"To see the streets that evening, the heart would rend with pain. The human blood in rivers ran, like any flood or stream. Men's heads blown off their bodies, most dismal for to see; And wounded men did loudly cry in pain and agony. The Federals they did advance, and broke in through the town. They trampled dead and wounded that lay upon the ground. The wounded called for mercy, but none they did receive--" The eulogies of person or place, some patron or his residence, are innumerable, and ineffably absurd. Some years ago, an idle young lawyer at Cork happened to be visiting Blarney Castle, when one of these wandering minstrels came to the gate, and asked to dedicate a verse to "Lady Jeffers that owns this station." The request was granted, and the laughter of the guests, as the bard recited his "composition," may be imagined. The occurrence and the style of verse were common enough, but an idle banter incited the gay youth into a burlesque imitation. The result was the famous "Groves of Blarney," that has been sung and whistled all over the world. Those who have not seen the originals might imagine the "Groves of Blarney" to be an outrageous caricature. But it is not so. It hardly equals and cannot surpass some of the native flowers of blunder. The original is still sold in the streets of Cork, and some extracts, in conclusion, will show how much Dick Milliken was indebted to his unwitting model: "There are fine walks in those pleasant gardens, And spots most charming in shady bowers. The gladiator, who is bold and daring, Each night and morning to watch the flowers. "There are fine horses and stall-fed oxen, A den for foxes to play and hide, Fine mares for breeding, with foreign sheep, With snowy fleeces at Castle Hyde. "The buck and doe, the fox and eagle, Do skip and play at the river side. The trout and salmon are always sporting In the clear streams of Castle Hyde." ---------- {37} Daybreak. Chapter I. "O jewel in the lotos: amen!" A wide, slow whitening of the east, a silent stealing away of shadows, a growing radiance before which the skies receded into ineffable heights of pale blue and gleaming silver, and a March day came blowing in with locks of gold, and kindling glances, and girdle of gold, and golden sandals over the horizon. Louis Granger, standing in the open window of his chamber, laughed as he looked in the face of the morning, and stretched out his hands and cried, "Backsheesh, O Howadji!"