een
conveyed, in compliance with Sir Robert's last directions, to Dublin,
was there laid within the ancient walls of St. Audoen's Church--where I
have read the epitaph, telling the age and titles of the departed dust.
Neither painted escutcheon, nor marble slab, have served to rescue from
oblivion the story of the dead, whose very name will ere long moulder
from their tracery,

'Et sunt sua fata sepulchris.'(1)

(1) This prophecy has since been realised; for the aisle in
which Sir Robert's remains were laid has been suffered to
fall completely to decay; and the tomb which marked his
grave, and other monuments more curious, form now one
indistinguishable mass of rubbish.

The events which I have recorded are not imaginary. They are FACTS;
and there lives one whose authority none would venture to question, who
could vindicate the accuracy of every statement which I have set down,
and that, too, with all the circumstantiality of an eye-witness.(2)

(2) This paper, from a memorandum, I find to have been
written in 1803. The lady to whom allusion is made, I
believe to be Miss Mary F----d. She never married, and
survived both her sisters, living to a very advanced age.

THE LAST HEIR OF CASTLE CONNOR.

Being a third Extract from the legacy of the late Francis Purcell, P. P.
of Drumcoolagh.

There is something in the decay of ancient grandeur to interest even the
most unconcerned spectator--the evidences of greatness, of power, and of
pride that survive the wreck of time, proving, in mournful contrast with
present desolation and decay, what WAS in other days, appeal, with a
resistless power, to the sympathies of our nature. And when, as we gaze
on the scion of some ruined family, the first impulse of nature that
bids us regard his fate with interest and respect is justified by the
recollection of great exertions and self-devotion and sacrifices in
the cause of a lost country and of a despised religion--sacrifices and
efforts made with all the motives of faithfulness and of honour, and
terminating in ruin--in such a case respect becomes veneration, and the
interest we feel amounts almost to a passion.

It is this feeling which has thrown the magic veil of romance over every
roofless castle and ruined turret throughout our country; it is this
feeling that, so long as a tower remains above the level of the soil, so
long as one scion of a prostrate and im