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"It would sarely fash you and me, I'm jalousing, Mr Josiah Flowerdew."
"Admitted, madam; admitted—But, my dear Mrs M'Crie, I have just one other thing to ask. You have told me—(here Josiah gave a shudder).—how the milk and honey gets in. Now, madam, may I be allowed to ask how you get the syllabub out?"
"How we get it out? Lord, sir, you surprise me! Just the way we put it in. How would you get it out? Sure there's nae magic in thut!"
"Nay, madam, I don't pretend to venture upon any speculations on the point. There are many reasons, no doubt, why the pig would easier let it out than in ; and I am quite willing to prefer the mouth. But, after it is out, pray, madam, who eats the syllabub?.—or, pray, madam, do you also eat the pig?"
"Ha, ha 1 Weel that's guide. Lord, sir, the pig's as hard as a stane!"
"Ged, madam, you are right; I had forgot the frying. But as to the milk and jelly, or the bergamot pear, after the pig's, for whose intestines are they devoted?"
"Pray, madam, who devours that?" pointing with his finger to the horrid potion before him."You, sir, if you will do me that honour."
"Me, madam! Me! Good night, madam. Pray don't waken the doctor. I am particularly engaged. Nay, madam, not a morsel— (I would as soon bolt a barbecued toad, or mouth a curried hedgehog)—I do entreat you to keep it for the next presbytery. If they resemble our clergy in the south, they are more familiar with pigs than I am.—Well, well!" Mr Flowerdew was heard to exclaim, as he, in a manner, tumbled down, in his haste, from top to the bottom of the stair, " I have often heard that the Scotch were dirty; but, by all the stripes in a yard of gingham, they were born barbarians!"
"Mr Dourstew!" exclaimed the Doctor, awakening. "Where are you? Here's my wife with the syllabub. Where are you, Mr Moorskew?"
"I'm off!" answered Mr Josiah; and it is said by his friends, that during a long life of some seventy years, no persuasion could induce him ever again to visit Edinburgh. "The lame pig," he would mutter to himself, " the jelly and hot milk! Heaven save me from such a calamity!"
MY NATIVE VALE.
Mv native vale, my native vale! In visions and in dreams
I see your towers and trees, and hear the music of your streams;
I leel the fragrance of the thorn where lovers loved to meet;
I walk upon thy hills and see thee slumbering at their feet .
In every knoll I see a friend, in every tree a brother,
A ml clasp thy breast, as I would clasp the bosom of my mother.
There stands the tottering tower I climb'd, and won the falcon's brond;
There flows the stream I've trysted through, when it was wild in flood.
There is the fairy glen—the pools I mused in youth among,
The very nook where first I pour'd forth unconsider'd song:
And stood with gladness in my heart, and bright hope on my brow—
Ah! I had other visions then than I have visions now.
I went into my native vale—alas! what did I see?
At every door strange faces, where glad looks once welcomed me;
The sunshine faded on the hills, the music left the brooks,
The song of its unnumber'd larks was as the voice of rooks;
The plough had been in all my haunts, the axe had toucb'd the grove;
And death had follow'd—there was nought remain'd for me to love.
My native vale, farewell! farewell!—my father, on thy hearth
The light extinguish'd—and thy roof no longer rings with mirth;
There sits a stranger on thy chair; and they are dead and gone
Who charm'd my early life—all—all sleep 'neath the church-yard stone:
There's nought moves save yon red round moon, noughtlives but that pure
That lived when I was young—all—all are gone and gone for ever! [river.
Keir with thy pasture mountains green, Drumlanrig with thy towers,
Carse with thy lily banks and braes, and Blackwood with thy bowers!
And fair Dalswinton with thy walks of scented thorn and holly,
Where some had toil'd the day, and shared the night 'tween sense and folly,
Farewell, farewell, your flowers will glad the bird, and feed the bee,
And charm ten thousand hearts, although no more they'll gladden me.
I stood within my native vales, fast by the river brink,
And saw the long and yellow corn 'neath shining sickles sink;
I heard the fair hair'd maidens wake songs of thy latter day;
And joy'd to see the bandsmen smile, albeit their locks were gray .
I thought on mine own musings—when men shook their tresses hoary,
And said, " alas!" and named my name, " thou art no heir of glory!"
Gatrkr je rose-buds while ye may, That age Is beet which U the tint.
Old time is still a flying; When youth and blood are warmer; And this same flower that smiles to-day, But being spent, the worse and wont
To morrow may be dying. Times still succeed the former.
Theglorioui lamp of heaven, the Sun, Then be not coy, but use your time, The higher he's a getting, And while you may. go marry;
The sooner will his race be run, For having lost but once your prime,
-And nearer he'n to setting.. You may for ever tairy. Hkmic*.
in. 2 c
THELITTLE HOUSE UNDER THE HILL.*
Evert person in the parish knows the purty knoll that rises above the Routing Burn, some few miles from the renowned town 01 Knockimdowny, which, as all the world must allow, wants only houses and inhabitants to be as big a place as the great town of Dublin itself. At the foot of this little hill, just undher the shelter of a da- cent pebble of a rock, something about the bulk of half a dozen churches, one would be apt to see—if they knew how to look sharp, otherwise they mightn't be able to make it out from the grey rock above it, except from the smoke that ris from the chimbley—Nancy Magennis's little cabin, snug and coosey, with its corrag, or ould man of branches, standing on the windy side of the door, to keep away the blast. Upon my word, it was a dacent little residence in its own way, and so was Nancy herself, for that matther; for though a poor widdy, she was very punctwell in paying for Jack's schooling, as I often heard ould Terry M'Phaudeen say, who tould me the story. Jack indeed, grew up a fine slip; and for hurling, foot-ball playing, and lepping, hadn't his likes in the five quarthersof the parish. It's he that knew how to handle a spade and a raping-hook, and what was better nor all that, he was kind and tindher to his poor ould mother, and would let her want for nothing. Before he'd go to his day's work in the morning, he'd be sure to bring home from the clear spring-well that ran out of the other side of the rock, a pitcher of water to serve her for the day; nor would he forget to bring in a good creel of turf from the snug little peat-stack that stood, thatched with rushes, before the door, and leave it in the corner, beside the fire; so that she had nothing to do but put over her hand, without rising off her sate, and put down a sod when she wanted it. Nancy, on her part, kept Jack very clane and comfortable; his linen, though coarse, was always a good colour, his working clothes tidily mended at all times; and when he'd have occasion to put on his good coat to work in, for the first time, Nancy would sew on the fore-part of each sleeve a stout patch of ould cloth, to keep them from being worn by the spade; so that when she'd rip these off them every Saturday night, they would look as new and fresh, as if he hadn't been working in them, at all, at all. Then, when Jack came home in the winter nights, it would do your heart good to see Nancy sitting at her wheel, singing " Stachan Maragah," or "Peggy Na Laveen," beside a purty clear fire, with a small pot of murphys boiling on it for their supper, or in a wooden dish, comfortably covered with a clane praskeen, on the well-swept hearth-stone; whilst the quiet dancing blaze might be seen blinking in the nice earthen plates and dishes, that stood over against the side wall of the house. Just before the fire, you might see Jack's stool waiting for him to come home; and, on the opposite side, the brown cat washing her face with her paws, or sitting beside the dog that lay asleep, quite happy and continted, purring her song, and now and then looking over at Nancy, with her eyes half shut, as much as to say, "catch a happier pair nor we are Nancy, if ye can." Sitting quietly on the roost above the door, were Dicky the cock, and half a dozen of hens, that kept this honest pair in eggs and egg-milk for the best part of the year—besides enabling Nancy to sell two or three clutches of March-birds every sason, to help to buy wool for Jack's big coat, and her own grey-beard gown and striped red and blue petticoat.
* From "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry."
To make a long story short—no two could be more comfortable, considering every thing. But, indeed, Jack was always obsarved to have a dacent, ginteel turn with him; for he'd scorn to see a bad gown on his mother, or a broken Sunday-coat on himself; and instead of dhrinking his little earning in a sheebeen house, and then eating his praties dry, he'd take care to have something to kitchen them; so that he was not only snug and dacent of a Sunday, regarding wearables, but so well-fed and rosy, that the point of a rush would take a drop of blood out of his cheek. Then he was the comliest and best-looking young man in the parish, could tell lots of droll stories, and sing scores of merry songs, that would make ye split your sides with downright laughing; and when a wake or a dance would happen to be in the neighbourhood, may be there wouldn't be many a sly look-out from the purty girls for pleasant Jack Magennis.
In this way lived Jack and his mother, as happy and continted as two lords; except now and thin, that Jack would feel a little consarn for not being able to lay past any thing for the sore foot, or that might enable him to think of marrying—for he was beginning to look about him for a wife; and why not, to be sure? But he was prudent for all that, and didn't wish to bring a wife and a small family into poverty and hardship.
It was one fine, frosty, moonlight night—the sky was without a cloud, and the stars all blinking, that it would delight any body's heart to look at them, when Jack was crossing a bog that lay a few fields beyant his own cabin. He was just crooning the " Humours of Glynn " into himself, and thinking that it was a very hard case that he couldn't save any thing at all, at all, to help him to the wife —when, on coming down a bank in the middle of the bog, he saw a dark-looking man, leaning against a clamp of turf, and a black dog sitting at hisase beside him, with a pipe of tobacky in his mouth, and he smoking as sober as a judge. Jack, however, had a stout heart, bekase his conscience was clear, and barring being a little daunted, he wasn't very much afraid. "Who is this coming down toardst us?" said the black-favoured man, as he saw Jack approaching them. "It's Jack Magennis," says the dog, making answer, and taking the pipe out of his mouth, with his right paw, and after puffing away the smoke, and rubbing the end of it against his left leg, exactly as a Christian (this day's Friday, the Lord stand betune us and harm) would do against his sleeve, giving itat the same time to his comrade—" It's Jack Magennis," says the dog, "honest widow Magennis's dacent son." "The very man," says the other, back to him, " that I'd wish to sarve out of a thousand. Arrah! Jack Magennis, how is every tether-length of you?" says the ould fellow, putting the furrawn on him—" and how is every bone in your body, Jack, my darling? I'll hould a thousand guineas," says he, pointing to a great big bag that lay beside him, "and that's only the tenth part of what's in this bag, Jack, that you're just going to be in luck, this very night.'' "And may worse never happen you, Jack, ma bouchal," says the dog, putting in his tongue, then wagging his tail, and houlding out his paw to shake hands with Jack. "Gintlemen," says Jack, never minding to give the dog his hand, bekase he heard it wasn't safe to touch the likes of him—" Gintlemen," says he, "ye're sitting far from the fire this frosty night." "Why, that's true, Jack," answers the ould fellow, "but if we're sitting far from the fire, we're sitting very near the makins of it." So, with this, he pulls the bag of goold over to him, that Jack might know by the jingle of the shiners what was in it. "Jack," says dark-face, " there's some born with a silver ladle in their mouth, and others with a wooden spoon; and if you'll just sit down on the one end of this clamp with me, and take a hand at the five and ten," pulling out as he spoke, a deck of cards, "you may be a made man for the remainder of your life." "Sir," says Jack, "with submission, both yourself and this cur 1 mane," says he, not wishing to
give the dog offince—" both yourself and this dacent gintleman with the tail and claws upon him, have the advantage of me, in respect of knowing my name; for, if I don't mistake," says he, putting his hand to his hat, " I never had the pleasure of seeing either of ye before." "Never mind that,"says the dog, taking back thepipefrom the other, and clapping it in his mouth; "we're both your wellwishers, any how, and it is now your own fault if you're not a rich man."
Jack, by this time, was beginning to think that they might be after