3.

Thou hast my heart, so take my hand
My hand I give to thee,

And not again be sure that hand
Another's e'er shall be.

And should my lovely Nancy share
The battle by my side,

The Power above that hears our prayer,

Would shield the soldier's bride.

Here the landlady made such a clatter with plates and dishes, that for a minute or two I could hear nothing. When the noise and dirdum had slackened a little, I could just hear a weak voice lilting carelessly a little air that, under many varieties, is common in Northumberland

Your spinsters and your knitters in the sun,

And those free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chaunt it-it is silly, sooth.

Like most ballads, however, its vulgarity has a touch of the plaintive. I could only make out

O! the weary cutters-they've ta'en my laddie frae me,

O! the weary cutters-they've ta'en my laddie frae me;

They've press'd him far away foreign, with Nelson ayont the salt sea.
O! the weary cutters-they've ta'en my laddie frae me.

You may think I was contented with this specimen, and as the noise continued, Roger made an errand into the kitchen to try to procure me some copies of the songs. Meanwhile a sprightly voice struck up, and in an interval I discovered that a fishing song was the order of the day. I could not collect the first stanza-the second ran thus:

Nae mair we'll fish the coolly Tyne,

Nae mair the cozy Team,

Nae mair we'll try the sedgy Pont,

Or Derwent's woody stream;

But we'll away to Coquetside,

For Coquet bangs them a',

Whose winding streams sae sweetly glide,
By Brinkburn's bonny Ha'.

In the next stanza that I heard, the spirit of the song had changed.

At Weldon brigg there's wale o' wine,
If ye hae coin in pocket;

If ye can thraw a heckle fine,

There's wale o' trouts in Coquet. And we will quaff the red-blood wine, Till Weldon's wa's shall reel,We'll drink success to hook and line, And a' wha bear the creel.

And O! in all their angling bouts,
On Coquet, Tyne, or Reed,
Whether for maidens or for trouts,
May anglers still succeed.

By Till, or Coquet, Tyne, or Reed,

In sunshine, or in rain,

May fisher ne'er put foot in stream,
Ör hand in purse in vain.

Then luck be to the angler lads,

Luck to the rod and line;

Wi' morn's first beam, we'll wade the stream,

The night we'll wet with wine.

The chorus at the end of the third stanza seemed to be more noisy than the rest. When Roger came in, he told me that when he went in he found a palefaced lad, in a blue jacket, blue stockings, and red garters, trolling the simple chant I mentioned. The fishing song, Roger said, was sung by a "betterly looking" young man, in a shooting dress. He willingly shewed Roger a copy of the song, but would not part with it. It was printed in better taste than ordinary, with a tail-piece of Bewick's at the top, and the initials of the author of the "Reed Water Minstrel" at the bottom. The sentimental now seemed to have given way to the comic; but by this time the day had cleared up, so we only heard a fellow with an Irish twang and a portion of sly humour, sing a verse or two to the tune of "The Pretty Maid of Derby, O," which you say

Thomas Moore, Esq. has claimed for the Irish, though to my mind there go two words to that bargain. This last seems to hit Roger's fancy; for I since find he can skirl through it, from beginning to end, under the alluring title of the "Irish Captain's Garland." I give it you just to fill up the sheet.

Play'd havock with the heart of Paddy And ran away from Pat in a quandary, O;

That ever she should sigh for Paddy Ca- And red unto white did she vary, O;

Now, good luck to the tune

That melts the girls so soon,

And puts them into such a sisserary, O;
Let us stick to the plan

Of being happy when we can,

So, piper, rattle up with Paddy Carey, O.

Many of the local songs of Northumberland are full of exquisite humour ; but these, as you know, Mr North, would require an interpreter. They say the Lord Chancellor's very fond of them; but I am getting to the end of my tether. Dinah begs her dutiful respects, and so does Roger. You will be sorry to hear poor Mr Charlton of Heatheryside is dead. He stinted himself, latterly, to three or four chearers; but would never hear any thing against the malt-liquor, and the Doctor said it was just as bad for him. With much respect, I am, honoured Sir, your servant to command,

P. S.-Your clearing receipt will be well hanselled, as John is brewing a double quantity this year. We are expecting the Lieutenant, Roger's brother, home, poor lad, by and bye. I know you're just frightened at the name of a month, but cannot you spare us a fortnight, Mr North ?-As I know you like these sort of nick-nacks, I got Stavely the clerk, who pretends to be very clever at music, just to prick down a couple of the wildest of the airs. Indeed, the last is so wild, that he says it is hard to tell what key it is in. It is so simple, however, on the whole, that I hope it may be intelligible; though I rather suspect his " sol-fa" knowledge is none of the deepest, and that he would soon be lost among the quirks and quavers, and whuttlewhuts of one of the Bravura things, as the fiddler folks call them.

L

Andante.

O THE weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie frae me, O the

weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie frae me; They've press'd him

far a-way foreign, with Nelson a-yont the salt sea.

O the wea-ry

cutters, they've ta'en my laddie frae me.

Andantino Spiritoso.

O THE SHOW it melts the soonest when the winds be-gin to

when a wo-man tells me that my face she'll soon forget, Be

fore we part, I wad a crown, she's fain to follow 't yet.

LETTER FROM CHRISTOPHER NORTH, ESQ. TO MISS SARAH M'DERMID.
From our Attic, 12th November, 1821.

DEAR MISS M'DERMID,-We received your note, stating that your brother Willy's version only gave you a distant glimpse of the merits which you justly supposed were latent to you in the Adventus. As it is quite right that the ladies should enjoy the joke as well as the learned, we wrote off to the Corker, who has dedicated his translation to you. You must come up to-morrow evening to your cookies and tea, and you shall see the first of it. Yours affectionately,

C. N.

A TRUE AND PERFECT ACCOUNT OF THE LANDING OF KING GEORGE THE FOURTH IN IRELAND.

(Translated from my own original by myself.)

DEDICATED TO MISS M'DERMID.

(1) The Plectrum is admitted to have been a sort of hook used by the ancients (who had not at that time learned the use of their fingers), for twanging their stringed instruments, a mode of performance, called by our more accomplished violinists," Playing Pizzicato."

(2) Another instance of modern improvements, is the use of steam.

To think that

it was reserved for modern times to find out the use of fingers and hot-water! The latter discovery has introduced, and is introducing, great changes in all the departments of mechanics-in language among the rest. On board a steamer, instead of saying "Up with the main-sail!" the cry is, "On with the steam!" In like manner, instead of "sailing on a point," we must say "steaming."

(3) Dunleary was afterwards called Kingstown. George the Fourth stood sponsor at the ceremony.

(4) Volare Equore cannot be translated in English. In Irish it signifies uti supra. (5) Blue coats were worn in honour of his Majesty's expected arrival.

And willing hands the pockets picking,
Gold watches grabbing, brass ones nicking,
Made no distinction more than the King,
Lest folks should feel offended.

17.

Mounting the carriage steps with grace,
"My friends," he cried, "I thank ye!"—
The coachman takes his reins and says,

"My tits soon home shall spank ye."-
Then came the horsemen on with pride,
Some of them their own chargers ride,
While some paid half a crown a-side,
And some had but a donkey.

18.

The crowd increased as they went on,
Because their hearts were loyal;
They ran so fast their breath was gone,

They scarce could speak for joy all.
But of their great politeness judge,
When they came to the Porter's Lodge,
They not one other step would budge,
Because the grounds were royal.
19.

But when the King cried " Come along,
My friends, pray don't be frighted;"
No sooner said than all the throng

Rush'd on to where he lighted.
Again, at stepping on the ground,
He shook the hands of all around,

At length with fav'ring steam and gale, (6) And made their hearts with joy rebound,

The Lightning safe did steer in;
The crowd the Royal Ensign hail,-
Each bright eye bore a tear in
Token of joy! The foremost ranks
Slid down a gangway from the banks :
With silk they carpeted the planks-
THE KING HAS STEPT ON ERIN!
14.

Could I write melodies like Moore,
Or ballads like Sir Walter,

Or any such great poet, sure
My strain should be no halter.
I'd sing a song without a blunder,
Should make posterity all wonder,

And George's praise should sound like

When he with face delighted

(6) I don't remember whether I meant Ignis in the original, to signify "The Lightning," which was formerly the name of the steam-packet, which brought the King, (now the Royal George the Fourth,) or the fire which boiled the water, which made the steam which made her go. The fact is, I was engaged at the time in the two occupations of writing about George the Fourth, and drinking his health; and my aunt tells me, I never can do two things clearly at once. I never chuse to alter what my muse inspired; and, therefore, to be safe, I have preserved both meanings in my translation.