Freney the Robber: they're books that'll be in great requist in Leithrim as soon as the pasthoral gets wind. Glory be to God! I've done wid their lecthirs-they may all go and be d-d wid their consumption and production. I'm off to Tallymactaggart before daylight in the morning, where I'll thry whether a sod or two o' turf can't consume a cart-load ov heresy, and whether a weekly meeting ov the lodge can't produce a new thayory ov rints. But afore I take my lave ov you, I may as well finish my story about poor Father Tom that I hear is coming up to whale the heretics in Adam and Eve during the Lint. The Pope and indeed it ill becomes a good Catholic to say any thing agin himno more would I, only that his Riv'rence was in it but you see the fact ov it is, that the Pope was as envious as ever he could be, at seeing himself sacked right and left by Father Tom, and bate out o' the face, the way he was, on every science and subjec' that was started. So, not to be outdone altogether, he says to his Riv'rence "you're a man that's fond ov the brute crayation, I hear, Misther Maguire ?" "I don't deny it," says his Riv'rence, "I've dogs that I'm willing to run agin any man's, ay, or to match them agin any other dogs in the world for genteel edication and polite manners," says he. "I'll hould you a pound," says the Pope, "that I've a quadhruped in my possession that's a wiser baste nor any dog in your kennel." "Done," says his Riv'rence, and they staked the money. "What can this larned quadhruped o' yours do?" says his Riv'rence. "It's my mule," says the Pope, "and, if you were to offer her goolden oats and clover off the meadows o' Paradise, sorra taste ov aither she'd let pass her teeth till the first mass is over every Sunday or holiday in the year." in his mouth, and gev a whistle that made 66 "There's a dog that knows his duty," says his Riv'rence; "there's a baste that knows how to conduct himself aither in the parlor or the field. You think him a good dog, looking at him here: but I wisht you seen him on the side ov Sleeve-an-Eirin! Be my soul, you'd say the hill was running away from undher him. Oh I wisht you had been wid me," says he, never letting on to see the dog stale, one day, last Lent, that I was coming from mass. Spring was near a quarther ov a mile behind me, for the childher was delaying him wid bread and butther at the chapel door; when a lump ov a hare jumped out ov the plantations ov Grouse Lodge and ran acrass the road; so I gev the whilloo, and knowing that she'd take the rise of the hill, I made over the ditch, and up through Mullaghcashel as hard as I could pelt, still keeping her in "You don't b'lieve me, don't you?" says view, but afore I had gone a perch, Spring his Riv'rence, "very well, I'll soon show seen her, and away the two went like the you whether or no," and he put his knuckles | wind, up Drumrewy, and down Clooneen, "Well, and what 'ud you say if I showed you a baste ov mine," says his Riv'rence, "that, instead ov fasting till first mass is over only, fasts out the whole four-andtwenty hours ov every Wednesday and Friday in the week as reg'lar as a Christian." Oh, be asy, Masther Maguire," says the Pope. and over the river, widout his being able onc't to turn her. Well, I run on till I come to the Diffagher, and through it I went, for the wather was low and I didn't mind being wet shod, and out on the other side, where I got up on a ditch, and seen sich a coorse, as I'll be bound to say was never seen afore or since. If Spring turned that hare onc't that day, he turned her fifty times, up and down, back and for'ard, throughout and about. At last he run her right into the big quarryhole in Mullagh bawn, and when I went up to look for her fud, there I found him sthretched on his side, not able to stir a foot, and the hare lying about an inch afore his nose as dead as a door-nail, and divil a mark of a tooth upon her. Eh, Spring, isn't that thrue ?" says he. Jist at that minit the clock sthruck twelve, and, before you could say thrapsticks, Spring had the plateful of mate consaled. Now," says his Riv'rence, "hand me over my pound, for I've won my bate fairly." 66 "You'll excuse me," says the Pope, pocketing his money, "for we put the clock half-an-hour back, out ov compliment to your Riv'rence," says he, "and it was Sathurday morning afore he came up at all." 66 Well, it's no matther," says his Riv'rence, putting back his pound-note in his pocket-book, "Only," says he, "it's hardly fair to expect a brute baste to be so well skilled in the science ov chronology." In troth his Riv'rence was badly used in the same bet, for he won it clever; and, indeed, I'm afeared the shabby way he was thrated had some effect in putting it into his mind to do what he did. "Will your Holiness take a blast ov the pipe ?" says he, dhrawing out his dhudeen. "I never smoke," says the Pope, "but I haven't the least objection to the smell of the tobaccay." "Oh, you had betther take a dhraw," says his Riv'rence, "it'll relish the dhrink, that 'ud be too luscious entirely, widout something to flavor it." "I had thoughts," said the Pope, wid the laste sign ov a hiccup on him, "ov getting up a broiled bone for the same purpose." 66 Well," says his Riv'rence, "a broiled bone 'ud do no manner ov harm at this present time; but a smoke," says he, "ud flavor both the devil and the dhrink." "What sort o' tobaccay is it that's in it?" says the Pope. "Raal nagur-head," says his Riv'rence, a very mild and salubrious spacies ov the philosophic weed." "Then, I don't care if I do take a dhraw," says the Pope. Then Father Tom held the coal himself till his Holiness had the pipe lit; and they sat widout saying anything worth mentioning for about five minutes. At last the Pope says to his Riv'rence, "I dunna' what gev me this plaguy hiccup," says he. "Dhrink about," says he-" Begorra," he says, "I think I'm getting merrier 'an's good for me. Sing us a song, your Riv'rence," says he. Father Tom then sung him Monatagrenoge and the Bunch o' Rushes, and he was mighty well pleased wid both, keeping time wid his hands, and joining in in the choruses, when his hiccup 'ud let him. At last, my dear, he opens the lower buttons ov his waistcoat, and the top one ov his waistband, and calls to Masther Anthony to lift up one ov the windys. "I dunna what's wrong wid me, at all at all," says he, "I'm mortial sick." "I thrust," says his Riv'rence, "the pasthry that you ate at dinner hasn't disagreed wid your Holiness's stomach." "Oh my! oh!" says the Pope, "what's this at all?" gasping for breath, and as pale as a sheet, wid a could swate bursting out over his forehead, and the palms ov his hands spread out to catch the air. "Oh my! oh my!" says he, "fetch me a basin ! -Don't spake to me. Oh-oh-blood alive!-Oh, my head, my head, hould my head!-oh!-ubh !—I'm poisoned!-ach!" "It was them plaguy pasthries," says his Riv'rence. "Hould his head hard," says he, "and clap a wet cloth over his timples. If you could only thry another dhraw o' the pipe, your Holiness, it 'ud set you to rights in no time." 66 Carry me to bed," says the Pope, "and never let me see that wild Irish priest again. I'm poisoned by his manes-ubplsch!— ach!-ach!-He dined wid Cardinal Wayld yestherday," says he, "and he's bribed him to take me off. Send for a confissor," says he, "for my latther end's approaching. My head's like to split-so it is!-Oh my! oh my!-ubplsch!—ach!" Well, his Riv'rence never thought it worth his while to make him an answer; but, when he seen how ungratefully he was used, afther all his throuble in making the evening agreeable to the ould man, he called Spring, and put the but-end of the second bottle into his pocket, and left the house widout once wishing "Good-night, | To what my earnings are amounting an' plaisant dhrames to you ;" and, in troth, not one of them axed him to lave them a lock ov his hair. That's the story as I heard it tould; but myself doesn't b'lieve over one-half ov it. Howandiver, when all's done, it's a shame, so it is, that he's not a bishop this blessed day and hour: for, next to the goiant ov St. Jarlath's, he's out and out the cleverest fellow ov the whole jing-bang. THE MERRY SOAP-BOILER. FROM THE GERMAN OF FREDERICK HAGEDORN.1 A STEADY and a skillful toiler, Had learned the tunes that cheered his labour, Where merry John was wont to dwell. To know when holy days were nigh, 'Tis always well to live and learn. At the year's end: if every Monday The maker of the almanack Take back your present, and restore But woke at times before daybreak He sent for John one day, and said, trade?" "Master, I never thought of counting 1 Born 1708; died 1754. FRENCH WIT.-Here we have a good example of French wit: "A doctor, like your everybody else at the season, went out for a day's sport, and complained of having killed nothing. That's the consequence of having neglected your business,' observed his wife." THE TINKER AND THE GLAZIER. Two thirsty souls met on a sultry day, One Glazier Dick, the other Tom the Tinker, Both with light purses, but with spirits gay; And hard it were to name the sturdiest drinker. Their ale they quaff'd ; And, as they swigg'd the nappy, That trade was wond'rous dead. Now Dick the Glazier feels his bosom burn, To do his friend, Tom Tinker, a good turn; And, when the heart to friendship feels inclin'd, Occasion seldom loiters long behind. The kettle, gaily singing on the fire, Gives Dick a hint, just to his heart's desire. And, while to draw more ale the Landlord goes, Dick, in the ashes all the water throws; And at the Tinker winks, As "Trade's success!" he drinks, So, giving each kind customer a hand, And drank-"Success to trade !" But, O, how pleasure vanished from his eye, All trades, you know, must live: Let's drink-May trade with none of us e'er fail !' The job to Tom then give; And, for the ale he drinks, our lad of mettle, Take my word for it, soon will mend your kettle." The Landlord yields, but hopes 'tis no offense To curse the trade that thrives at his expense. Tom undertakes the job; to work he goes; And just concludes it with the ev'ning's close. Souls so congenial had friends Tom and Dick, Tom, with surprise, sees Dick turn pale, Dick's unknown smart, I always mend church windows-by the year!" WILLIAM HARRISON, 1800-1874. A WAG seeing a door nearly off its hinges, in which condition it had been for some time, observed that when it had fallen and killed some one it would probably be hung. THE TWO BUTLERS. In all countries and all languages we have the story of Il Bondocani. May I tell you one from Ireland? It is now almost a hundred years ago certainly eighty-since Tom-I declare to Mnemosyne I forget what his surname was, if I ever knew it, which I doubt. It is at least eighty years since Tom emerged from his master's kitchen in Clonmell, to make his way on a visit to foreign countries. If I can well recollect dates, this event must have occurred at the end of the days of George the Second, or very close after the accession of George the Third, because in the course of the narrative it will be disclosed that the tale runs of a Jacobite lord living quietly in Ireland, and that I think must have been some time between 1740 and 1760-or say 65. Just before the year of the young Pretender's burst, a sharp eye used to be kept upon the "honest men in all the three kingdoms; and in Ireland, from the peculiar power which the surveillance attendant on the penal laws gave the government, this sharp eye could not be surpassed in sharpness, that is to say, if it did not choose to wink. Truth, nevertheless, makes us acknowledge that the authorities of Ireland were ever inclined at the bottom of their hearts to countenance lawlessness, if at all recommended by anything like a noble or a romantic name. And no name could be more renowned or more romantic than that of Ormond. It is to be found in all our histories well recorded. What are the lines of Dryden? -and Dryden was a man who knew how to make verses worth reading. And the rebel rose stuck to the house of Ormond many a day-but it is useless to say more. Even I who would sing "Lilla bullalero bullen a la,"-if I could, only I can't sing, and who give "The glorious, pious, and immortal memory," because I can toast, even I do not think wrong of the house of Ormond for sticking as it did to the house of Stuart. Of that too I have a long story to tell some time or another. Never mind. I was mentioning all this, because I have not a 'Peerage' by me; and I really do not know who was the Lord Ormond of the day which I take to be the epoch of my tale. If I had a 'Peerage' I am sure I could settle it in a minute; but I VOL. I.-W. H. have none. Those, therefore, who are most interested in the affair, ought to examine a 'Peerage' to find who was the man of the time;-I can only help them by a hint. My own particular and personal reason for recollecting the matter is this: I am forty, or more-never mind the quantity more; and I was told the story by my uncle at least five-and-twenty years ago. That brings us to the year 1812,-say 1811. My uncle-his name was Jack-told me that he had heard the story from Tom himself fifty years before that. If my uncle Jack, who was a very good fellow, considerably given to potation, was precise in his computation of time, the date of his story must have fallen in 1762– 2-or 1763—no matter which. This brings me near the date I have already assigned; but the reader of my essay has be fore him the grounds of my chronological conjectures, and he can form his opinions on data as sufficiently as myself. I recur fearlessly to the fact that Tomwhatever his surname may have beenemerged from the kitchen of his master in Clonmell, to make his way to foreign countries. His master was a very honest fellow-a schoolmaster of the name of Chaytor, a Quaker, round of paunch and red of nose. I believe that some of his progeny are now men of office in Tipperary-and why should they not? Summer school-vacations in Ireland occur in July; and Chaytor-by the bye, I think he was Tom Chaytor, but if Quakers have Christian names I am not sure, gave leave to his man Tom to go wandering about the country. He had four, or perhaps five, days to himself. Tom, as he was described to me by my uncle over a jug of punch about a quarter of a century ago, was what in his memory must have been a smart-built fellow. Clean of limb, active of hand, light of leg, clear of eye, bright of hair, white of tooth, and two-and-twenty; in short, he was as handsome a lad as you would wish to look upon in a summer's day. I mention a summer's day merely for its length; for even on a winter's day there were few girls that could cast an eye upon him without forgetting the frost. So he started for the land of Kilkenny, which is what we used to call in Ireland twenty-four miles from Clonmell. They have stretched it now to thirty; but I do not find it the longer or shorter in walking or chalking. However, why should we grum. 6 |