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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.
YE crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!
Scaling yonder peak,
'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
snow, In very presence of the regal sun. How happy was it then! I 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 I 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.
A young merchantman so gay,
Of Duke's Place I bore the sway.
The pretty little maidens,
With their pretty little smile,
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 alwayowas 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,
I chant away old clothes ;
I raise aloud the cry,
How the pretty damsels sigh. Spoken.] Bless ma heart! vel, vat can I do ; 1 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, wc,
And I was heir for life ;
To get a little vife ;
With many a vixen she,
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 Rechael, and she, beautiful creature, melts my heart like a stick of Dutch sealing wax, which makes me sing
Fal lal la, &c.
And sung “begone, dull care,”
I danced a little heir ;
Vid Samuels so sly,
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.—Come hither. I believe you hold a
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.
Ashfield.-Sir, I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds at your zarvice. Sir Philip.-Which
you Ashfield.--Not a varthing, zur--at your zarrice.
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
Sir Philip.-Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on condition
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. 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, 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 také 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