22d. De Ginckel attacked the Irish post on the Clare side of Thomond-bridge. The three regiments of Kirke, Tiffin, and Lord George Hamilton, overpowered Colonel Lacy with his 700 men, and when these sought shelter in the city, they found themselves shut out by the town major, a Frenchman, who feared that the foes would enter pell-mell with the friends. Little quarter was given, and only 130 got the privilege of being made prisoners of war. This is one of those instances in which the Irish party suffered so fatally from the treachery or detestable negligence of some among themselves. The Duke of Tyrconnel died at the residence of D'Usson during the siege. This was the last trial of arms between the friends of William and James in Ireland. Next day a truce was agreed on and preliminaries of peace commenced. With the "Conditions of Limerick," a dismal household word with the peasantry of Ireland from that hour to the present, we shall not meddle. They do not come within our scope, which merely embraces the stirring events of the three years' campaign, our design being to present these in a picturesque and interesting light, and in a spirit of genuine impartiality. This being our design, we have seized on everything that could reflect honor or credit on the chiefs of both parties, or the conduct of the common soldiers. We have found much more rancor and want of humanity distinguishing both parties, the military chiefs excepted, then we could wish. These we have softened as much as truth would permit. No one reading our sketches but will, as we hope, think better of the party whose principles he repudiates, than he did before the perusal. ------ {134} Original Asperges Me. by Richard Storrs Willis. I Prostrate at thy altar kneeling, Not a thought or fault concealing, Hear me cry with inmost feeling, _Domine, asperges me!_ Ah! What sins I come confessing, Since I last received thy blessing! Yet with all this guilt oppressing, Still I pled _asperges me!_ II Sins of thought, of word, of action, Many a righteous law's infraction, Many an hour of wild distraction-- _Domine, asperges me!_ Oft I think can Christ forgive me-- With such guilt can he receive me? What if my fond heart deceive me-- _Dare_ I plead _asperges me!_ III Come I must, for thou dost bid me! Ne'er for coming hast thou chid me! From my guilt, ah! quickly rid me-- _Domine, asperges me!_ That my heavy heart grow lighter. That my love for thee burn brighter, That my soul than snow grow whiter, _Domine, asperges me!_ ------ {135} From The Month. Ancor-Viat--A New Giant City.