"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
An eastern banner o'er the western world,
And taught mankind where future empires lay
In those fair confines of descending day;
Who sway'd a moment, with vicarious power,
Iberia's sceptre on the new found shore;

Then saw the paths his virtuous steps had trod
Pursued by avarice and defiled by blood;

The tribes he foster'd with paternal toil

Snatched from his hand, and slaughtered for their spoil.

Slaves, kings, adventurers, envious of his name,
Enjoy'd his labors and purloined his fame,
And gave the Viceroy, from his high seat hurl'd,
Chains for a crown, a prison for a world.
Long overwhelm'd with woes and sickening there,
He met the slow, still march of black despair,
Sought the last refuge from his hopeless doom,
And wished from thankless men a peaceful tomb:
Till visioned ages, opening on his eyes,

Cheer'd his sad soul, and bade new nations rise.
He saw the Atlantic heaven with light o'ercast,
And Freedom crown his glorious work at last.

CONCLUSION OF THE COLUMBIAD.

FAR as the centred eye can range around,
Or the deep trumpet's solemn voice resound,
Long rows of reverend sires sublime extend
And cares of worlds on every brow suspend.
High in the front, for soundest wisdom known,
A sire elect, in peerless grandeur shone;
He opened calm the universal cause,
To give each realm its limits and its laws,
Bid the last breath of tired contention cease,
And bind all regions in the leagues of peace;
Till one confederate, condependent sway
Spread with the sun and bound the walks of day,
One centered system, one all-ruling soul
Live through the parts, and regulate the whole.
Here then, said Hesper, with a blissful smile,
Behold the fruits of the long years of toil.
To yon bright borders of Atlantic day
Thy swelling pinions led the trackless way,
And taught mankind such useful deeds to dare,
To trace new seas and happy nations rear;
Till by fraternal hands their sails unfurl'd
Have waved at last in union o'er the world.
Then let thy steadfast soul no more complain
Of dangers braved and griefs endured in vain,
Of courts insidious, envy's poisoned stings,
The loss of empire and the frown of kings;

While these broad views thy better thoughts compose
To spurn the malice of insulting foes;
And all the joys descending ages gain,
Repay thy labors and remove thy pain.

VOL. II.- -27

THE PRAISE OF HASTY PUDDING.

CANTO I.

YE Alps audacious, through the heavens that rise,
To cramp the day and hide me from the skies,
Ye Gallic flags, that o'er their heights unfurl'd,
Bear death to kings and freedom to the world,
I sing not you. A softer theme I choose,
A virgin theme, unconscious of the muse;
But fruitful, rich, well suited to inspire
The purest frenzy of poetic fire. -
Despise it not, ye bards to terror steel'd,
Who hurl your thunders round the epic field;
Nor ye who strain your midnight throats to sing
Joys that the vineyard and the still-house bring;
Or on some distant fair your notes employ,
And speak of raptures that you ne'er enjoy.
I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel,
My morning incense and my evening meal:
The sweets of "Hasty Pudding." Come, dear bowl,
Glide o'er my palate and inspire my soul.
The milk beside thee, smoking from the kine,
Its substance mingled, married in with thine,
Shall cool and temper thy superior heat,
And save the pains of blowing while I eat.
Oh! could the smooth, the emblematic song,
Flow like thy genial juices o'er my tongue,
Could those mild morsels in my numbers chime,
And as they roll in substance, roll in rhyme,
No more thy awkward, unpoetic name
Should shun the muse, or prejudice thy fame;
But, rising to the unaccustomed ear,

All bards should catch it, and all realms revere !

HOW TO EAT HASTY PUDDING.

CANTO III.

A WHOLESOME dish, and well deserving praise;
A great resource in those bleak wintry days,
When the chill'd earth lies buried deep in snow,
And raging Boreas dries the shivering cow.
Bless'd cow! thy praise shall still my notes employ.
Great source of health, the only source of joy;