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through a maze of bottles, as ever surly trout or jack was guided by veteran angler amid the weeds, roots, and shelves of the running waters. She believed, good easy soul, in her very heart, that the preference given to foreign wines was merely a prejudice. "It is very odd!" for she is really a clever body enough. But so it is. And she had a favorite maxim, namely, that, "if made wine was kept to a certain age, you would not know what you were drinking." In the truth of this adage we perfectly concurred, for the wines at dinner, particularly the pseudo champaigne, had completely "bothered" us: and she, having made a short trip "over the water," had learned the French mode (see Sterne) of taking a compliment, when its meaning is at all doubtful. Smiling then most complacently, she filled a glass, with her own hand, from a fresh bottle, and, her bright eyes glistening triumphantly, presented it to us, exclaiming, "There! now, tell me what that is if you can." Had it been poison (we were some years younger then) we must have swallowed it. Down it went ;-but, to give it a name, more perplexed were we than the father of Tristram Shandy." Io!" thought the lady, and "heigho!" thought we. "It is impossible to tell by one single glass," quoth she and then-oh! then— another bottle of another sort was produced, and "another and another" stood, producible, like the ghosts of Banquo's heirs. Has the woman no bowels thought we :-And surely, though we have often deplored the arrangement, never did we feel more respect for the old Goth, whoever he may have been, who introduced the custom of separation between the sexes after dinner; for, to the observance of that custom, do we conscientiously attribute the preservation of our valuable existence. "Here's to thee, old Cerberus !” said we, instanter, in a bumper of Glenlivet. "It's very odd" that ladies should love to metamorphose themselves into cellarmen. Economy is, doubtless, praiseworthy;

but, we are marvellously mistaken if anything is saved by the generality of these compound incorporators of sour fruit, sugar and brandy. What with the waste because it is only "made wine"-a foul cask every now and then-" misses," and mistakes, and "turnings off," to be rectified by more sugar and more brandy, ad libitum, it's a poor speculation at the present price of wine. We were once told-but we cannot believe itthat "it did quite as well as any other, to give to the poor." This we look upon as a libel-unless it shall have been administered in lieu of physic, in which case it may be "all right," as the guard says before the coachman sets all a-going. But, as we said before, there are some rare exceptions.

"How do you contrive to fill up your time?" asked we of him of the long pole, (which pole, by the way, we opine to be a degraded semblance of the caduceus of Mercury.) "Your regrets for past times would lead one to suppose that you had no earthly thing to employ yourself about. What is that little mess of hair that you were twiddling in your fingers just now, up in the corner? Eh, M‹Nab ?” Jerry began to titter at the idea of our being ignorant of such matters; and then, for our edification, went on to state, that the making of "them things," which, he at length told us, were artificial fronts for the "womenkind," was now one of his principal sources of employment.

"Artificial fronts for women in a country village!" exclaimed we. "In town we wonder at nothing-all is artificial, fronts and everything: but here," and we lifted the fringelike thing between finger and thumb, "here, where nature reigns or ought to reign, what old foolish body can you find here so besotted as to be ashamed of her grey hairs, when every body must know her age? Foh! A false front indeed!" and we dropt the petty demi-se ai-periwig in contempt. "He, he!" quoth Jerry. "If your honor knew as much of the

of our bent;'"aye, and white, Jerry, white as thy powder puff."-" Blue, red, green, and white! I can't make it out;" quoth the barber, speaking slowly, and looking earnestly, as though he began to suspect that our "chief end of man" was damaged in a degree which his art could not repair. Away then went we, murmuring

"Blue spirits and red,

Green spirits and grey,"

to the Rectory, in order to consult with the good lady of the house how Sally Inglis was to be saved from "the three perils," the false fronts, a blue painted mistress, and a jolly butcher. "It's very odd!" We men think, all of us at times, particularly well of our own talents, acquirements, inventions, &c. &c. ; but when, with our boasted knowledge of the world, and “ all that sort of thing," we are at a loss, what do we? We consult "the womankind;" and lo! "the gordian knot they do unfold, familiar as" we thrust the envelope from a maintenon cutlet. The good lady did "seriously incline" unto our tale. Sometimes there was a smile upon her countenance, particularly when we spake of the widow Jones's "Mooreish" propensities; but she listened patiently unto the end

women-kind as I do-" "Heaven said we, fooled and fooling to the top forbid!" thought we, for the fellow has had three wives, and, by all accounts, none of them anything very particular-" You wouldn't wonder at such a fashion as this. But this," continued he, holding the thing up, between himself and the light, as though admiring his own handiwork, "this is not for any old woman, but for the prettiest girl within ten miles of this place, let the other be who she may." Now, "it's very odd," we do not think we can possibly know all the pretty girls within ten miles, but we instantly exclaimed, " Why, it cannot possibly be for Sally Inglis ?" The man of wigs stuttered, and stammered, and looked grave, and said that "we (meaning himself and the other three-and-twenty barbers of the district) make it a point of honor not to tell," &c. Jerry," said we seriously, "this will not do. You know that Sally is a sort of favoriteand you know likewise who recommended her to the widow Jones-and, by Jove! she shall not wear a false front." "Why," said the barber, "it was not Sally's doings altogether; but her mistress's, who said that she did'nt like to see her come into the parlor with her hair in papers, nor yet all hanging about; and so she is to have a front, as it will save a great deal of time."—"An old Jezebel!" said we; "and no doubt she has got a better for herself. That's the way when an old woman once turns blue". "Blue!" exclaimed the astonished shaver, "the widow Jones turned blue """Yes," we replied, "blue as a blue bottle."-" Then that," quoth the barber, "accounts for her sending to me this morning for rouge.' -"Rouge!" we repeated in amazement; "blue and red!" and then, thinking on the extreme silliness of the old body, in thus exposing her folly in We felt the truth of her observation, the village, when she might have ob- and not a little ashamed that we had tained the abomination at the market been vaporing and rhapsodizing all the town, we added, "and very green morning about imaginary dangers, and too!"-"It's very odd," observed utterly overlooked that which was Jerry, who was evidently posed; real. The lady resumed by observ"blue, red, and green ?"-" Aye," ing, "we must make allowances for

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and then said that the only subject of her fears was the widow Jones's hack door, which had not entered at all into our calculations, although we saw instantly that there was danger to be apprehended therefrom, and resolved to get it stopped up. "They are sad things for servants," continued the gentle dame," and have been the ruin of many. The easy access afforded by them to idle gossips introduces idleness, and then clandestine habits-and so on-and then, when there is only one servant, as in the present case"

what Miss Scraggs (it in the bonnet and silks) says-she is a little apt to see more than other people, and has been telling me a strange tale this morning, which, really, I can hardly" "The words of a tale-bearer are as wounds," said we-" which we must do all in our power to heal," added the dear benevolent soul mildly. "Heaven bless her!" thought we, as she left the room, to put on her cloak and bonnet, to go forth into the village on her errands of mercy. And then, being left alone, our thoughts wandered to the blighted dreams of our youth, to withered hopes, buried in the everlasting silence of the tomb. "Had it been our lot," thought we, "to realize those dreams, to wander with that fondly-beloved one through the mazes of this wilderness, far different had been our path of life! We might then, in our day and generation, have been-not like that stunted willow, left dry and withering upon the ancient bank of the river, when the living waters changed their coursenor like the hollow, scathed oak, which shooteth forth a few green leaves in summer, as though in mockery of its former self-but-oh, no! It is a vain presumption! The course

of man can be trod but once. What we really are we know but in part, and of what we might have been, under other auspices, nothing." What strange creatures we are!-not five minutes before, had our young friend Robert entered the room, we should have been delighted to join him in any gambol, for we love children; but, he came in then, and we took him by the hand, and, "it's very odd," we clasped him to our bosom, and could have wept over him! Some undefined, misty illusions of the fearful past were floating before our eyes-and, when he inquired for his "mamma," we arose and walked to the window. Yet we are not, by nature, lachrymose. We feel that we are not, and know that we have much to be thankful for; but -at times, when the mind glances retrospectively, bitter fancies will

"Overcome us like a summer cloud."

"It's very odd!" Here we are, walking erect in our conceit, and fancying unto ourselves that we know somewhat of the human mind: and yet, joy and grief come welling forth from the heart, as from a spring of strange waters, why and how we know not. Who is there that can say unto himself, "I will be joyous to-day, and no cloud shall pass over my soul?" Prosperity giveth not contentment, and adversity is brightened by the sunny gleams of hope. And what we call high or low spirits-whence are they? Certain events may produce either ; but, seldom is it that we can trace them to their source-and the strange imaginations and eccentric excursions of the mind-Can we control them? The most intensely occupied, engaged in the most interesting of their pursuits, have unbidden fantasies floating and passing before their imaginations. Even in those moments, which we determine shall be hallowed, consecrated, and set apart from all others-are they not broken in upon by fleeting and trivial things? Dreams, visions, hopes, and reminiscences? The internal process of our minds is utterly beyond our comprehension or government. But of this we are assured, that our actions are at our own command, and that we know well how we ought to steer. We are like ships at sea. There may be rioting and carousing, thoughtless gaiety, melancholy and profound study, the timid spirit, and the daring mind, breathing defiance on its enemy even in slumber :

these, and more jarring discords, may be within, while the stately vessel keeps her steady course, amid the turbulent and angry waste of waters. Reason was given to preside at the helm and He, at whose breath the wondrous and complicated frame started into existence, and who launched her forth upon the deep, hath not sent her unprovided with a chart to direct her unto the desired haven. knows.

This chart the Christian But enough, mayhap "somewhat too much of this."

The Rector's daughter, Jane, has

ever been a great favorite of ours; not have effected so desirable a conso much for her beauty-though of summation. that she hath enough wherewithal to gladden a parent's eye-as for the goodness of her heart, and that glorious overflowing spring of filial affection which shameth the term "obedience;" a dull and cold word, more fit for the parade than the fireside, where hearts are "mingled in peace,' and every wish is mutually anticipated. She had just returned from a brief visit at "The Hall," and walked, with her mother leaning upon her arm, into the village. We accompanied them, and met the Rector, who, as is his wont, had been visiting the sick, and comforting the widow and the orphan in their affliction. Far different were then our feelings from those feverish and angry sensations which, in our previous ramble, had driven us from house to house, like an unquiet spirit, imagining evil in all we saw, and bitterly devising strange mirth at the frailties of our fellow creatures. A benign influence seemed to hover round us. We were about to do good; and we were linked in our pursuit with those whom firm principles, and seclusion from the world, had enabled to walk in "the path in which they should go," and blessing and blest, to keep the noiseless tenor of their way."

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We loitered along till we came to old Nanny Inglis's cottage; and there the good lady entered alone. "It's very odd!" the older some people get, the more stupid they seem to become. Why did we not go to Sally's mother in the first place, instead of talking nonsense to old women and barbers? The poor woman is the widow of the old veteran corporal, who saved our uncle George's life at Bunker's Hill; and many a day have they both dandled us on their knees, and romped and played with us when we had acquired strength to gambol, and there was something hopeful about us; and many a fair prophecy concerning our future years did they utter, which assuredly would have come to pass, if their good wishes could 3 ATHENEUM, VOL. 2, 3d series.

We were all anxious to hear the result of the conference at the widow Inglis's cottage; but, when the good lady of the Rectory joined us, not a word would she disclose yet there was a smile upon her countenance, a playful and benignant smile, that was perfectly satisfactory to all parties, with the trifling exception of a certain mischievous triumph, when her eye glanced towards us, and which reminded us of the butcher's braggardism, when he averred that he had "floored as great a calf this morning as ever he saw in his born days." "It's very odd!" thought we; but we felt perfectly satisfied with our own proceedings in half a second, being proudly conscious that the "delicate Ariel," who had now taken the work in hand, was a spirit invoked to the task by ourselves. And we strutted along as proudly as old Prospero. "It's very odd!" we pretend to love the truth: yet, if anything that we have undertaken goes on wrong, how miserably are we wont to shuffle, and endeavor to shift the blame from our own shoulders, and accuse chance, or the awkwardness of others, though, in reality, the fault be all our own: and, on the contrary, if things prosper, although we may have "given it up," like a posing conundrum, how we do hug ourselves, and rejoice in our own devices. Oh, self love! with what strange people art thou sometimes enamored! Yet art thou a delightful passion, having no rivals: and, moreover, thine addresses are ever accepted. From that moment we had only to look on and perceive what female influence and activity can effect. Sally was soon brought to a confession, and it appeared that she did know the reason why the butcher came to the back door. Matters are all now put into a train, and we understand one another. To-morrow we have our party, and hope to do something coinfortable for the young people. But "it's very odd!" the interest we have taken in the poor girl's welfare arose,

no doubt, entirely from our youthful reminiscenses of her father's kindness to us in the days of "auld lang syne:" and yet his widow, who, though called old Nanny, declareth she is not on the wrong side of fifty, seemeth, like queen Dido, to have commenced "abolere

Sychæum." And her Æneas, the moving cause thereof, appeareth to be no other than McNab the barber, who hath already buried three wives. Truly "it's very odd." And, moreover, the widow Jones, they say, has her eye upon somebody. Heaven defend us !

DONALD BANE.

The following inartificial Ballad was suggested by Allan's beautiful Picture, "The Stolen Kiss."

YOUNG Donald Bane, a gallant Celt,

Unto the wars had gone,

And left, within her Highland home,
His plighted bride alone:

Yet, though the waves between them roll'd,
On Egypt's eastern shore,

As he thought of Mhairi Macintyre,
His love wax'd more and more.

It was a dismal morning, when

He breathed his last adieu; And down the glen, above his men, The Chieftain's banner flew ; When bonnets waved aloft in air, And war-pipes screamed aloud; And the startled eagle left the cliff

For shelter in the cloud.

Brave Donald Bane, at duty's call,
Hath sought a foreign strand;
And Donald Bane, amid the slain,

Hath stood with crimson'd brand;
And when the Alexandrian beach

With Gallic blood was dyed,
Streamed the tartan plaid of Donald Bane
At Abercromby's side.

And he had seen the Pyramids huge,
Grand Cairo, and the Bay
Of Aboukir, whereon the fleet
Of gallant Nelson lay;
And he had seen the Turkish hosts
In their barbaric pride;
And listened, as from burial fields
The midnight Chacal cried.

Yes; many a sight had Donald seen,
In Syrian deserts lone;
To many a shore had Donald been-
But none that matched his own!
Amid the date-trees and the vines,

The temples, towns, and towers,
He thought of Scotland's cliffy huts
'Mid the heath and heather flowers!

So joyous beat the soldier's heart,
Again from deck to see,
Rising from out the German wave,
The island of the free;

And stately was his step, when crowds
With plaudits, from the main,

Welcomed, once more, to England's shore,
Her heroes back again.

Hushed was the war-din that in wrath

From coast to coast had roared;
And stayed were Slaughter's beagle fangs,
And sheathed the patriot sword;
When ('twas the pleasant summer time)
Arose in green again,

His own dear Highland mountains, on
The sight of Donald Bane.

Four years had lapsed in absence drear,
Wherein his steps had ranged
'Mid many a far and foreign scene,-

But his heart was unestranged;
And when he saw Argyle's red deer

Once more from thicket flee;
And again he trod Glen-Etive's sod-
Oh a happy man was he!

There stood the shieling of his love,
Beneath the sheltering trees;
Sweet sang the lark; the sultry air
Was musical with bees:

And when he reached the wicket latch,
Old Stumah, fawning fain,

First nosed him round, then licked his hand; 'Twas bliss to Donald Bane!

Loudly throbbed his heart; he entered:
No sound was stirring there-

And in he went-and on he went-
When behold his Mhairi fair!
Before her stood the household wheel
Unmurmuring; and the thread
Still in her fingers lay, as when
Its tenuous twine she led.

He stood and gazed, a man half-crazed ;
Before him she reclined

In half-unkerchiefed loveliness,
The idol of his mind:
Bland was the sleep of Innocence,

As to her thoughts were given
Elysian walks with him she loved,
Amid the bowers of heaven.

He gazed her beauties o'er and o'er-
Her shining auburn hair;

Her ivory brow, her rosebud mouth,
Her cheek caruation fair;

Her round white arms-her bosom's charms,
That, with her breathing low,

Like swan plumes on a rippling lake,
Heaved softly to and fro.

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