sent by his master six miles from Baltimore, to the heights of Derby, on an errand.-Paddy, thinking and ruminating on the road that he had not yet seen a blackamoor, forgot the directingpost on the road, and got entangled in a forest; it happened to be deep snow, and there was a large black bear lying at the foot of a tree, which he did not observe till within a few yards of him. "Hurra, my darling!" says he, "here's one of them now, at last-queen of glory! such a nose as he has they talk about Loughey Fudaghen's nose; why, the noses of all the Fudaghens put together would not make this fellow's nose. never saw one of your sort before," says Paddy; “why, man, you'll get your death of cowld lying there; I have an odd tester yet left from Cushendall, and if there's a shebeen near this I'll give you a snifter, for I'd like to speak to you." "Boo," says the bear. "Lord what a voice he has-he could sing a roaring song." Boo, boo!" again cries the bear. "Who the devil are you booing at? if it's fun you're making of me, I'll ram my fist up to the elbow in you." Up gets the bear, and catches Paddy by the shoulder. "Is it for wrestling you are ?-Cushendall for that-soul, but you grip too tight, my jewel; you had better take your fist out of my shoulder, or I'll take an unfair advantage of you." Paddy went to catch him by the middle; "O sweet bad luck to you, you thief, and the tailor that made your breeches-you're made for wrestling, but I'll neck you." Paddy pulled out his tobacco-knife, and gave him a dart in the right place-down he fell to rise no more. "O sweet father! what will become of me now!" says he "I've killed this black son of a bitch, and I'll be hanged for him. O sweet Jasus! that ever I left Cushendall! Ō murder, murder! O what will become of me!" A gentleman, proprietor of the place, and who had blacks on his estate, comes up at the moment. What is all this about ?-what's the matter, sir?" "Nothing, but I'm from Cushendall, saving your honour's worship; I never seen a blackamoor before, and I just asked one of them to take a drop with me; but he would do nothing but make fun of me, so I gave him a prod, for I could not get a hould of him."."—"Stop, stop; there's a bear lying, take care."-" Faith, he was going to make me bare, sure enough; see where he tore my coat." Was that the blackamoor you were wrestling with? why, sir, that's a bear, that ten men in the forest could not kill." By the holy father, I'll drop them to you for a tester a dozen," says Paddy. The gentleman admired his courage and honest appearance so much, that he went to Baltimore, bought off his time, and made him an overseer of his estate, which place he filled with integrity and after seven

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teen years' servitude, came home to his native country, left what he had to old Snouter's children, and at last had his bones laid in the same grave with his old and loving master, in the ancient burying-place of Cushendall.

THE SPANISH CHAMPION.

THE warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free his long imprisoned sire;
"I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train,
I pledge my faith-my liege, my lord, Oh! break my father's chain."

"Rise! rise, even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day,
Mount thy good steed, and thou and I will meet him on his way."
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed,
And urged, as if with lance in hand, his charger's foaming speed.

And lo from far as on they press'd, they met a glittering band,
With one that 'mid them stately rode, like a leader in the land;
"Now, haste, Bernardo, haste, for there in very truth is he,
The father-whom thy grateful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His proud breast heaved, his dark eye flashed, his cheeks' hue came and went,
He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting bent;
A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took,
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook.

That hand was cold, a frozen thing, it dropped from his like lead;
He looked up to the face above, the face was of the dead;
A plume waved o'er the noble brow, the brow was fixed and white,
He met at length his father's eyes, but in them saw no sight.

gaze

Up from the ground he sprung, and gazed, but who can paint that
They hushed their very hearts who saw its horror and amaze;
They might have chained him, as before that noble form he stood,
For the power was stricken from his arms, and from his cheek the blood.

"Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like children then,"Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men;" He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his high renown, Then flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down;

And covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,
"No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now;
My king is false, my hope betrayed-my father, Oh! the worth,
The glory and the loveliness are past away to earth!"

?

Up from the ground he sprung once more, and seized the monarch's rein,
Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train;
And with a fierce o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face, the king before the dead.

"Came I not here on thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss,
Be still! and gaze thou on, false king, and tell me what is this;
The look, the voice, the heart I sought-give answer, where are they?
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, put life in this cold clay.

"Into those glassy eyes put light; be still, keep down thine ire,
Bid those cold lips a blessing speak, this earth is not my sire.
Give me back him for whom I fought, for whom my blood was shed,
Thou canst not! and, oh king, his blood be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the rein, his slack hand fell, upon the silent face
He cast one long deep mournful glance, then fled from that sad place;
His after fate no more was heard amid the martial train,
His banner led the spears no more among the hills of Spain.

T. QUINTIUS'S SPEECH TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE. THOUGH I am not conscious, O Romans! of any crime by me committed, it is yet with the utmost shame and confusion that I appear in your assembly. You have seen it-Posterity will know it-In the fourth consulship of Titus Quintius, the Equi and Volsci (scarce a match for the Hernici alone) came in arms to the very gates of Rome, and went away again unchastised! The course of our manners indeed, and the state of our affairs, have long been such, that I had no reason to presage much good; but, could I have imagined that so great ignominy would have befallen me this year, I would by death or banishment (if all other means had failed) have avoided the station I am now in. What! might Rome then have been taken, if those men who were at our gates had not wanted courage for the attempt ?Rome taken, while I was consul?-Of honours I had sufficientof life enough-more than enough-I should have died in. my third consulate. But who are they that our dastardly enemies thus despise the consuls? or you, Romans? If we are in fault, depose us, punish us yet more severely. If you are to blamemay neither gods nor men punish your faults, only may you repent! No, Romans, the confidence of your enemies is not owing to their courage, or to their belief of your cowardice: they have been too often vanquished not to know both themselves and you. Discord, discord is the ruin of this city. The eternal disputes between the senate and the people are the sole

cause of our misfortune. While we will set no bounds to our domination, nor you to your liberty; while you impatiently endure patrician magistrates, and we plebeian, our enemies take heart, grow elated and presumptuous.

In the name of the immortal gods, what is it, Romans, you would have? You desired tribunes; for the sake of peace we granted them-You were eager to have decemvirs; we consented to their creation-You grew weary of these decemvirs; we obliged them to abdicate-Your hatred pursued them when reduced to be private men; and we suffered you to put to death, or banish patricians of the first rank in the republic-You insisted upon the restoration of the tribuneship; we yielded: we quietly saw consuls of your own faction elected-You have the protection of your tribunes, and the privilege of appeal; the patricians are subjected to the decrees of the commons. Under pretence of equal and impartial laws, you have invaded our rights; and we have suffered it; and we still suffer it. When shall we see an end of discord? When shall we have one interest and one common country? Victorious and triumphant, you show less temper than we under our defeat. When you are to contend with us, you can seize the Aventine Hill, you can possess yourselves of the Mons Sacer. The enemy is at our gates, the Esquiline is near been taken, and nobody stirs to hinder it. But against us you are valiant, against us you can arm with all diligence. Come on then, besiege the Senate House, make a camp of the Forum, fill the gaols with all our chief nobles; and when you have achieved these glorious exploits, then, at least, sally out at the Esquiline gate with the same fierce spirits against the enemy. Does your resolution fail you for this? Go then, and behold from our walls your lands ravaged, your houses plundered and in flames, the whole country laid waste with fire and sword! Have you any thing here to repair these damages? Will the tribunes make up your losses to you? They will give you words as many as you please; bring impeachments in abundance against the prime men in the state; heap laws upon laws; assemblies you shall have without end: but will any of you return the richer from those assemblies? Extinguish, O Romans these fatal divisions generously break this cursed enchantment, which keeps you buried in a scandalous inaction. Open your eyes and consider the management of those ambitious men, who, to make themselves powerful in their party, study nothing but how they may foment divisions in the commonwealth. If you can but summon up your former courage, if you will now march out of Rome with your consuls, there is no punishment you can inflict which I will not submit to, if I do not in a few days drive those

pillagers out of our territory. This terror of war (with which you seem so greviously struck) shall quickly be removed from Rome to their own cities.

THE CHOICE OF A WIFE BY CHEESE.

THERE lived in York, an age ago,
A man whose name was Pimlico:
He lov'd three sisters passing well,
But which the best he could not tell.
These sisters three, divinely fair,
Shew'd Pimlico their tend'rest care:
For each was elegantly bred,

And all were much inclined to wed;
And all made Pimlico their choice,

And prais'd him with their sweetest voice.
Young Pim, the gallant and the gay,
Like ass divided 'tween the hay,
At last resolv'd to gain his ease,
And choose his wife by eating cheese.
He wrote his card, he seal'd it up,

And said that night with them he'd sup;
Desir'd that there might only be

Good Cheshire cheese, and but them three;
He was resolv'd to crown his life,
And by that means to fix his wife.
The girls were pleas'd at his conceit;
Each dress'd herself divinely neat ;
With faces full of peace and plenty,
Blooming with roses under twenty;
For surely Nancy, Betsy, Sally,
Were sweet as lilies of the valley:
But singly, surely Buxom Bet
Was like new hay and mignionette.
But each surpass'd a poet's fancy,
For that, of truth, was said of Nancy;
And as for Sal, she was a Donna,
As fair as those of old Cretona,
Who to Apelles lent their faces,
To make up Madam Helen's graces.
To those the gay divided Pim
Came elegantly smart and trim:
When ev'ry smiling maiden certain,
Cut of the cheese to try her fortune.
Nancy, at once, not fearing-caring
To shew her saving, ate the paring;