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which has impressed itself deeply in my recollection, and to which I oftentimes in those visions of the memory, to which I suppose every body is more or less subject, find it a pleasure, though a melancholy one, to return. There are few rivers more picturesque than the Suir, (a favourite with Spenser,) in its passage from Waterford to the sea. It is ample and deep, capable of floating vessels of any tonnage, and is encompassed with lofty ridges of rich verdure, on Wich magnificent mansions, encompassed with deep groves of trees, give evidence of the rapid increase of opulence and of civilization in that part of Ireland. How often have I stood upon its banks, when the bells in the city, the smoke of which was turned into a cloud of gold by a Claude Lorrain sunset, tolled the death of the departing day ! How often have I fixed my gaze upon the glittering expanse of the full and overflowing water, crowded with ships, whose white sails were filled with just wind enough to carry them on to the sea; by the slowness of their equable and majestic movement, giving leave to the eye to contemplate at its leisure their tall and stately beauty, and to watch them long in their progress amidst the calm through which they made their gentle and forbearing way. The murmurs of the city were heard upon the right, and the lofty spire of its church rose up straight and arrowy into the sky. The sullen and dull roar of theocean used to come over the opposite hills from the Bay of Tramore. Immediately before me were the fine woods of Faithleg, and the noble seat of the Bolton family, (Protestants, who have since that time made way for the Catholic wealthy Powers ;) on the left was the magnificent seat of another branch of the same opulent tribe Snowhill; and in the distance, were the three rivers, the Suir, the Nore, and the Barrow, met in a deep and splendid conflux; the ruins of the old abbey of Dunbrody threw the solemnity of religion and of antiquity over the whole prospect, and by the exquisite beauty of the site, afforded a proof that the old Franciscans, who had made a selection of this lovely spot for their monastery, and who have lain for centuries in the mould of its green and luxuriant churchyards, were the lovers of nature, and that when they left the noise and turmoil of the world, they had not relinquished those enjoyments which are not only innocent but may be accounted holy. I had many a time looked with admiration upon the noble landscape, in the midst of which I was born, but I never felt and appreciated its beauty so well as when the consciousness that I was leaving it, not to return for years to it again, endeared to me the spot of my birth, and set off the beauty of the romantic place in which my infancy was passed, and in which I once hoped (I have since abandoned the expectation) that my old age should decline. It is not in the inidst of its woods that I shall fall into the sere and yellow leaf!

“Something too much of this.'—The ship sailed, I landed at Bristol, and with a French clergyman, the Ābbé de Grimeau who had been my tutor, I proceeded to London. The Abbé informed me that I was to be sent to Kensington House, (a college established by the Pères de la Foi, for so the French Jesuits settled in England at that time called themselves, and that he had directions to leave me there, upon his way to Languedoc, from whence he had been exiled in the Revolution, and to which he had been driven by the maladie de pays to return. Accordingly we set off for Kensington House, which is situated exactly opposite the avenue leading to the Palace, and has the beautiful garden attached to it in front. A large iron gate, wrought into rusty flowers, and other fantastic forms, showed that the Jesuit school had once been the residence of some person of distinction; and I afterwards understood that a mistress of Charles the Second lived in the spot which was now converted into one of the sanctuaries of Ignatius. It was a large old-fashioned house, with many remains of decayed splendour. In a beautiful walk of trees, which ran down from the rear of the building through the playground, I saw several French boys playing at swing-swang; and the moment I entered, my ears were filled with the shrill vocife. rations of some hundreds of little emigrants, who were engaged in their various amusements, and babbled, screamed, laughed, and shouted in all the velocity of their rapid and joyous language. I did not hear a word of English, and at once perceived that I was as much amongst Frenchmen as if I had been suddenly trans ferred to a Parisian college. Having got this peep at the gaiety of the school into which I was to be introduced, I was led, with my companion, to a chamber covered with faded gilding, and which had onoe been richly tapestried, where I found the head of the establishment, in the person of a French nobleman, Monsieur le Prince de Broglio. Young as I was, I could not help being struck at once with the contrast which was presented between the occupations of this gentleman and his name. I saw in him a little, slender, and gracefully-constructed abbé, with a sloping forehead, on which the few hairs that were left him were nicely arranged, and well-powdered and pomatum'd. He had a gentle smile, full of a suavity which was made up of guile and of weakness, but which deserved the designation of aimable, in the

best seúse of the word. His clothes were adapted with a pecu liar nicety to his symmetrical person, and his silk waistcoat and black silk stockings, with his small shoes buckled with silver, gave him altogether a glossy aspect. This was the son of the celebrated Marshal Broglio, who was now at the head of a school, and notwithstanding his humble pursuits, was designated by every body as · Monsieur le Prince

"Monsieur le Prince had all the manners and attitudes of the court, and by his demeanour put me at once in mind of the old regime. He welcomed my French companion with tenderness, and having heard that he was about to return to France, the poor gentleman exclaimed 'Helas !' while the tears came into his eyes at the recollection of cette belle France,' which he was never, as he then thought, to see again. He bade me welcome. These preliminaries of introduction having been gone through, my French tutor took his farewell ; and, as he embraced me for the last time, I well remember that he was deeply affected by the sorrow which I felt in my separation from him, and turning to Monsieur le Prince, recommended me to his care with an emphatic tenderness. The latter led me into the school-room, where I had a desk assigned to me beside the son of the Count Décar, who has since, I understand, risen to offices of very high rank in the Erench Court. His father belonged to the nobility of the first class. In the son, it would have been at that time difficult to detect his patrician derivation. He was a huge, lubberly fellow, with thick matted hair, which he never combed. His complexion was greasy and sudorific, and to soap and water he seemed io have such a repugnance, that he did not above once a week go through any process of ablution. He was surly, dogged, and silent, and spent his time in the study of mathematics, for which he had a good deal of talent. I have heard that he is now one of the most fashionable and accomplished men about the court, and that this Gorgonius, smells now of the pastiles of Rufillus. On the other side of me was a young French West Indian, from the colony of Martinique, whose name was Devarieux. The school was full of the children of the French planters, who had been sent over to learn English among the refugees from the Revolution. He was an exceedingly fine young fellow, the exact reverse in all his habits to Monsieur le compte Décar, on my left hand, and expended a good deal of his hours of study in surveying a small pocket-mirror, and in arranging the curls of his rich black hair, the ambrosial plenty of which was festooned about his temples, and fell profusely behind his head. AJnijst

all the French West Indians were vain, foppish, generous, brave, aud passionate. They exhibited many of the qualities which we ascribe to the natives of our own islands in the American archipelago ; they were a sort of Gallican Belcours in little ; for with the national attributes of their forefathers, they united much of that vehemence and habit of domination, which a hot sun and West India overseership are calculated to produce. In general, the children of the French exiles amalgamated readily with these creoles :-there were to be sure, some points of sub"stantial difference; the French West Indians being all rich roturiers, and the little emigrants having their veins full of the best blood of France, without a groat in their pockets. But there was one point of reconciliation between them—they all concurred in hating England and its government. This detestation was not very surprising in the West Indian French; but it was not a little singular, that the boys, whose fathers had been expelled from France by the Revolution, and to whom England had afforded shelter, and given bread, should manifest the ancient national antipathy, as strongly as if they had never been nursed at her bosom, and obtained their aliment from her bounty. Whenever news arrived of a victory won by Bonaparte, the whole school was thrown into a ferment; and I cannot, even at this distance of time, forget the exultation with which the sons ou the decapitated or the exiled hailed the triumph of the French arms, the humiliation of England, and the glory of the nation whose greatness they had learned to lisp. There was one boy I recollect more especially. I do not now remember his name, but his face and figure I cannot dismiss from my remembrance. He was a little effeminate creature, with a countenance that

seemed to have been compounded of the materials with which "Waxen babies are made; his fine flaxen hair fell in girlish ringlets about his face, and the exquisite symmetry of his features would have rendered him a fit model for a sculptor who wished to throw the beau ideal of pretty boyhood into stone. He had upon him a sickly expression, which was not sufficiently pronounced to excite any disagreeable emotion, but cast over him a mournful look, which was seconded by the calamities of his family, and added to the lustre of misfortune which attended him. He was the child of a nobleman who had perished in the Revolution. His mother, a widow, who resided in a miserable lody. ing in London, had sent him to Kensington House, but it was well known that he was received there by the Prince de Broglio from charity; and I should add that his eleemosynary dependence, so far from exciting towards him any of that pity which is akin to contempt, contributed to augment the feeling of sym. pathy which the disasters of his family had created in his regard. This unfortunate little boy was a Frenchman to his heart's core, and whenever the country which was wet with his father's blood had added a new conquest to her possessions, or put Austria or Prussia to flight, his pale cheek used to flush into a hectic of ex- ' ultation, and he would break into joyfulness at the achievements by which France was exalted and the pride and power of England were brought down. This feeling, which was conspicuous in this little fellow, ran through the whole body of Frenchmen, who afforded very unequivocal proof of the sentiments by which their parents were influenced. The latter I used occasionally to sec. Old gentlemen, the neatness of whose attire was accompanied by indications of indigence, used occasionally to visit at Kensington House. Their elasticity of back, the frequency and gracefulness of their well-regulated bows, and the perpetual smile upon their wrinkled and emaciated faces, showed that they had something to do with the vieille cour;' and this conjecture used to be confirmed by the embrace with which they folded the little marquises and counts whom they came to visit.

“Kensington House was frequented by emigrants of very high rank. The father of the present Duke de Grammont, who was at this school, and was then Duke de Guische, often came to see his son. I recollect upon one occasion having been witness to a very remarkable scene. Monsieur, as he was then called, the present King of France, waited one day, with a large retinue of French nobility, upon the Prince de Broglio. The whole body of the schoolboys was assembled to receive them. We were gathered in a circle at the bottom of a flight of stone stairs, that led from the principal room into the playground. The future king of France appeared with his cortege of illustrious exiles, at the glass folding-doors which were at the top of the stairs, and the moment he was seen, we all exclaimed, with a shrill shout of beardless loyalty, · Vive le Roi !' Monsieur seemed greatly gratified by this spectacle, and in a very gracious and condo scending manner went down amongst the little boys, who were at first awed a good deal by his presence, but were afterwards speedily familiarized to him by the natural benignity of Charles the Tenth. He asked the names of those who were about him, and when he heard them, and saw in the boys by whom he was encompassed, the descendants of some of the noblest families o France, he seemed to be sensibly affected. One or two names

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