"Well, Daly, we'd better be steppin' home wid ourselves as wise as we come, as the man said when he'd axed his road of the ould black horse in the dark lane. There's no good goin' further, for the whole gang of them's scattered over the counthry agin now like a seedin' thistle in a high win"." "Aye, bedad," said Constable Daly, " and be the same token, this win' ud skin a tanned elephant. It's on'y bogged and drenched we'd git. Look at what's coming up over there. That rain's snow on the hills, every could drop of it; I seen Ben Bawn this mornin' as white as the top of a musharoon, and it's thickenin' wid sleet here this minute, and so it is." The landscape did, indeed, frown upon further explorations. In quarters where the rain had abated it seemed as if the mists. had curdled on the breath of the bitter air, and they lay floating in long white bars and reefs low on the track of their own shadow, which threw down upon the sombre bogland deeper stains of gloom. Here and there one caught on the crest of some gray-bowldered knoll, and was teazed into fleecy threads that trailed melting instead of tangling. But toward the north the horizon was all blank, with one vast, smooth slant of slatecolor, like a pent-house roof, which had a sliding motion onwards. Ody Rafferty pointed to it and said, "Troth, it's teemin' powerful this instiant up there in the mountains. 'T will be much if you land home afore it's atop of you; for 't would be the most I could do myself." And as the constables departed hastily, most people forgot the stolen cloak for a while to wonder whether their friends would escape being entirely drowned on the way back from the fair. Mrs. Kilfoyle, however, still stood in deep dejection at her door, and said, "Och, but she was the great fool to go let the likes of him set fut widin her house." To console her Mrs. O'Driscoll said, "Ah, sure, sorra a fool were you, woman dear; how would you know the villiny of him? And if you'd turned the man away widout givin' him e'er a bit, it's bad you'd be thinkin' of it all the day after." And to improve the occasion for her juniors, old Mrs. Keogh added, "Aye, and morebetoken you'd ha' been committin' a sin." But Mrs. Kilfoyle replied with much candor, "Deed, then, I'd a dale liefer be after committing a sin, or a dozen sins, than to have me poor mother's good cloak thieved away on me, and walkin' wild about the world." As it happened, the fate of Mrs. Kilfoyle's cloak was very different from her forecast. But I do not think that a knowledge of it would have been consolatory to her by any means. If she had heard of it, she would probably have said, "The cross of Christ upon us. God be good to the misfort'nit crathur." For she was not at all of an implacable temper, and would, under the circumstances, have condoned even the injury that obliged. her to appear at Mass with a flannel petticoat over her head until the end of her days. Yet she did hold the Tinkers in a perhaps somewhat too unqualified reprobation. For there are tinkers and tinkers. Some of them, indeed, are stout and sturdy thieves, veritable birds of prey, whose rapacity is continually questing for plunder. But some of them have merely the magpies' and jackdaws' thievish propensity for picking up what lies temptingly in their way. And some few are so honest that they pass by as harmlessly as a wedge of high-flying wild duck. And I have heard it said that to places like Lisconnel their pickings and stealings have at worst never been so serious a matter as those of another flock, finer of feather, but not less predacious in their habits, who roosted, for the most part, a long way off, and made their collections by deputy. PEG'S EDUCATION. (From “Irish Idyls.”) In all these aims and devices, Larry enjoyed the encouragement and comfort of one sympathizing coadjutrix - his sister Peg. A close friendship had existed between them from her earliest days, when Larry used to carry her about to a surprising extent, considering that he was the elder by only three years. And as she grew older without ever learning to walk rightly, it was Larry who did most to make her amends for this privation. He spent hours in amusing her; and at one time. even wished to teach her to read, that she might be able to entertain herself with his priceless library. But Peg, who was practical-minded, showed no enthusiasm for literature. In fact, when he tried to begin her second lesson, she immediately kicked him, saying with a howl, "Git along wid your ugly ould Ah, Bay, Say," and tore one of his precious pages in half, thereby abruptly finishing her education. JOEL BARLOW. BARLOW, JOEL, an American diplomatist and poet, one of the "Hartford Wits," born at Reading, Conn., in 1754; died at Zarnowitch, near Cracow, in Poland, December 24, 1812. He was educated at Dartmouth and Yale colleges, and began the study of law, but upon the breaking out of the war of the Revolution he received a license to preach, and became a chaplain in the army. After the close of the war he resumed the study of law for a short time. In 1788 he went to France as agent for a land company, and became intimate with the leaders of the Girondists. In 1795 he was made United States Consul at Algiers. Returning to Paris, he engaged in some business operations, by which he acquired a considerable fortune. He came back to America in 1805, and took up his residence at Washington. In 1811 he was sent as Minister to the Government of France. In the following autumn he was invited by Napoleon to a conference to be held at Wilna, in Poland, but died upon the journey, from a sudden attack of inflammation of the lungs. He busied himself in literary efforts of various kinds. His most pretentious work is the epic poem called the "Columbiad," which was first published entire in 1808, although a portion of it, "The Vision of Columbus," was published as early as 1787. He also wrote "The Conspiracy of Kings" (London 1792), and the celebrated poem, "Hasty Pudding." THEME OF THE COLUMBIAD. I SING the Mariner who first unfurl'd Then saw the paths his virtuous steps had trod The tribes he foster'd with paternal toil Snatched from his hand, and slaughtered for their spoil. Slaves, kings, adventurers, envious of his name, Cheer'd his sad soul, and bade new nations rise. CONCLUSION OF THE COLUMBIAD. FAR as the centred eye can range around, While these broad views thy better thoughts compose VOL. II.- -27 THE PRAISE OF HASTY PUDDING. CANTO I. YE Alps audacious, through the heavens that rise, All bards should catch it, and all realms revere ! HOW TO EAT HASTY PUDDING. CANTO III. A WHOLESOME dish, and well deserving praise; |