itals and dispensaries became crowded with intermittent patients, and
all the bark of the druggists and apothecaries was put into requisition;
but to the surprise and disappointment of all the medical men, this
infallible specific was altogether inert and powerless, and after repeated
trials and disappointments, it was abandoned as useless. It was now a
matter of importance to ascertain the cause of this extraordinary
failure, whether it arose from the altered character of the complaint,
or from the deteriorated quality of the medicine; and it was found to be
the latter. In consequence of the long cessation of intermittent fever,
bark had been little used or called for, and the stock had remained so
long on hand, that it had become effete and worthless. It was necessary
then to try some substitute. Quassia-wood, the acorus calamus, and other
bitters and aromatics, were tried; but that which seemed to succeed best
was the bark and kernel of the horse-chestnut. The nut was moderately
dried in a stove, so as to be capable of being powdered, and in that state
was exhibited in substance with cayenne pepper and other aromatics. The
bark was taken in infusions and decoctions with quassia, and the effects
were sometimes very decided and satisfactory, forming a providential
substitute for the only kind of bark then to be procured in Ireland.

W.

* * * * *

SONNET.

(_For the Mirror._)

Say what repays the gamester's nightly toil,
Can hell itself more hideous woes impart?
Can glitt'ring heaps of ill-begotten spoil,
Appease the cravings of his callous heart?
For this alone he severs every tie,
For this he marks unmov'd the orphan's tear,
E'en nature's charms, a smile from beauty's eye
No longer can his blasted prospects cheer.
But now prevails the dice's rattling sound,
The loud blaspheming oath, and cry of woe,
From tables set with spectre forms around,
Hurrying with frantic haste, th' expected throw!
Than this no greater foe to man remains
This is the mightiest triumph Satan gains!

E.L.

* * * * *

ORIGINAL TRANSLATIONS.

(_For the Mirror._)

Horace.--Ode xxx.--B. 1.

TO VENUS.

_He invokes her to be present at Glycera's private sacrifice_

Venus! leave thy loved isle,
And on Glycera's altar smile;
Breathing perfumes hail the day,
Haste thee, Venus! haste away.

Bring with thee th