"Prying?" said the other in the same dry way, and apparently determined not to be offended. "I'm not prying. There, come along, Britisher, here's a bar close by; smooth down your feathers, and come and have a drink.”

"Thank you,” said Adams, “I don't drink in the middle of the day, nor yet with men I don't know." "Good for your health, and bad for your manners. But don't be pesky. Here, try a cigar." Adams felt the hot blood rising in his cheeks, and was disposed to be angry; but the new-comer was so calm and imperturbable, as he held out a handful of good Havanas, that, in spite of himself, the young Englishman took one, and also accepted a light.

"That's better," said the other; "that is the best quality in nicotine-it makes men friends. Fine place this, ain't it?"

"I shall be very glad to get away," said Adams, narrowly inspecting his companion.

“So shall I," said the other; "but I don't mean to be in a hurry; and don't you. Ah, you're taking stock of me, are you? You're wondering whether I'm real grit, or a loafer. I know all about you."

Indeed!" said Adams, colouring in spite of himself, for the other had thoroughly divined his thoughts.

"Yes, stranger; you came ashore from the Eagle this morning. You're a British farmer, you are, as failed at home, and have come out here to make a pile. You've brought tools and seeds and that Irishman, and you're going to take up land and farm. That's what you're going to do." "Humph!" ejaculated the young man; "perhaps, then, you can tell me my name!

"To be sure I can-it's Frank Adams."

The owner of the name started, and seemed half inclined to throw away the cigar, and with it the companionship of this stranger.

"Don't be riled," said the other, coolly. "My Hame's Dawson-Caleb Dawson, State of Virginia."

“Well, then, Mr. Dawson, I must be going; so good day."

"All right, Adams, I'll walk with you. I'm going your way."

The Englishman stopped short, and faced round angrily; but the other was so calm and cool that, instead of speaking, he burst out laughing.

stitutions. We've had a hard job, sir, and we had to take off our coats. You come in for all yours ready-made."

Now, look here," said Adams, stopping short after they had gone a few yards. "I'm a stranger here, and you know it. I don't want to quarrel to hurt you, or for you to hurt me; so out with it at once. What have you fixed yourself on me for?"

"New-comer-green from the old countrygoing to fleece you of all your dollars, squeeze you like an orange, and then go and look out for another."

"Thin, be the powers- " burst in Larry.

"Be quiet!" said Adams, firmly. Then, turning to the American: "I thought as much; but you've mistaken your man. I'm well armed; I have my wits about me, and——”

"Exactly!" said the other, laughing, and showing a good set of teeth; "but that's not my game -that's what you thought I meant; and if you haven't cut your eye-teeth that's how you will be served. But come along, Adams; I'm up at your hotel. I saw you this morning, and I liked the look of you. Thought I'd give you a word of warning; for, look here, mate, it would be a cruel thing to take those two sweet women right away into the country without being prepared to--

Adams stopped short again at the mention of the women.

"I don't make you out," he said, aloud; “you're either playing a deep game, or, for some reason of your own, you want to be very friendly."

66

'Why, man, what a fuss you Britishers do make about things! You think that out here you're going to get letters of introduction, and the character of every man vouched before you speak to him. We haven't time for that. I told you I saw you and liked your looks. Sorry you don't like mine. Never mind; here we are, and the dinner bell's going. So look alive, or the board will be cleared."

That same afternoon, while Larry Carey was sitting outside the hotel in the sun, carving his name with a new knife upon the thin end of his black thorn twig, who should come up and seat himself close by but the American who had introduced himself as Caleb Dawson.

"Well, Pat," he said, "and what do you think of the country?"

"The counthry's well enough, sor, for thim as likes it," he said, dryly.

"Ah! it's a noble land," said Dawson, smoking slowly, and sending up soft wreaths of vapour in the sunshine. Many an Irishman has made his fortune here."

"And you must do the same, Pat," said Dawson.

pump me."

"Dry, are you, Pat?" said Dawson, laughing;

"To be sure."

Rale whiskey?"

"As good a drop as was ever taken from a still." “Well,” said Larry, reseating himself, “there can't be any harm in that, so long as it's rale."

And the whiskey being brought, Larry took a couple of glasses with a hearty smack of enjoyment.

"He wants to pump me," he said to himself; "but niver a word he'll draw from me."

Dawson sat for some time chatting pleasantly, and at last adroitly turned the conversation to the Carey family, dwelling most upon the representative before him.

That was sufficient. Larry's tongue began to run, and before long Dawson sat smoking silently, as the Irishman sat gesticulating with his blackthorn, and talking as hard as he could.

"You've been in England, of course?" said Dawson. "Try another glass, Pat. It's good whiskey."

"Thrue for ye, sor, it is," said Larry. "It was a great blessin' to posterity that the man who found it out didn't go an' die an' take the saycret wid him. Bud it's a bad habit takin' much. Jist one more glass, an' thin it may be the very best that iver chated a gauger, an' niver a drop should pass me lips. Bud, be the same token, ye were sayin' had I been in England? Why, ov coorse I have, or how could I have met the masther?"

"He might have come over to Ireland." "Bud he knew betther," said Larry, laying a finger on one side of his nose. "Oireland, sor, nowaday, isn't what it used to be, an' it'll take a long time mendin'; but I'll tell ye how it was.

"Well, ye see, Misther Dawson, sor, it was jist this: I knew the masther over in England, where I wint across to wan year a-harvestin', an' worked for him all through. An' before it was quite over, oh, wirra! the great big pain I had in all me bones, an' the shivers that came on me, and the hot aches An' they got worse an' worse, till at last wan mornin' I lays me down on some sthraw in the big barn, an' I sez to meself, I sez, 'Larry Carey,' I sez, 'it's a great fayver ye've got intirely, an' ye're goin' dead as a herrin, ye are, an' ye'll never see ould Oireland again. Where would ye like to be berrid?"

"Yer honour, Misther Dawson, sor, if I'd been a wild rattlesnake ov the plains out here, wid a sting in me tail, they couldn't ha' behaved worse to me than they did. First wan dirty spalpeen an' thin another, comin' an' lookin' at me, an' thin goin' away spittin' as if I was poison. For I was only a poor rayper, all in rags, come over for the sayson, an' the farm people didn't like us at all, at all.

"Well, yer honour, the masther come to know ov it, an' he come out in the barn, an' he sez, sez he, 'Larry, me lad,' he sez, ‘are ye as bad as that?'

“Troth, yer honour,' I sez, ‘an' I'm worse,' I sez, ‘an' I fale very infectious,' I sez. An' thin I heerd wan ov the men say somethin' to him about sendin' ov me off to the union.

"If they'd let me die where I am I'd thank thim,' I sez to meself; an' thin I lay with me head all burnin' red hot, an' meself thinkin' I was back in Cork boilin' the praties, when the masther comes in, an' the misthress and Miss Mary wid him, an' instead of packin' me off like a dog, I heerd the masther say, 'Poor fellow, he's worked well, an' we must do the best we can for him.'

"An' they did, yer honour-nursed me, they did, through it all, an' had the docther to me, as shook his fist in ould Death's face, he did, an' wouldn't let him have me: an' didn't I get betther an' stronger than iver; for wouldn't it have been a dirty action not to, whin the misthress and Miss Mary was that kind to me, and fed me up so that nothin' iver was like it!

"Last of all, while I was hangin' about the farm doin' ov odd jobs, I gets to know that the masther was in throuble over some dirty money business, an' the farm was to be sold; an, murther! to see how the poor boy was down, an' the pretty little misthress and his sister lookin' pale as milk.

"I meets him one day in the yard, an' he sez, pleasant like, 'Why, Larry,' he sez, 'you here still?' "An' where would I be,' sez I, 'at all, wid the docther's bill not paid?'

666

"Back in Oireland,' he sez.

"Bother Oireland intirely,' I sez, unless yer honour will take a nate bog farm somewhere, an' I'll go back wid ye.'

"He stopped an' looked at me in a thoughtful way; an' he claps me on the shoulder, an' he sez, in a way as made the water come in me eyes:

666

Larry,' he sez, 'you're a good fellow, bud you must go. I'm masther here no longer. I've been chated, and imposed upon, an' robbed.' "An' is it chated?" I sez, takin' a tighter grip on the fork I had in me fist. Will yer honour tell me the name of the chate? Is it one ov thim lawyer villins?'

"He laughed, an' shook his head; an' he sez: "Larry,' he sez, 'I've no work for ye, an' can't pay ye, so ye must go. As for me,' he sez, 'I'm goin' across the say to Americky, where there's deep rich land, different to this cowld clay, an' a man may get a reward for his labour. Larry,' he sez, 'I'm going to California.' "Hurroo!' I sez; where the goold grows?' "Goold?' he sez; 'yes, Larry; the rich, ripe yellow goold grown by men-corn, me man-corn, wavin' corn, growin' in soil that will repay ye bounteously for yer toil.'

666

'Hurroo !' I sez again; 'I'll buy a new rapin'hook this very day.'

"Poor?' sez I; 'an' who d'ye call poor? I'm as well off as any gintleman among ye. Haven't I got tin-pun-tin, harvest money, widout countin' the fourpenny bits? An' who's to pervent me goin' if I like?'

that say, an' t'other say; an' here I am, Larry Carey, at yer sarvice."

"Why, what a tarnation fool you must have been, Paddy!" said Dawson, drawling his words. "But have another drink, man: I like such fools as you. Shake hands."

The Irishman stood up and slapped his hand heartily into that of the American, the two joining in a firm grip.

"And now I must be off, Pat; so good-bye, my lad; but we will meet again."

"Bud I do think ov it, yer honour,' I sez. 'Who'll ye get to rape yer corn whin it grows? D'ye think there'll be plinty ov boys from the ould counthry comin' an' askin' for a job! Wanst for all, yer honour,' I sez, 'I shall go wid ye, an' if I don't I shall follow ye.'

"An, to make a long story short, I talked to the misthress and Miss Mary-God bless her!--an' we was too much for the masther; an' he consinted, an' we come-come across this say, an'

"I will, Larry," said the other, and he strode away. "There, now!" said Larry, scratching his head as soon as he was alone; "an' I've been an' towld him all about it, when the master said, 'be saycret.' Bud never mind, he's the right sort, an' it won't be any harm. Bud if he isn't-whoo!"

Larry gave his stick a flourish in the air, and delivered a smart blow that would have had serious results if it had come in contact with an enemy's head. Then he walked off and entered the Chesapeake Hotel.

H! terribly proud was MISS MACBRIDE,
The very personification of pride,

As she minced along in Fashion's tide, Adown Broadway-on the proper sideWhen the golden sun was setting;

There was pride in the head she carried so high,
Pride in her lip, and pride in her eye,
And a world of pride in the very sigh

That her stately bosom was fretting:

A sigh that a pair of elegant feet,
Sandall'd in satin, should kiss the street-
The very same that the vulgar greet
In common leather, not over "neat".
For such is the common booting
(And Christian tears may well be shed,
That even among our gentlemen-bred
The glorious Day of Morocco is dead,
And Day and Martin are reigning instead,
On a much inferior footing).

Oh! terribly proud was Miss MacBride! Proud of her beauty and proud of her pride, And proud of fifty matters beside,

That wouldn't have borne dissection; Proud of her wit, and proud of her walk,

Proud of her teeth, and proud of her talk,
Proud of "knowing cheese from chalk,"
On a very slight inspection.

Proud abroad, and proud at home,
Proud wherever she chanced to come;
When she was glad, and when she was glum,

Proud as the head of a Saracen

Over the door of a tippling-shop;
Proud as a duchess, proud as a fop,
"Proud as a boy with a braw new top,"
Proud beyond comparison.

It seems a singular thing to say,
But her very senses led her astray
Respecting all humility;

In sooth, her dull auricular drum
Could find in humble only a "hum,"
And heard no sound of "gentle " come,
In talking about gentility.

What lowly meant she didn't know,
For she always avoided "everything low"
With care the most punctilious;
And, queerer still, the audible sound
Of "super silly" she never had found
In the adjective supercilious.

The meaning of meek she never knew,
But imagined the phrase had something to do
With "Moses," a peddling German Jew,
Who, like all hawkers, the country through,
Was "a person of no position;
And it seem'd to her exceedingly plain,
If the word was really known to pertain
To a vulgar German, it wasn't germane
To a lady of high condition.
Even her graces-not her grace,
For that was in the "vocative case"-
Chill'd with the touch of her icy face,

Sat very stiffly upon her;
She never confessed a favour aloud,
Like one of the simple, common crowd,
But coldly smiled, and faintly bow'd,
As who should say, "You do me proud,
And do yourself an honour!"

And yet the pride of Miss MacBride,
Although it had fifty hobbies to ride,

Had really no foundation;

But, like the fabrics that gossips devise-
Those single stories that often arise,

And grow till they reach a four-storey size-
Was merely a fancy creation.

"Tis a curious fact as ever was known
In human nature, but often shown

Alike in castle and cottage,

That pride, like pigs of a certain breed,
Will manage to live and thrive on "feed"
As poor as a pauper's pottage.

That her wit should never have made her vain,
Was-like her face-sufficiently plain;

And as to her musical powers,
Although she sang until she was hoarse,
And issued notes with a banker's force,
They were just such notes as we never endorse
For any acquaintance of ours!

Her birth, indeed, was uncommonly high,
For MISS MACBRIDE first open'd her eye
Through a skylight dim, on the light of the sky;
But pride is a curious passion—
And in talking about her wealth and worth,
She always forgot to mention her birth
To people of rank and fashion.

Of all the notable things on earth,
The queerest one is pride of birth,

66

Among our fierce democracie !' A bridge across a hundred years, Without a prop to save it from sneers— Not even a couple of ancient peers— A thing for laughter, fleers, and jeers, Is American aristocracy!

English and Irish, French and Spanish, German, Italian, Dutch, and Danish,

Little by little he grew to be rich,
By saving of candle-ends and "sich,"
Till he reach'd at last an opulent niche-
No very uncommon affair;
For history quite confirms the law
Expressed in the ancient Scottish saw—
A mickle may come to be may'r.*

Alack for many ambitious beaux !
She hung their hopes upon her nose
(The figure is quite Horatian !)
Until, from habit, the member grew
As very a hook as ever eye knew,

To the commonest observation.

A thriving tailor begg'd her hand,
But she gave "the fellow" to understand,

'Mickle, wi' thrift, may chance to be mair."-Scotch Proverb.