overseer of his estate,-which place he filled with integrity and after seventeen 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.

TELL'S SPEECH.

YE crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,

And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again!-O sacred forms, how proud you look!
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are! how mighty and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine-whose smile
Makes glad-whose frown is terrible-whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,
I'm with you once again!-I call to you
With all my voice!I hold my hands to you
To show they still are free. I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!

Scaling yonder peak,
I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow
O'er the abyss :-his broad expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my bow; yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath,
And round about absorb'd, he heeded not

The death that threaten'd him.-I could not shoot

Twas liberty!-I turned my bow aside,
And let him soar away!

Heavens, with what pride I used
To walk these hills, and look up to my God
And bless him that it was so. It was free-
From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free-
Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks,
And plough our valleys without asking leave;
Or as our peaks that wear their caps of snow,
In very presence of the regal sun.

How happy was it then! loved

Its very storms. Yes, Emma, I have sat

In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake.
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge
The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think had no master save his own.
You know the jutting cliff round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow
To such another one, with scanty room
For two abreast to pass? O'ertaken there
By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously,
As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,
And I have thought of other lands, whose storms
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there-the thought that mine was free,
Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind,
Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

SWEET MR. LEVI.

WHEN a pretty little boy,

A young merchantman so gay,

With my lollipops and toy,

Of Duke's Place I bore the sway.

The pretty little maidens,
With their pretty little smile,
Dey stole my little heart,

For my senses they beguile.

Spoken.] Vel, I remember the day when I tramped with my little shop round my neck, and turned my honest living; but den de little shedibels always was upon my thoughts-dere (was their cry) dere goes sweet Mr. Levi! dere goes charming Mr. Levi!-dere goes handsome Mr. Levi!-dear me! dear me ! the sound of their pretty little voices always made me sing Fal lal la, &c.

A few years pass away,

And a young man soon I

grows

When around in London streets,

I chant away old clothes;
Clo-sale-clo-sale-clo-
I raise aloud the cry,

And as I pass along,

How the pretty damsels sigh.

Spoken.] Bless ma heart! vel, vat can I do ; I console with them as well as I am able; and, though a circumscribed Jew, I tickle their fancy as vell as the best, for I always make 'em sing

Fal lal la, xc,

Den my uncle Aarons died,
And I was heir for life;
So I thought myself as how
To get a little vife;
I'd kissed and toyed away
With many a vixen she,
But I vanted one alone

To kiss and toy vid me.

Spoken.] So I left off trading in old clothes to trade with ladies' hearts; so I makes love to Miss Ra

chael, and she, beautiful creature, melts my heart like a stick of Dutch sealing wax, which makes me sing Fal lal la, &c.

So married soon I got,

And sung "begone, dull care,"
And nine months after that

I danced a little heir;
Then Jacob, Mo, and Sue,
Vid Samuels so sly,
How happy was the Jew
Vid such a family.

Spoken.] Bless ma heart, vat a happy rogue vas I; I thought myself richer than Solomon in all his glory, for I had got the true-begotten children of ma heart around me, and vat could my vife and I do, but sing Fal lal la, &c.

EXTRACT FROM SPEED THE PLOUGH.

Sir Philip Blandford and Farmer Ashfield. Sir Philip.-Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine?

Ashfield.-Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice. Sir Philip.-I hope a profitable one? Ashfield.-Zometimes it be zur. But thic year, it be all t'other way as twur-but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightish big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind hearted as to take a little bit of the bad.

Sir Philip.-It is but reasonable. I conclude, then, you are in my debt.

Ashfield.-Ees, zur, I be-at your zarvice.
Sir Philip.-How much?

Ashfield. Sir, I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds at your zarvice.

Sir Philip. Which you can't pay.'

Ashfield. Not a varthing, zur-at your zarvice.

Sir Philip.-Well, I am willing to give you every indulgence.

Ashfield. Be you, zur? that be deadly kind.Dear heart! it will make my auld dame quite young again, and don't think helping a poor man will do your honour's health any arm-I don't indeed, zur—I had a thought of speaking to your worship about it-but then thinks I, the gentleman, mayhap, be one of those that do like to do a good turn, and not to have a word zaid about it-zo, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, I am zure I never should-should not, indeed

zur.

Sir Philip.-Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on condition

Ashfield. Ees, zur.

Sir Philip.-On condition, I say, you instantly turn out that boy-that Henry.

Ashfield-Turn out Henry! Ha, ha, ha! Excuse my tittering, zur; but you bees making your vun of I, zure.

Sir Philip.-I am not apt to trifle. Send him instantly from you, or take the consequences.

Ashfield.-Turn out Henry! I vow I shou'dn't knaw how to zet about it-I should not, indeed zur. Sir Philip.-You hear my determination. If you disobey, you know what will follow. I'll leave you to reflect on it. (Exit.

Ashfield.-Well, zur, I'll argufy the topic, and then you may wait upon me, and I'll tell ye. (Makes the motion of turning out.)—I should be deadly awkward at it vor zartin-however, I'll put the case. Well, I goes whiztling whoam-noa, drabbit it, I shou'dn't be able to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well, I goes whoam, and I sees Henry zitting by my wife, mixing up someit to comfort the wold zool, and take away the pain of her rheumatics. Very well, then Henry places a chair vor I by the vire zide, and zays -"Varmer, the horses be fed, the sheep be folded, and you have nothing to do but zit down, smoke your