enceforth to have looked upon the clerical office as his
destined part in life. Strange transition, from the aspiration to carry
forth death and destruction to that of being the bearer of the glad
tidings of "peace on earth, and good-will toward men." The change,
however, is one which we believe to be not unfrequent. The same desire
for fame urges men to the bar, the pulpit, and the tented field, and but
for maternal love, Charles Wolfe, carrying with him that martial spirit
which now and then breaks out in his poetry, might have been like his
namesake, the General, a blood-stained hero, instead of a peaceful,
loving Irish curate. So powerful are circumstances to mould man's
fate--and Wolfe was of that mould on which circumstances act with
peculiar force. Had he been a soldier, it may be that the occupation
would have strengthened his _physique_ at the expense of his mentality,
and that his bodily powers, unimpaired by sedentary habits, would have
carried him on to a good old age. There is food for reflection in that
idea, of how every course in life has its mixed good and evil.

In 1808 the family returned to Ireland, and in 1809 Charles Wolfe became
a student of Dublin University. Here his classical learning and poetical
attainments soon made him conspicuous, and he carried off prizes from
the most distinguished of his competitors. The Historical Society of the
University, the object of which was the cultivation of history, poetry,
and oratory, also afforded him scope for the display of his talents, and
gave him opportunity to win several medals and prizes. Most of the few
poetical efforts of Mr. Wolfe were made at this period, including the
Death of Sir John Moore, and a beautiful song, connected with which is
an anecdote so strikingly characteristic of the nature of the author's
mind, and so indicative of his extreme sensibility, that it is worth
notice.

He was particularly open to the influence of music, and one of his
favorite melodies was the popular Irish air "Gramachree," to which, at
the request of a friend, he wrote the following song:

"If I had thought thou could'st have died,
I might not weep for thee:
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou could'st mortal be:
It never through my mind had pass'd,
The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,
And thou should'st smile no more!

"And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill sm