My answer is, YES! and I tell you again,
Though I stand here to perish, 'tis my glory that then,
In her cause, I was willing my veins should run dry,
And that now, for her sake, I am ready to die."*

Then the silence was awful: the jury smiled bright,
And judge wasn't sorry the job was made light-
By my word, 'twas himself was a crabbed ould chap!
In a twinkling he pulled out his ugly black cap;
But a pale, weeping woman, in the crowd standing by,
Called out to the judge, with a pitiful cry,

"Oh, judge darling, don't! pray, don't say the word!
See, the creathur's so young! have compassion, my lord!
He's the kindliest creathur, the tenderest-hearted!
Don't part us for ever! we so long are parted.

He was foolish! he didn't know what he was doing!
Don't condemn him, and give him and me to such ruin;
And, even down here, you'll receive a reward,

And God may forgive you your great crimes, my lord!"

That was the first minute O'Brion was shaken-
When he saw that he wasn't forgot or forsaken.
Then down his pale face, at the words of his mother,
The big tears ran coursing, one after the other;

And he said, "Mother darlin', don't break your poor heart!
For, sooner or later, the dearest must part;

And, heaven knows, it's better than wandering, in fear,
Alone and unfriended, among the wild deer,
To be laid in my grave, and no longer distressed,
From thought, trouble, and terror for ever at rest.
Then, mother, my darlin'! don't cry any more;
Don't make me seem broken in this my last hour;
For I wish, when my body lies under broad heaven,
No true man may say that I died like a craven!"
Then, tow'rds the judge, Shamus low bent down his head;
And that moment the awful death-sentence was said.

The morning was fair, and the sun rose on high,
And the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky;
But why are these men standing idle so late?

Why does the throng loiter around that big gate?

* Such was the infatuation amongst the peasantry in the Rebellion of '98, that they thought it a deed worthy of all praise to kill those to whom they were opposed. This rebellion, be it remembered, was that of the "Orange v. Green," or Orangeman v. Ribbonman. Each bore a malignant hatred to the other. At that period Ireland was ruled by the Orange party. It was an iron rule of despotic Sway; and the peasantry took every method, either by secret treachery or open hostility, of exterminating their opponents. The English Government, having plenty of work on their hands with France and America, left the combatants in Ireland to make a Kilkenny-cat business of it, by destroying each other (all except their tails). They threw their influence, and a few soldiers, into the scale at the Orange side; and that preserved Ireland, and indeed the Empire to them to this day. True it is that the penal laws of '98 are all swept away; but the recollection of the triangles and pitch-caps is not entirely forgotten by the one party, nor Wexford Bridge or Scullabogue Barn by the other.

L

What come they to look at? what come they to see?
And why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree
Oh, Shamus O'Brion, pray fervent and fast!

May the saints take your soul! for this hour is your last.
And faster and faster the crowds gather there
Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair;
And whiskey was selling, and other things too,
And old men and young women enjoying the view:
And ould Tim Malowny made this strange remark-

"There wasn't such divarshun since the day's of Noah's ark."
Indeed, 'twas true for him: such a terrible scrouge
And such pushing was never seen since the Deluge.
Thousands were gathered there, if there was one,
Waiting such time till the hanging came on.
At length, they threw open the great prison-gate;
And out came the sogers and sheriff in state,
The cart in the middle, and Shamus was in it,
Not paler, but prouder than ever that minute;
And as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brion,
With a face like an angel, though bold as a lion,
A wild, wailing cry there arose, by degrees,

Like the sound of the winter's wind blown through the trees.

On, on to the scaffold the sheriffs have gone ;
The cart and the sogers go steadily on.
At ev'ry side, round and about that sad cart,
Rose a pitiful cry, that would open your heart.
Now under the gallows they come to a stand,

When the hangman gets up, with the rope in his hand ;
And Shamus O'Brion takes a last look aroun'.

Then the priest, having blessed him, prepared to go down,
And the hangman got near, and the people grew still,
Young faces grew sickly, and warm hearts grew chill;
And, the rope being ready, his neck was laid bare,
For the gripe of the life-strangling cord to prepare,
And the good priest had left him, having prayed his last
prayer.

But the good priest did more, for Jim's hand he unbound;
When, with one daring leap, Jim is now on the ground.
Bang, bang! go the carbines; flash, flash! go the sabres.
"He's not down!" "He's alive still!"" Now stand to him,
neighbours!"

Such were the cries uttered, nay, shrieked out aloud,
While, through horses and smoke, Jim got into the crowd;
Then arose the wild cry, " By the heavens, he's free!"

Now ould Tim Malowny, that comical spark,
Hobbled up to the sheriff, and made this remark:
"Your swords they may glitter, and your carbines go bang!
But, if you want hanging, yourself you must hang.

To-night he'll be sleeping in Halliloe glin ;

And the devil's-in-the-dice if you catch him agin."

Then the sogers ran this way, and the sheriff ran that,
And Father Malone lost his best Sunday hat;
And the sogers and sheriff was punished severely,

Being fined and imprisoned-Jim did them so fairly!

The sun had now set in the clouds which hung over the Atlantic; and, after complimenting our friend and host on the admirable manner in which he recited his poem, we prepared to return to Killorglin, which journey we accomplished in about an hour, though nearly ten miles. At our landlady's we had a "dhuch a dhurras;" and that was the last evening spent together, in 1866, by

THE KILLORGLIN CLUB.

STRANGE, BUT NOT TRUE.

THE PALL MALL GAZETTE, which of late has been rather trying for a lead in sporting matters, has the following amongst its more recent occasional notices:

"The last number of the "Sheet Calendar" contains the following official announcement with regard to 'the Soiled Dove case':

'The stewards of the Jockey Club, having investigated the case of Soiled Dove, have come to the conclusion that General A. Shirley and Mr. J. Arnold were accomplices in entering and running that mare as a two-years-old, whereas they were fully aware that she was a three-years-old. The stewards of the Jockey Club therefore warn General A. Shirley and Mr. J. Arnold, of Rugby, off Newmarket Heath.

'(Signed)

'DANGAN,
'THOS. F. GROVE,
'C. B. JARRETT.'

This is all right as far as it goes." Unfortunately this is not all right as far as it goes; for, pray who in the world are (signed) Dangan, Thos. F. Grove, C. B. Jarrett, for the Jockey Club? The simple fact is that the Pall Mall Gazette never saw the "Sheet Calendar" of which it speaks so familiarly, but merely copied the paragraph from a morning paper, where "the general utility" editor in his haste had confounded one set of signatures with the other. The two announcements as they really appear in No. 4 of the "Calendar" are as follows :

"SOILED Dove.

"The stewards of the Jockey Club, having investigated the case of Soiled Dove, have come to the conclusion that General A. Shirley and Mr. J. Arnold were accomplices in entering and running that mare as a two-years-old, whereas they were fully aware that she was a three-years-old. The stewards of the Jockey Club therefore warn General A. Shirley and Mr. J. Arnold, of Rugby, off Newmarket Heath.

(Signed)

"W. G. CRAVEN,
"H. J. Rous.
"BEAUFORT."

WILTSHIRE COUNTY STEEPLE CHASES.

"The winner of the Beaufort Hunt Stakes (see No. 1) having been objected to on the ground that his certificate of qualification was not in order, the following is the decision given, viz.: "We, the undersigned, being the acting stewards of this meeting, consider the certificate of qualification for the Duke of Hamilton's horse Maurepas, from Mr. Standish, Master of the Harsley Foxhounds, as quite satisfactory, and hereby authorise the Beaufort Hunt Stakes to be paid to him as the winner.

"(Signed)

"DANGAN.
"THOS. F. GROVE,
"C, B, JARRETT."

SPORT IN PHILADELPHIA.

BY T. C. 0.

On the 19th of June last I happened to see in one of the best-known print-shops of this City of Brotherly Love a representation of a chariot race, There were the ancient quadriga, the panting steeds, so well described by Bulwer and Whyte Melville-all, in short, to bring the Circus Maximus to the memory, save the proud but skilful Patrician drivers. Their place was supplied by two lovely specimens of the softer sex, clad in the lightest of white robes, but distinguished by different coloured scarfs, bien chaussée, bien gantée, whom to see would alone have made Suffolk Park worth a visit; for, on enquiry, it appeared that this was intended to depict a race for four thousand dollars between a Philadelphian lady and one from New York, and that the match was to come off that very afternoon at 3 p.m., at the place just named. This course and that of Point Breeze, like the Fashion and Union courses of New York, are the scenes of all the trotting-matches of the district, and the trial-grounds of those who keep horses.

A friend was soon found as a companion to the ground, and as we were told that the cars would take us to Gray's Ferry, upwards of three miles, we determined on walking the remaining distance, said to be a mile and a-half. Luckily it was a cloudy day, with a smart breeze blowing, or we might have been punished for our temerity, as we found the distance from the ferry nearly five miles, and over a road that in dusty weather would have been impracticable for pedestrians who placed the slightest value on their costume or their complexion. The start also fortunately was delayed till past 4 p.m., and we reached the course at the very moment when the two charioteers were on the point of taking their places. The one, a powerfully-made masculine-looking woman, with a pair of mares to drive, her equals both in size and ugliness; the other, a slight cadaverous-looking girl, whose mares were small, with crack forelegs, but decidedly more promising than their rivals. The horses were led down the track, and after crossing the scorer, were turned back for a start, some twenty yards from the judge's stand; so by the time they reached the scorer they were in full gallop. Lady Sherman and Prairie Queen (piloted by the smaller maiden, whose nervousness before starting was in marked contrast with the self-possession of her competitor) took the lead in the first heat, maintained it throughout, and came in a length a-head of the mares Flora Bell and Empress. Time 2 min. 25 sec. The other two heats were easily won by the same team in 2 min. 30 sec. and 2 min. 15 sec., Flora and Empress being distanced in the last heat. Between the heats in this race a trotting-match took place: three horses; owners driving. This also was a hollow affair, a long, low, wiry-looking cob winning each heat with comparative ease. About a thousand persons were present, but there was little betting, and equally little excitement. The two ladies ultimately turned out to be Californians, and, to do them justice, handled the ribbons in a style that many of the opposite sex might

envy.

The course, like all others in America, is oval, with a straight run-in

of nearly three hundred yards. From the stand-a most primitive affair-you can get a view of the whole contest. The distance round is a mile, and a fair trotter will do it in about the same time as Blair Athol and Kettledrum ran the Derby, i. e., 2 min. 43 sec. The noted American trotter Dexter has covered his mile in 2 min. 18 sec., and this is the quickest time recorded. But he was ridden, not driven. And here it may be observed that the Americans are not horsemen as we understand the term. Some of the most promising workmen are to be found among the negroes; but as yet I have looked in vain for either seat or hands that in any one instance could compare with those of our ordinary London dealer's boy. The sulky is possibly well calculated for the trotting-matches in which alone the American notion of horse-racing appears to consist, but for common use-and it is as universal as our brougham-it strikes me as the most inconvenient and uncomfortable vehicle ever invented.

A regatta took place on the Delawar on the morning of the day on which I write; but though upwards of a hundred boats were prepared to take part in it, the breeze proved too strong for other than the heavier yachts. At 9 a.m. the wharves were crowded with those interested in the crews of the contending vessels, and much amusement was created by the mishaps occurring to the smaller boats before half-a-mile of the distance had been covered. The classes were six in number, determined by the length of keel-not by tonnage, as with us; and in the first class the winner was the Cricket, a schooner of 33 feet.

The Philadelphian Yacht Club musters strongly, though not comparable, either in its number of vessels or their tonnage, with its rival in New York, and the matches sailed during the season are numerous and interesting. After the defeat that we suffered from the "America," it behoves an Englishman to be cautious of disparaging the nautical skill displayed here; yet I fancy, in general smartness of handling, our craft would compare more than favourably with their rivals on this side of the Atlantic.

At one period chess was extensively played here, and is still practised to some extent at the Athenæum, the Mercantile, and other of the public reading-rooms; but the old Philadelphian Club is not now in existence. Even into this arena the American carries his national peculiarities, and the game is played noisily, rapidly, and trickily, rather than quietly, slowly, and soundly. The study of the first principles of the game seems by the larger number of the players to have been neglected altogether, and so much bad chess it would be hard to overlook in any of our smallest provincial clubs. The first player in the city is a Mr. Reichelm, but he was most woefully beaten by Mackenzie (an Englishman) a short time ago in a match played in New York, and in the salons of London, Paris, and Berlin would rank as a then thirdrate. Stanton's works are accessible everywhere, and the Chess Praxis, the Companion, and Handbook I have found in each library visited. Murphy is now residing in New York, but has given up play, and the high eminence that he attained is not likely to be eclipsed by any of his countrymen.

Our billiard champion Roberts had returned to England before I arrived in New York. His play I have heard praised, but he did not create the slightest sensation here; nor can this be wondered at, since