"Where shall I get up, please your honour?" said Billy.

66

"Is it after making a fool of me you'd be," said Billy, "bidding me get a-horseback upon that bit of a rush? May be you want to persuade me that the rush I pulled but a while ago out of the bog there is a horse."

"Up! up! and no words," said the little man, looking very angry, "the best horse you ever rode was but a fool to it." So Billy, thinking all this was in joke, and fearing to vex his master, straddled across the rush: "Borram! Borram! Borram!" cried the little man three times (which in English means to become great), and Billy did the same after him: presently the rushes swelled up into fine horses, and away they went full speed; but Billy, who had put the rush between his legs without much minding how he did it, found himself sitting on horseback the wrong way, which was rather awkward, with his face to the horse's tail; and so quickly had his steed started off with him, that he had no power to turn round, and there was therefore nothing for it but to hold on by the tail.

At last they came to their journey's end, and stopped at the gate of a fine house: "Now, Billy," said the little man, "do as you see me do, and follow me close; but as you did not know your horse's head from his tail, mind that your own head does not spin round until you can't tell whether you are standing on it or on your heels."

The little man then said some queer kind of words, out of which Billy could make no meaning; but he contrived to say them after him for all that; and in they both went through the key-hole of the door, and through one keyhole after another, until they got into the wine-cellar, which was well stored with all kinds of wine.

The little man fell to drinking as hard as he could, and Billy, nowise disliking the example, did the same. "The best of masters are you, surely," said Billy to him, "no matter who is the next; and well pleased will I be with your service if you continue to give me plenty to drink."

"I have made no bargain with you," said the little man, "and will make none; but up and follow me." Away they went, through key-hole after key-hole; and each mounting upon the rush which he left at the hall door, scampered off, kicking the clouds before them like snowballs, as soon as the words, "Borram! Borram! Borram!" had passed their lips.

One night when Billy Mac Daniel met the little man as usual in the Fort-field, and was going to the bog to fetch the horses for their journey, his master said to him, "Billy, I shall want another horse to-night, for maybe we may bring back more company with us than we take." So Billy, who now knew better than to question any order given to him by his master, brought a third rush, much wondering who it might be that would travel back in their company, and whether he was about to have a fellow-servant. "If I have," thought Billy, "he shall go and fetch the horses from the bog every night; for I don't see why I am not, every inch of me, as good a gentleman as my master."

Well, away they went, Billy leading the third horse, and never stopped until they came to a snug farmer's house in the county of Limerick, close under the old castle of Carrigogunniel, that was built, they say, by the great Brian Boru. Within the house there was great carousing going forward, and the little man stopped outside for some time to listen; then turning round all of a sudden, said, "Billy, I will be a thousand years old to-morrow."

"God bless us! sir," said Billy, "will you?" "Don't say these words again," said the little man, "or you will be my ruin for ever. Now, Billy, as I will be a thousand years in the world to-morrow, I think it is full time for me to get married."

"I think so, too, without any kind of doubt at all," said Billy, "if ever you mean to marry."

"And to that purpose," said the little man, "have I come all the way to Carrigogunniel; for in this house, this very night, is young Darby Riley going to be married to Bridget Rooney; and as she is a tall and comely girl, and has come of decent people, I think of marrying her myself, and taking her off with me." "And what will Darby Riley say to that?" said Billy.

"Silence!" said the little man, putting on a mighty severe look, "I did not bring you here with me to ask questions;" and without holding further argument, he began saying the queer words which had the power of passing

him through the key-hole as free as air, and which Billy thought himself mighty clever to be able to say after him.

In they both went; and for the better viewing the company, the little man perched himself up as nimbly as a cock-sparrow upon one of the big beams which went across the house over all their heads, and Billy did the same upon another facing him; but not being much accustomed to roosting in such a place, his legs hung down as untidy as may be, and it was quite clear he had not taken pattern after the way in which the little man had bundled himself up together. If the little man had been a tailor all his life, he could not have sat more contentedly upon his haunches.

There they were, both master and man, looking down upon the fun that was going forward; and under them were the priest and piper-and the father of Darby Riley, with Darby's two brothers and his uncle's son-and there were both the father and the mother of Bridget Rooney, and proud enough the old couple were that night of their daughter, as good right they had-and her four sisters, with bran new ribbons in their caps, and her three brothers, all looking as clean and as clever as any three boys in Munster-and there were uncles and aunts, and gossips and cousins enough besides to make a full house of it and plenty was there to eat and drink on the table for every one of them if they had been double the number.

66

Now it happened, just as Mrs. Rooney had helped his reverence to the first cut of the pig's head which was placed before her, beautifully bolstered up with white savoys, that the bride gave a sneeze which made every one at table start, but not a soul said, God bless us!" All thinking that the priest would have done so, as he ought, if he had done his duty, no one wished to take the word out of his mouth, which, unfortunately, was pre-occupied with pig's head and greens. And after a moment's pause the fun and merriment of the bridal feast went on without the pious benediction.

Of this circumstance both Billy and his master were no inattentive spectators from their exalted stations. Ha!" exclaimed the little man, throwing one leg from under him with a joyous flourish, and his eye twinkled with a strange light, whilst his eyebrows became elevated into the curvature of Gothic arches" Ha!" said he, leering down at the bride, and then up at Billy, "I have half of her now, surely. Let her sneeze but twice more, and she is mine, in spite of priest, mass-book, and Darby Riley."

Again the fair Bridget sneezed; but it was so gently, and she blushed so much, that few except the little man took, or seemed to take, any notice; and no one thought of saying, "God bless us!"

Billy all this time regarded the poor girl with a most rueful expression of countenance; for he could not help thinking what a terrible thing it was for a nice young girl of nineteen, with large blue eyes, transparent skin, dimpled cheeks, suffused with health and joy, to be obliged to marry an ugly little bit of a | man, who was a thousand years old, barring a day. At this critical moment the bride gave a third sneeze, and Billy roared out with all his might, "God bless us!" Whether this exclamation resulted from his soliloquy, or from the mere force of habit, he never could tell exactly himself; but no sooner was it uttered than the little man, his face glowing with rage and disappointment, sprung from the beam on which he perched himself, and shrieking out in the shrill voice of a cracked bagpipe, "I discharge you my service, Billy Mac Daniel -take that for your wages," gave poor Billy a most furious kick in the back, which sent his unfortunate servant sprawling upon his face and hands right in the middle of the supper table.

If Billy was astonished, how much more so was every one of the company into which he was thrown with so little ceremony: but when they heard his story, Father Cooney laid down his knife and fork, and married the young couple out of hand with all speed; and Billy Mac Daniel danced the Rinka at their wedding, and plenty did he drink at it too, which was what he thought more of than dancing.

THE KNITTER. (From Servian Popular Poetry.) The maiden sat upon the hill, Upon the hill and far away, Her fingers wove a silken cord, And thus I heard the maiden say: "O, with what joy, what ready will, If some fond youth, some youth adored, Might wear thee, should I weave thee now! The finest gold I'd interblend, The richest pearls as white as snow. But if I knew, my silken friend, That an old man should wear thee, I The coarsest worsted would inweave, Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave, And all thy knots with nettles tie!"

BOWRING.

TO MY HONOURED KINSMAN,

JOHN DRYDEN,

OF CHESTERTON, IN THE COUNTY OF HUNTINGDON, ESQ.

[John Dryden, born in Aldwinkle, Northamptonshire, 1631; died in London, 1st May, 1700. His first poem of any importance was written on the occasion of Cromwell's death, and appeared in 1658. He wrote a number of plays, The Wild Gallant being the first. His Essay on Dramatic Poesy contained the first acknowledgment, after the Restoration, of Shakspeare's supremacy. He was sometime laureate, but was dispossessed of that office at the Revolution, and Shadwell, whom he had bitterly satirized, was appointed in his stead. He wrote a great deal of prose and verse, original and translated. Of his works the most widely known in modern times are Absalom and Achitophel, a political and controversial poem, first published in 1681; The Hind and the Panther, a controversial poem in defence of the Romish Church, 1687; and Alexander's Feast, which is regarded as one of the grandest compositions in lyric poetry.]

How bless'd is he, who leads a country life,
Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife!
Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage,
Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age;
All who deserve his love, he makes his own;
And, to be loved himself, needs only to be known.
Just, good, and wise, contending neighbours come
From your award, to wait their final doom;
And, foes before, return in friendship home.
Without their cost, you terminate the cause;
And save the expense of long litigious laws;
Where suits are traversed; and so little won
That he who conquers, is but last undone;
Such are not your decrees; but so design'd,
The sanction leaves a lasting peace behind;
Like your own soul, serene; a pattern of your mind.

Promoting concord, and composing strife,
Lord of yourself, uncumber'd with a wife;
Where, for a year, a month, perhaps a night,
Long penitence succeeds a short delight:
Minds are so hardly match'd, that even the first,
Though pair'd by Heaven, in paradise, were cursed.
For man and woman, though in one they grow,
Yet, first or last, return again to two.

He to God's image, she to his was made:

So, farther from the fount, the stream at random stray'd.

How could he stand, when put to double pain,
He must a weaker than himself sustain !
Each might have stood perhaps; but each alone;
Two wrestlers help to pull each other down.

Not that my verse would blemish all the fair;
But yet, if some be bad, 'tis wisdom to beware;
And better shun the bait, than struggle in the snare.
Thus have you shunn'd, and shun the married state,
Trusting as little as you can to fate.

No porter guards the passage of your door;
To admit the wealthy, and exclude the poor;
For God, who gave the riches, gave the heart
To sanctify the whole, by giving part;
Heaven, who foresaw the will, the means has wrought,
And to the second son, a blessing brought;
The first-begotten had his father's share;
But you, like Jacob, are Rebecca's heir.

So may your stores, and fruitful fields increase;
And ever be you blessed, who live to bless.
As Ceres sow'd, where'er her chariot flew;
As Heaven in deserts rain'd the bread of dew,
So free to many, to relations most,

You feed with manna your own Israel-host.

With crowds attended of your ancient race,
You seek the champaign sports, or sylvan chase:
With well-breathed beagles you surround the wood;
Even then, industrious of the common good;
And often have you brought the wily fox
To suffer for the firstlings of the flocks;
Chased even amid the folds; and made to bleed,
Like felons, where they did the murd'rous deed.
This fiery game, your active youth maintain'd:
Not yet by years extinguish'd, though restrain'd;
You season still with sports your serious hours;
For age but tastes of pleasures, youth devours.
The hare, in pastures or in plains is found,
Emblem of human life, who runs the round;
And, after all his wandering ways are done,
His circle fills, and ends where he begun,
Just as the setting meets the rising sun.

Thus princes ease their cares; but happier he,
Who seeks not pleasure through necessity,
Than such as once on slippery thrones were placed:
And chasing sigh to think themselves are chased.

So lived our sires, ere doctors learn'd to kill,
And multiplied with theirs, the weekly bill,
The first physicians by debauch were made;
Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade.
Pity the generous kind their cares bestow
To search forbidden truths; (a sin to know ;)
To which, if human science could attain,
The doom of death, pronounced by God, were vain.
In vain the Leech would interpose delay:
Fate fastens first, and vindicates the prey.
What help from art's endeavours can we have!
Gibbons but guesses, nor is sure to save:

But Maurus sweeps whole parishes, and peoples every

grave;

And no more mercy to mankind will use

Than when he robb'd and murder'd Maro's muse. Wouldst thou be soon despatch'd, and perish whole! Trust Maurus with thy life, and M-lb-rn with thy soul.

By chase our long-lived fathers earn'd their food; Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood; But we, their sons, a pamper'd race of men, Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught.

The wise, for cure, on exercise depend;
God never made his work, for man to mend.

The tree of knowledge, once in Eden placed,
Was easy found, but was forbid the taste;
O, had our grandsire walk'd without his wife,
He first had sought the better plant of life!
Now, both are lost: yet, wandering in the dark,
Physicians, for the tree, have found the bark:
They, labouring for relief of human kind,
With sharpen'd sight some remedies may find:
The apothecary train is wholly blind.
From files, a random-recipe they take,
And many deaths of one prescription make.
Garth, generous as his muse, prescribes and gives;
The shopman sells; and by destruction lives.
Ungrateful tribe! who, like the viper's brood,
From medicine issuing, suck their mother's blood,
Let these obey; and let the learn'd prescribe;
That men may die, without a double bribe:
Let them, but under their superiors, kill;
When doctors first have sign'd the bloody bill:
He 'scapes the best, who, nature to repair,

Draws physic from the fields, in draughts of vital air.

You hoard not health, for your own private use;
But on the public spend the rich produce.
When, often urged, unwilling to be great,
Your country calls you from your loved retreat,
And sends to senates, charged with common care,
Which none more shuns; and none can better bear.
Where could they find another form'd so fit,
To poise, with solid sense, a spritely wit!
Were these both wanting, (as they both abound)
Where could so firm integrity be found?

Well-born, and wealthy; wanting no support,
You steer betwixt the country and the court;
Nor gratify whate'er the great desire,
Nor grudging give, what public needs require.
Part must be left, a fund when foes invade;
And part employ'd to roll the watery trade:
Even Canaan's happy land, when worn with toil,
Required a Sabbath-year to mend the meagre soil.

Good senators, (and such as you,) so give,
That kings may be supplied, the people thrive.
And he, when want requires, is truly wise,
Who slights not foreign aids, nor over-buys;
But, on our native strength, in time of need, relies.
Munster was bought, we boast not the success;
Who fights for gain, for greater makes his peace.
Our foes, compell'd by need, have peace embrac'd:
The peace both parties want, is like to last:
Which, if secure, securely we may trade;
Or, not secure, should never have been made.
Safe in ourselves, while on ourselves we stand,
The sea is ours, and that defends the land.
Be, then, the naval stores the nation's care,
New ships to build, and batter'd to repair.

Observe the war, in every annual course; What has been done, was done with British force.

Namur subdued, is England's palm alone;
The rest besieged; but we constrain'd the town:
We saw the event that follow'd our success;
France, though pretending arms, pursued the peace:
Obliged, by one sole treaty, to restore
What twenty years of war had won before.
Enough for Europe has our Albion fought:
Let us enjoy the peace our blood has bought.
When once the Persian king was put to flight,
The weary Macedons refused to fight:
Themselves their own mortality confess'd;
And left the son of Jove to quarrel for the rest.

Even victors are by victories undone;
Thus Hannibal, with foreign laurels won,
To Carthage was recall'd, too late to keep his own.
While sore of battle, while our wounds are green,
Why should we tempt the doubtful dye again?
In wars renew'd, uncertain of success,
Sure of a share, as umpires of the peace.

A patriot, both the king and country serves;
Prerogative, and privilege preserves:

Of each, our laws the certain limit show,
One must not ebb, nor t'other overflow:
Betwixt the prince and parliament we stand;
The barriers of the state on either hand:
May neither overflow, for then they drown the land.
When both are full, they feed our bless'd abode;
Like those that water'd once the paradise of God.

Some overpoise of sway, by turns they share;
In peace the people, and the prince in war;
Consuls of moderate power in calms were made;
When the Gauls came, one sole dictator sway'd.

Patriots, in peace, assert the people's right; With noble stubbornness resisting might: No lawless mandates from the court receive, Nor lend by force; but in a body give. Such was your generous grandsire; free to grant In parliaments, that weigh'd their prince's want: But so tenacious of the common cause, As not to lend the king against his laws. And, in a loathsome dungeon doom'd to lie, In bonds retained his birthright liberty, And shamed oppression, till it set him free.

O true descendant of a patriot line,
Who, while thou shar'st their lustre, lend'st them thine,
Vouchsafe this picture of thy soul to see;

"Tis so far good as it resembles thee:
The beauties to the original I owe;
Which, when I miss, my own defects I show.
Nor think the kindred-muses thy disgrace;

A poet is not born in every race.
Two of a house, few ages can afford;
One to perform, another to record.
Praise-worthy actions are by thee embraced;
And 'tis my praise, to make thy praises last.
For even when death dissolves our human frame,
The soul returns to Heaven, from whence it came;
Earth keeps the body, verse preserves the fame.

TO MY HONOURED KINSMAN,

JOHN DRYDEN,

OF CHESTERTON, IN THE COUNTY OF HUNTINGDON, ESQ.

[John Dryden, born in Aldwinkle, Northamptonshire, 1631; died in London, 1st May, 1700. His first poem of any importance was written on the occasion of Cromwell's death, and appeared in 1658. He wrote a number of plays, The Wild Gallant being the first. His Essay on Dramatic Poesy contained the first acknowledgment, after the Restoration, of Shakspeare's supremacy. He was sometime laureate, but was dispossessed of that office at the Revolution, and Shadwell, whom he had bitterly satirized, was appointed in his stead. He wrote a great deal of prose and verse, original and translated. Of his works the most widely known in modern times are Absalom and Achitophel, a political and controversial poem, first published in 1681; The Hind and the Panther, a controversial poem in defence of the Romish Church, 1687; and Alexander's Feast, which is regarded as one of the grandest compositions in lyric poetry.]

How bless'd is he, who leads a country life,
Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife!
Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage,
Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age;
All who deserve his love, he makes his own;
And, to be loved himself, needs only to be known.

Just, good, and wise, contending neighbours come
From your award, to wait their final doom;
And, foes before, return in friendship home.
Without their cost, you terminate the cause;
And save the expense of long litigious laws;
Where suits are traversed; and so little won
That he who conquers, is but last undone;
Such are not your decrees; but so design'd,
The sanction leaves a lasting peace behind;

Like your own soul, serene; a pattern of your mind.

Promoting concord, and composing strife,
Lord of yourself, uncumber'd with a wife;
Where, for a year, a month, perhaps a night,
Long penitence succeeds a short delight:
Minds are so hardly match'd, that even the first,
Though pair'd by Heaven, in paradise, were cursed.
For man and woman, though in one they grow,
Yet, first or last, return again to two.

He to God's image, she to his was made:

So, farther from the fount, the stream at random stray'd.

How could he stand, when put to double pain,

He must a weaker than himself sustain !

Each might have stood perhaps; bu+

Two wrestlers help to pull each

Not that my verse won'

But yet, if some be ba

And better shun th

Thus have you
Trusting a

No porter guards the passage of your To admit the wealthy, and exclude th For God, who gave the riches, gave the To sanctify the whole, by giving part Heaven, who foresaw the will, the me And to the second son, a blessing bro The first-begotten had his father's sha But you, like Jacob, are Rebecca's hear

So may your stores, and fruitful f And ever be you blessed, who live t As Ceres sow'd, where'er her chariot As Heaven in deserts rain'd the br So free to many, to relations most You feed with manna your own!

With crowds attended of your You seek the champaign sports, o With well-breathed beagles you s Even then, industrious of the con And often have you brought the To suffer for the firstlings of the Chased even amid the folds; and Like felons, where they did the This fiery game, your active yo Not yet by years extinguish'd, " You season still with sports yo For age but tastes of pleasures The hare, in pastures or in plan Emblem of human life, who ru And, after all his wandering w His circle fills, and ends where Just as the setting meets the

Thus princes ease their cares Who seeks not pleasure throng Than such as once on slippery And chasing sigh to think th

So lived our sires, ere docto And multiplied with theirs, The first physicians by deba Excess began, and sloth su Pity the generous kind their To search forbidden truths: To which, if human science The doom of death, pronou In vain the Leech would in Fate fastens first, and vin What help from art's ende Gibbons but guesses, nor l But Maurus sweeps whole grave;

And no more mercy to m
Than when he robb'd an
hou be soon de
s with thy li

our long-li
g the nerves,
their sons, a
dwindled down to
tter to hunt in field
an fee the doctor for