious man has left unsolved a great problem, Was England or Ireland to have taken precedence in the rank of nations? Could Donnelly have beat Cribb? Could Carter have beat Donnelly! Alas! vain interrogatories! The glory of Ireland is eclipsed—and ages may elapse before another sun shine in, what Mr. Egan beautifully calls, her pugilistic hemisphere. We have just received a vast number of Elegies on his death—from Cork, Limerick, Waterford, and Dublin —some of them eminently beautiful. It was not to be thought that such a man would be permitted to leave us, without the meed of some melodious tear; and we are happy to see among the "Luctus," the names of Moore, Maturin, Croly, and Anster. Of these -anon." It happened, however, that Moore, Maturin, Croly, and Anster, did not figure in "The Luctus," published in May, 1820.-M.

VOL. II.-3