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"Why that’s not the way to accomplish your wishes,"
Cries Dermot, “ the devil a bite you will get;"
"Och, bother,” says Pat, “don’t you know that the fishes,
Will flock under here to keep out of the wet.”
merting of the waters.
There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet,
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet,
Oh! the last ray of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that vallty shall fade from my heart!
Yet it was not that Nature had shed o’er the scene,
Her purest of chrystal and brghtest of green:
'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill ;
Oh! no———it was something more exquisite still?
’Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear;
