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his noble features, reading aloud the impassioned effu-circumvallation. After a three months' siege, it was prosions of genius ---and Emily, in all the breathlessness of nounced impregnable. So Henry, who really loved his tixed attention, smiling and weeping by turns, as the cousin next to his king and country, thinking it folly to powerful master touched the different chords of sensibi- endanger his peace and waste his time any longer, called lity. These were evenings of calm, but deep happiness— for his horse one morning, shook Emily warmly by the long, long to be remembered.

hand, then mounted," and rode away.” Spring flew rapidly on. March, with her winds and Autumn came; the leaves grew red, brown, yellow, and her clouds, passed away; April, with her showers and purple; then dropped from the high branches, and lay her sunshine, lingered no longer ; and May came smiling rustling in heaps upon the path below. The last roses up the blue sky, scattering her roses over the green sur- withered. The last lingering wain conveyed from the face of creation. The stranger entered one evening, be- fields their golden treasure. The days were bright, clear, fore sunset, the little garden that surrounded Violet Cot-calm, and chill; the nights were full of stars and dew, tage. Emily saw him from the window, and came out and the dew, ere morning, was changed into silver hoar. to meet him. She held in her hand an open letter ; “ It frost. The robin hopped across the garden walks; and is from my cousin Henry!" said she. “ His regiment candles were set upon the table before the tea-urn. But has returned from France, and he is to be with us to-mor- the stranger came not. Darker days and longer nights row or next day. We shall be so glad to see him! You succeeded. Winter burst upon the earth. Storms went have often heard us talk of Henry ?---he and I were play- careering through the firmament; the forests were mates when we were children, and though it is a long stripped of their foliage, and the fields had lost their verwhile since we parted, I am sure I should know him dure. But still the stranger came not. Then the lustre again among a hundred.”—“ Indeed!” said the stranger, of Emily's eye grew dim; but yet she smiled, and looked almost starting ; you must have loved him very much, as if she would have made herself believe that there was ad very constantly too."_" () yes ! I loved him as a hope. brother.” Burleigh breathed more easily. “ I am sure And so there was ; for the mail once more stopped at you will love him too,” Emily added. Every body the Blue Boar; a gentleman wrapped in a travelling cloak whom you love, and who loves you, I also must love, Miss once more came out of it; and Mr Gilbert Cherryripe Sommers. But your cousin I shall not at present see. I once more poked the fire for him in his best parlour. Bur. must leave Hodnet to-morrow.”_" To-morrow! leave leigh did come back. Hodnet to-morrow!" Emily grew very pale, and leant I shall not describe their meeting, nor enquire whether for support upon a sun-dial, near which they were stand- Emily's eye was long without its lustre. But there was ing. “ Good heavens ! that emotion—can it be possible ? still another trial to be made. Would she marry him? - Miss Sommers--- Emily---is it for me you are thus “My family,” said he,“ is respectable, and as it is not grieved ?"---" It is so sudden,” said Emily,

wealth we seek, I have an independence, at least equal I pected ;---are you never to return again,--are we never to should hope to our wishes; but any thing else which you see you more ?"_" Do you wish me to return, do you may think mysterious about me, I cannot unravel until wish to see me again ?”—“ Oh! how can you ask it?"- you are indissolubly mine." It was a point of no slight “ Emily, I have been known to you only under a cloud difficulty ; Emily intrusted its decision entirely to her of mystery,-a solitary being, without a friend or acquaint- mother. Her mother saw that the stranger was inflexible ance in the world,-an outcast apparently from society, in his purpose, and she saw also that her child's happi- either sinned against, or sinning, without fortune, ness was inextricably linked with him. What could she without pretensions ;-and with all these disadvantages do? It would have been better perhaps had they never to contend with, how can I suppose that I am indebted known him; but knowing him, and thinking of him as to any thing but your pity for the kindness which you have they did, there was but one alternative,-the risk must shown to me?"_" Pity! pity you! 0 Frederick ! do not wrong yourself thus. No! though you were a thousand

It was run. They were married in Hodnet, and intimes less worthy than I know you are, I should not mediately after the cereinony they stepped into a carriage, pity, I should- She stopped confused, a deep blush and drove away, nobody knew whither. We must not spread over her face, she burst into tears, and would have infringe upon the sacred happiness of such a ride, upon sunk to the ground had not her lover caught her in his such an occasion, by allowing our profane thoughts to

“ Think of me thus,” he whispered, “till we meet dwell upon it. It is enough for us to mention, that to again, and we may both be happy.”—“ 0! I will think wards twilight they came in sight of a magnificent Gothic of thee thus for ever!” They had reached the door of the mansion, situated in the midst of extensive and noble cottage. “ God bless you ! Emily,” said the stranger ; parks. Emily expressed her admiration of its appearance, “ I dare not see Mrs Sommers ; tell her of my departure, and her young husband, gazing on her with impassioned but tell her, that ere autumn has faded into winter, I delight, exclaimed,—“ Emily! it is thine! My mind shall again be here. Farewell ! dearest ! farewell !" She was imbued with erroneous impressions of women: I felt upon her cheek a hot and hurried kiss, and, when she had been courted and deceived by them. I believed that ventured to look round, he was gone.

their affections were to be won only by flattering their Henry arrived next day, but there was a gloom upon vanity, or dazzling their ambition. I was resolved, that the spirits of both mother and daughter, which it took unless I were loved for myself, I should never be loved some time to dispel. Mrs Sommers felt for Emily more at all. I travelled through the country incognito : I came than for herself. She now perceived that her child's fu- to Hodnet, and saw you. I have tried you in every way, ture happiness depended more upon the honour of the and found you true. It was I, and not my fortune, that stranger than she had hitherto been aware, and she trem- you married; but both are thine. We are now stopping bled to think of the probability that, in the busy world, at Burleigh House ; your husband is Frederick Augushe might soon forget the very existence of such a place as tus Burleigh, Earl of Exeter, and you, my Emily, are his Hodnet, or any of its inhabitants. Emily entertained Countess !" better hopes; but they were the result probably of the It was a moment of ecstasy, for the securing of which sanguine and unsuspicious temperament of youth. Her it was worth while creating the world, and all its other cousin, meanwhile, exerted himself to the utmost to ren- | inhabitants. der himself agreeable. He was a young, frank, handsome soldier, who had leapt into the very middle of many a lady's heart,-red coat, sword, epaulette, belt, cocked hat, feathers, and all. But he was not destined to leap into Emily's. She had enclosed it within too strong a line of

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of the question. Holidays are for the school-boy and THE BURIAL OF THE BRAVE.

the hard-handed artizan, and all grown-up gentlemen

who have still something in common with the schoolSION OF MAJOR MALCOLM OF THE 42D.

boy and the artizan. Holidays are for those who are in By Thomas Atkinson.

general kept hard at work, and whose minds are not suf

ficiently expanded to know that man's destiny is toil, in PLUME of the proud! thy crimson crest

one shape or another; and that the truest happiness is to Droops languid o'er the bonnet now ;

be found by voluntarily and of forethought bowing our For he who wore thee is at rest,

necks the yoke. An intermission from their daily Where thou no more canst grace his brow ; tasks, is to the beforementioned school-boy or artizan, what Darkly to nod above his bier,

a green paddock and a Sunday's repose are to a donkey—a The only task that waits thee here !

prefiguration of liberty. They disport them in their short

sunny hour, with the same fulness of heart and absence Sword of the soldier! art thou there,

of all forebodings of futurity, that leads their grave protoFor ever in thy scabbard laid ?

type to roll about in the herbage, stretching his ungainly Wilt thou not flash again in air,

limbs into strange antics, while some benevolent WestminA meteor amid many a blade ?

ster Reviewer, leaning over the pales, gazes light-heartedly Like him who bore thee, sleep thou must,

on a creature, already enjoying that perfect happiness, And all thy glories end in rust!

which in his Utopia is to be the lot of all. And if such Plaid of the free! the manly heart

be a single holiday, what must the present season be to That beat beneath thy chequer'd fold

every one who has one spark of the school-boy or the laWill throb no more; 'tis now thy part

bourer remaining in him, when one high and solemn fesTo hide a heart at length grown cold ;

tival treads upon the heels of another, like the rapid sucThy many hues still gleam to-day;

cession of jewelled beauties who sweep past their smiling Its many hopes—Oh! where are they?

hostess at a route ?- when from Christmas to Twelfth

Night, or Hansell Monday, (aut quo alio nomine gaudet) Badge of the brave! the noble breast

we are, or ought to be, borne up and onward on one vast On which thy silver honours hung,

springtide of wassail and revelry! Will heave no more beneath its vest

Whoever they were who fixed upon this season as that As praise drops from some tuneful tongue;

from which the year should date its commencement, they There thou wilt beam no more a star

showed a delicate tact and sound discretion. There is Whose glory hid full many a scar!

something peculiarly modest and unobtrusive in the cha

racter of the first of January. It is not the longest day, Trump of the troop, still thy proud notes !

and it is not the shortest day; nor is it, like two days of Drum of the dead, be't thine to roll

the year, divided into equal portions of light and darkThy sad and muttering grief, which floats

In its utter want of any thing to distinguish it Like far-off thunder round my soul !

from any other day of the three hundred and sixty-five, Clarion and fife, be mute! be mute!

it comes up to Lord Chesterfield's standard of a perfect And breathe but like a sigh, thou flute !

gentleman-one who has no peculiarity or individual chaThough ye were hush'd and silent all,

racteristic left. Thus amiable and unassuming, we see There would be solemn music here ;

without uneasiness its elevation to the supremacy over all Hark! 'tis the slow and measured fall

its fellow-days; and are no way envious at its standing Of kindred footsteps round the bier ;

the first letter of that A, B, C, wherewith Time stamA fitting requiem for the brave

meringly spells the great history of events. The tread of comrades to his grave!

A deep sense of the noiseless and unmarked transition of

the past into the future, is evinced by this choice of so comAnd there is more-a low, still breath

monplace a day for the commencement of the year. The Of awe and sorrow floats along;

analogy of nature is thereby preserved unviolated. There As winds the sad parade of death

is no human thought or action,—no event in the history Through all the gather'd city's throng;

of men or nations, of which we can with certainty point The rudest holds his peace a while,

out the first step. In tracing them backwards to their The merriest drops a half-form'd smile,

source, they elude our gaze, and die away into those On more than woman's ready cheek,

which preceded them, as the colours of the rainbow fade

into one another. Unwonted moisture trickles down;

And thus it ought to be in our arbiTears which of parted virtue speak,

trary apportionings of time. They ought to mingle and And flow for worth too early gone,

coalesce gently-10 startling transition ought to break in Whilst round his bier the name they blend

upon the continuity of life. It is indeed good for the

human soul that it be kept awake to the feeling that it is Of soldier, citizen, and friend. Glasgow.

journeying towards eternity ; but this may be effected more gently than by shattering our nerves every now and

then by a plaguy jolt over some great rut in the road CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS, FEELINGS, AND

along which we are driving. RECOLLECTIONS.

Nor can we fail to perceive, that the happy selection of

the associates of New-Year's Day is equally worthy of By William Weir. *

our admiration. It was requisite that the modest and Holidays are not for philosophers or people of fashion. unpretending demeanour of the monarch should be reTo the former, if worthy of the name, every succeeding lieved and set off by the splendour of his court. And in day is a festival,—time itself one perpetual feast, "where the whole world of days, a better assortment of lusty galno crude surfeit reigns.” To the latter, pleasure is a busi-lants could not have been found than now stand around ness, which puts holidays or enjoyment of any kind out him. As in the chivalry of Europe we may trace the

iron nerve and stubborn independence of their Teutonic This is the first of Mr Weir's articles in the Literary Journal to which he has prefixed his name. We are happy to avail

ourselves ancestry, softened at once and elevated by the influence of the opportunity it affords us to mention, that he has already con- religion and the mild graces of social life,-80, in Chr tributed anonymously inany able papers to our pages; and we con. mas and his retainers, we may trace a vein of that r gratulate ourselves on possessing the steady support of 50 talented a writer-Ed, Lil. Jour.

and boisterous merriment which gave fire to the Ron.

Saturnalia, strangely blent with those pure and maiden apartments, to all of which they had the entré, except to thoughts--those lofty aspirations inspired by the presence that for which alone they cared. Minna glided backof the holiest festival that Christendom celebrates.

wards and forwards with her wonted gentle and noiseThere is something in the present season which has, in less step : Minna, is it time?”—“No!" They tried to all ages, driven men to compensate the deadness and begin some game, but in a few minutes their voices died sterility of external nature, by drawing more close the away, and they were seated near the forbidden chamber. ties of sociality, and enlivening their separate circles Adolph positively took up a book, the first time I had by the overflowing of their own hearts. It is the time ever seen him do so of his own accord, but he only turned of the year when we most need to lean upon each other, over the leaves—his eye was wandering. At last the and it is the time of the year when labour is least in de folding door was thrown open,—and what a rush! A mand. As it is always well to join trembling with our long table, covered with a clean white cloth, stretched mirth, lest it evaporate into heartlessness or folly, our through the room. In the centre, in an immense flower. happiness is chastened and subdued, not destroyed, by the pot, stood a large pine branch, * hung with lights, and belinking together of two festivals,—the one of which is neath it the various gifts, each with a label, showing for connected with the consummation of our highest des- whom it was destined. Their value consisted chiefly in tinies ; while the other causes the rushing of Time's wings the evidence they afforded of the noiseless and delicate to fall more distinctly upon our ear, as the roaring of the watch which each member of the family had kept upon distant waterfall swells upon the scarcely-felt night- the wishes of the others. The pressure of hands, and the breeze. For such a festival, this hour of Nature's dead, unconscious glistening of eyes as they looked into each icy, midnight sleep, is peculiarly fitted. That the old other, were the only language of the seniors ; childhood's year should now cease to be, and the new, strong of wing joy was more loudly and loquaciously expressed. And and bright of eye, rise Phænix-like from its ashes, is in thus a short half-hour not only furnished delighted emaccordance with that law wbich makes the termination of ployment and anticipations for months before, and pleaone animal's life the matrix of a thousand new existences, sing thoughts for a long succeeding time, but knit the and our own sleep of death our birth into a pure and un- family affections more surely than the costliest gifts or the troubled existence.

greatest sacrifices. : During a festival of such a character, assemblies, public Let us, in conclusion, add the two following maxima, places, and theatres except in the case of a pantomime which appear to us of much importance at the present for children—are an impertinence. The gaieties of the moment:season are strictly domestic. How finely was this felt in Firstly, No native of the northern temperate zone ought Old England, where Christmas-tide served to draw closer, to emigrate, either to the tropical regions, or to the other not only the bonds of family affection, but the more dis- side of the equator : His physical man may resist the intant and precarious tie of landlord and tenant. All sidious encroachments of a new climate, but the moral those unkindly feelings which the tear and wear of bar- man must sink under the loss of Christmas and New gains and money transactions had engendered, melted year's day. It is impossible to celebrate either, unless with away in the genial heat of the Christmas log. Even in the concomitants of a roaring fire, and a thermometer Scotland, where the wise and the pious laid their precious some degrees below Zero. Secondly, Tradesmen really numskulls together to put down this heterodox love-feast, ought not to send in their bills at this season. all their exertions were only able to create the strongest tice adds, no doubt, to the joviality of their Christmas freand most indomitable body of dissenters that ever opposed sides, but in Christian charity they ought to have some themselves to a true church. But it is in Germany, after consideration for ours. Like the boys and the frogs, it all, that St Christmas is worshipped in the way most may be sport to them, but it is death to us. after his own heart.

It is worthy of remark, that in most countries, all the traditionary associations that cling round the name of AUGHTEEN HUNDER AN' TWANTY-NINE. Christmas are essentially human. Its blazing fires

By the Ettrick Shepherd. scared away, from the first, all the supernatural brood of night; and latterly, its religious associations—themselves

O AUGHTEEN Hunder and Twanty-Nine ! of too solemn and elevated a nature to mix freely with

Thy skaith is past retrievin',the frolicsome spirit of the season-rejected, as inconsis

I'm glad to see that back o' thine tent, the apish and fantastic mythology of man's imagi

Out ower the wast gaun skrievin'; nation. Germany alone makes a partial exception to this Thou plishy-plashy, cauldrife quean, rule. That nation carries its peculiar homely and hearty

Baue o' the farmer's biggin, character even into its conceptions of the most awful so

Deil that your tail war rumpit clean, lemnities of religion, and speaks of God in a style of do

Braw curlin' ower your riggin! mestic love, that would be blasphemy in any other people. This remark is made, lest the reader should be startled In pain we bleer'd our een at morn, when he is informed, that Christmas-boxes in Germany

Glowrin' for sunshine weather, are all presented anonymously, and as if they were a spe- Down cam' the burns, in fury borne, cial gift from the “ Christ-child."

Winds, rains, an'a' thegither ; In Germany, for some time before Christmas-day,

The ewes stood hurklin' on the hill, every member of a large family is busy preparing the gifts

The lambs aneath them bowin', he intends to bestow; but at stolen moments, apart, and

The croonin' kie misca'd the bill, in dead secrecy. On Christmas-morning, the various

Whene'er he cam'a-wooin'. stores are stealthily put into the hands of a common confident, whose business it is to arrange them in a room, Our houms grew lather ankle deep, to which, for that day, no person has access but herself.


neeps a' bleach'd an' blacken'd; I can never forget the Christmas of the year 1824, on Our corn laid down its head to sleep, which I first witnessed this solemnity. There were a

An' never mair awaken’d; great number of children in the family. It was, of course, Then took the gee our hopes o' thee, a holiday, but, in the intense expectation of the evening,

Nae profit mair could wait us; they could not play. Even our walk at noon, which we Nought we could do wi' tarry woo, usually took in a body, was dull, and without its usual

But set our yam potatoes. accompaniment of practical jokes. Evening came at last. The sealed chainber was the fathest off of a long suite of

• Des Christkindchen Baum.

The prac

The God of Battles bore us up,

We triumph'd in his might; Who strive against Him aye must be

The vanquish'd in the fight.

Frae Paisley town to Spitalfiel's

Was mony a hungry meetin'; An' even the painfu' Galashiels

Fell down afore thee greetin'; The very bairnies changed their cheer,

An' lookit gash an' grievin'; Thou dour, unsonsy, Papish year,

Thy skaith is past retrievin'!

Then steady, boys! 'tis all a jest,

Though squalls thick round us blow; Nail ye the colours to the mast

Huzza! right on we go!

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TRADITION. By Robert Carruthers, Editor of the Inverness Courier.

WESTWARD of the high hills near the Bay of Dundalk, and skirting the woods of Ravensdale, a stream winds onward to the sea, its banks garnished with villas, cottages, mills, and bleaching-greensma fair and fragrant landscape that like a garden smiles, and scents the seas, -its cultured beauty blending with the wilder graces and luxuriance of the soil. By the side of this romantic stream, one fine, cloudless afternoon in August, a delicate youth and female, neither of whom appeared to have seen twenty summers, were wandering in silence, their eyes frequently turned to each other with alternate glances of youthful vivacity and half-subdued tenderness. Stopping at one of the loops or bends of the river where a narrow stream is drawn off for the supply of a distant mill,—“Methinks,” said the young lady, “so gallant a youth as Martin O'Connor might step to the assistance of a poor damsel, with only this rude plank interposed between her and the waters.”—“Even so, fair maiden,” rejoined the youth, stepping to her side, “ let us clear this dangerous pass,” and snatching up his fair companion in his arms, he placed her in safety on the other side of the rustic bridge.

“Know ye not,” resumed the lady, “ that we are now in the land of faery? This sheltered woodland, where the verdure is marked with rings of fresh and vivid green, has for ages immemorial been the haunt of the aerial visitants of earth, and many a tale is told of the gentle sprites that print the greensward on the long, dewy, moonlight evenings of summer. Yonder ruined convent, too, has its legendary story. There dwelt, in other times, a holy man, now blessed and canonized, whose sole employment it was to tend the poor, and speed their souls to heaven. Over this fountain, in whose basin he would stand barefoot at sunrise, and repeat his psalter, his spirit, it is said, still hovers, and pours the balm of comfort into the souls of weary pilgrims."

“ Rosa,” replied Martin,“ seest thou yonder high hill the hill of Foughart, with its circular mount, fallen church, and sunken graves ?—there, under a nameless stone, sleep the ashes of a hero of the hot and valorous Edward Bruce. He died in battle, his friends lying in heaps around him, and his royal brother's ships, too late to save, riding proudly in the bay. One hour more, and they would have gained the beach--another struggle, and the day might have been won. Yet I would not, Rosa, exchange the dying thoughts of this warrior, though full of sorrow and despair, for the godly fame of the fairest priest that e'er told beads in monastery, or shrived the passing soul.”

“ A hero, a very hero!" rejoined the young lady, laughing, a Nial of the Nine Hostages! Thou shouldst have been a soldier, Martin. But

• Peace has its victories no less than war;' and surely he who communes with the spirit of God in these calm solitudes—who tends the sick and destitute, and takes the sting from death, is worthy the blessing

The coxswain swears the jury-mast

Must not be cut away ; The boatswain blasts his eyes, and fain

Would save yon old back-stay.

A scud is gathering o'er the waves,

The sky looks thick and brown; And they all prate on, nor lend a hand,

Though the gallant ship go down.

While steering through a laughing tide,

Ne'er heed an empty word ; But if they growl when the tempest raves,

Then heave them overboard.

We've smote the foremost man of earth,

And rode through wintry seas; God cannot will that we should sink

In but a passing breeze.

When Europe, leagued against us, came,

We broke through their array ; And dash'd their reeling barks aside,

As they were ocean's spray.


In vain did Holland's arrows fly,

And France's eagles soar ; The Russian bear might suck his paws,

For he could do no more!

“ The young and beautiful,” interrupted the youth. “ Thou art ever right, Rosa. One touch of truth and nature dissolves the illusions of romance, as the blessed sunsbine dispels the gloom and phantoms of the night."


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Shall I go on with my description ?" said the lady; that somebody was in the bed, he asked who was there. “ for I see the grave of Cucullin the giant, and in yonder · Only my youngest child, the blue-eyed urchin that the chasm his mighty rival, Paramore MacShaudeen, threw fairies ran away with last holly-eve,' replied Molehş. the poison"

Ha,' said Cucullin, he is a fine tearing boy; has he “ Which Cucullin swallowed as he stooped to drink at got any teeth ?' and he put his hand under the blankets. the waterfall,” added Martin. " I fancy I know it all. Paramore getting his finger in his mouth, almost bit off But let us hasten to the spot, for our traditional story- the top of it, when Cucullin roared out, “If your inen tellers, like the monks of old, have a taste for the pic-be as strong in the jaws as your children, the devil himturesque.”

self cannot come near them!' The scene of the giant's death is, indeed, a wild roman- “ Molchy then handed him a large cake of bread with tic spot. A ledge of craggy rocks extends across the river, the iron girdle baked inside of it, which when Cucullin intercepting its progress, and forming above a deep, dark, discovered, he asked what it was put there for. My hus. waveless pool

band,' says the wife, “always has his bread prepared so,

as he must have something solider than common bread for “ The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below"

his meals.' Cucullin, not to be behind his rival, made a from which the waters are precipitated in one unbroken shift to eat it up, when Molchy said, “I wish my hussheet, white and flowing as the tail of an Arabian steed. band was at home, for the wind blows straight against A tremendous cavity, hollowed out of the dark-grey rock, the house.' with several smaller cells or receptacles of the same rugged "What would he do, if he were at home?' said Co. material, receive the agitated element below, whence it cullin. again rises to the surface of the stream, a few yards distant * 0, replied the cunning wife,' he would just put from the fall, bubbling like a boiling cauldron. The out- his arms round the house, and lifting it up, turn the back hanging banks are covered with light feathery birches to the wind!' and shrubs, waving in all the rank luxuriance of nature, • Well,' said Cucullin, “I'll try what I can do;' and their thin tops bending and dipping in the stream, and he turned round the whole house, with Paramore and forming a delicious shady retreat for the yellow-speckled Molchy and all." trout and salmon, which are seen darting above the glassy No, no, Judith," interrupted her auditors ; " that surface of the pool.

will never do; why, it is worse than the cake and the “ Now,” said Rosa, “ that we have gazed our fill upon girdle.” the scene, shall I tell thee the legend which our wonder- “ Smile on, my jewels, smile on,” rejoined the old woloving peasantry relate of the rival giants? But stop-man; “ but it's all true. The old times were'nt like I see a better chronicler approach, for yonder comes old these, bad luck to them, when a body might as well be Judith, whose tales and predictions are, among her com- exported to the bosom of Africa. But you'll see what peers, precious as the Sibylline leaves."

became of him. Well, the giant then enquired the way As she spoke, the village prophetess, a grey-haired, wi- to the stock-farm, but instead of directing him right, the thered beldam, apparelled in a tattered red cloak, under wife told him to go across the mountains next Johnsburgh, the hood of which her keen black eyes shot forth signi- and enquire on the other side. As soon as he was gone, ficant glances, joined the youthful pair, and accosted them Paramore started up, and taking with him a big knife

, a in a mingled strain of courtesy and freedom. Acquaint- bag of salt, and a box of poison—the deadliest in Chrising the aged dame with the subject of their discourse, Ju- tendom—he set off by a near way for the farm. He soon dith agreed to satisfy their curiosity, though not until, met with the great giant. like the high-born lady in Marmion, she had parleyed with . Who are you?' asked Cucullin. “ yea and nay,” and coquetted as if loath to exhibit before • I am a herd that minds the cattle of my master, the her wondering and admiring auditors.

mighty Paramore Mac Shaudeen.' “ Once upon a time," began the crone, in the true Mi- Where is your master ? lesian story-telling strain-“once upon a time, many hun

• He is out behind the mountains, a great way off

, dred years ago, when all this country round was nothing hunting with the giants that live on the other side. but grazing land, and the people that lived along the banks • What does he get for dinner when he hunts hereof this river subsisted by feeding cattle, and selling them to abouts ?' the upper farmers and squires, there lived a great giant ‘O, he just takes hold of a bullock, and after slaying it, called Paramore Mac Shaudeen, whose house was on the he kindles a fire and roasts it, eating one half himself, and top of Foughart Hill yonder, where you see the walls of giving the other half to his huntsmen and herds.' the old church. Well, Paramore was the strongest man “Then I shall do the same,' said Cucullin, and he rushed in all the country; he could take ten men by the scruff forward, and caught hold of a young bullock. Paramere of the neck, just as you could take a rat-barring your got hold of one of the horns, as if striving to prevent him; presence, Miss Rosa—and shake their heads together. He and Cucullin pulling at the other, the poor beast was soon conquered all the people round, and took their cattle, keep- rent asunder. They then kindled a fire with the branches ing the owners as herds to tend them. In this way he of a tree which they pulled down, and Cucullin ate the lived for a long time, until one Cucullin, another great half, Paramore giving him plenty of salt. "Cucullin then giant that lived in the south country, heard of our Para- leapt from one mountain to the other and back again, se more, and came to fight him. Now, before George, my veral times, by way of exercise after dinner, when he felt young lady, this Cucullin was the greatest man in Chris- very dry and wished to drink. He asked Paramore what tendom, for when he fell asleep, it took ten men to wake his master did when he was dry. 0," said the other, him. Paramore having heard that Cucullin was coming, ' he goes down to the river to a place which I shall show laid his schemes to kill him if he could, and sent all his you, and drinks of the stream.' Down they went to this herds out behind the mountains, that they might be out sweet wild fall, where I have stood many a time and oft, of the way. When he saw the great giant coming, he ran casting fortunes for the poor folks ; more by token, I into the house, and told his wife how to act. He then must see Pether Beartha (toothless Peter) in his cet over went and lay down in his bed, covering himself up with yonder ; for Peter has been canted up by the squire for the blankets. In came Cucullin, like the side of a hill, his rent, and knows not how to turn himself. · Here,

' and asked, with a voice like a war-trumpet, if Paramore said the sly Paramore, my master stoops down and opens MacShaudeen the giant was at home. No," said Para- his mouth across the fall, letting not a drop pass till he is more's wife, he is gone to the plain where the cattle quenched ; and I have heard him say, there is not another are grazing; but come in, and get some refreshment.' He man in Ireland could do the like.' – Ay,' said Cacullin, crept into the house on his hands and knees, and seeing but you may tell him there is ;' and so saying, he laid

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