me all as wan; "but," sez she, "av we war t' starve for it, isn't it betther t' have Brian a big man? for av we're losin' it wan way, we're gainin' it in another." Av course there was nothin' t' say agin that; but, faix, I'm afeard there was many a time the poor McGurks was fastin' agin their will, an' they war that proud that wan cudn't well do anythin' for thim. Shure it wud be all right av Brian was ordained afther all. But lo and behold yeh! wan day Father Pat got a letther t' say Brian was comin' home dying wid a decline! He nivir was a sthrong boy, and thin he got a cough, an' stuck too close t' his books, an' betchune all poor Brian kem home t' die. For five long weeks there he lay an the broad av his back, talkin' so nice an' so simple-like that there wasn't wan in the parish that wouldn't run from this to Dublin for him. Miss Grace, and iviry wan at the big house, was very good, and sint clane sheets, an' wine, an' all soarts of grand aitin' an' dhrinkin'. The nabours used t' take turns t' sit up at night, for Mrs. McGurk was ould, yeh see, an' the crathur was that dazed wid the thrubble that sorra much use she was. Meself used t' be in thare night an' day, for poor Brian had a grate regard for me, an' more betoken, he used t'rimimber me av me own fine bhoy that was killed at the Rooshian war: so that's how it was that I was there the evenin' Father Pat kem t' give Brian the Sacrimints. The poor boy was axin' t' see Miss Grace wanst more afore he died, so I threw an me cloak, an' wint off for her. She was standin' in the windy, smilin' an' laughin', an' talkin' t' alot av quality; but whin I tould her what I wanted, the tears kem into her purty blue eyes, an' she just put an her hat in the hall, an' kem aff wid me. An' thin' shure, poor Brian tould her out quite brave-like that he wasn't sorry he was goin', for that he'd nivir be very happy av he was t' live, an' he tould her that the raisin he med the pomes about her was in regard av him bein' very partial t' her. "An'," sez he, "I thought maybe av I was eddicated like a gintleman, that I'd be nearer t' yeh. But somethin' tould me how foolish it was, an' I saw the truth; but from that 'our I had no heart in me at all, an' I got waker an' waker until I kem t' this. I hope I give no offince, Miss Grace?" Well, what d'ye think? Och! throth I'm an ould fool t' be cryin' whin I think av it now! but purty Miss Grace stooped down, an' she kissed poor dying Brian's forehead, an' she said, quite soft"You never did anything to offend me, Brian ; “ I always admired your poetry very much, and I am very grateful to you for your love." An' thin she sat down be the bed, an' held Brian's big hand in her two little white ones, an' she kep' whisperin' t' him that she'd always look afther ould Mrs. McGurk an' Owney; an' a lovely colour kem into his face, an' he sez t' Father Pat "Yer rivirence, will Miss Grace get t' heaven ?" Not a lie I'm tellin' whin I say ould Father Pat was cryin' like a child. Howsomediver, he sed"Bedad she will, Brian; she's only wan av the angels that's here for a little while." That was enough for Brian, for he knew Father Pat knewd for sartin, an' he closed his eyes, an' in less time nor I'm tellin' it, he wint off quite an' aisy, like a lamb. There was a grand wake, an' the funeral was wan av the biggest ivir seen in that part o' the counthry. Miss Grace, an' the fine handsome gintleman she was goin' t' be married to, kem t' the funeral; an' shure she nearly cried her purty eyes blind; an' very respectful t' Mrs. McGurk an' Owney it was too; an' she put up a tombstone over the grave, an' the writin' an it sed Brian was a grate janius intirely. Nor these alone, but far and wide, Beheld the flames from Drury's mound, It seemed that nations did conspire Some vast stupendous sacrifice! In tin or copper traced. The engines thundered through the street, The Eagle, where the new; With these came Rumford, Bumford, Cole, Crump from St. Giles's Pound: Whitford and Mitford joined the train, Huggins and Muggins from Chick Lane, And Clutterbuck, who got a sprain Before the plug was found. Hobson and Jobson did not sleep, But ah! no trophy could they reap, For both were in the Donjon Keep Of Bridewell's gloomy mound! E'en Higginbottom now was posed, An awful pause succeeds the stroke, And Eagle firemen knew 'T was Joseph Muggins, name revered, And poured the hissing tide: He tottered, sunk, and died! Did none attempt, before he fell, Served but to share his grave! But sulphury stench and boiling drench He sank to rise no more. Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved, A fireman, and afraid of bumps!— What are they fear'd on? fools: 'od rot 'em!" Were the last words of Higginbottom. THE GOTHIC HORSE. [By ORPHEUS C. KERR.] HE Mackerel | While one gunner puts a load in at one end, an- In the first place, it never had much morals, and when it came to be demoralised, it hadn't any; so that ever since the disaster, the peasantry in the neighbourhood of the camp have been in constant mourning for departed pullets; and one venerable rustic complains that the Mackerel pickets milk all his cows every night, and come to borrow his churn in the morning. By invitation of a well-known official, I visited the Navy Yard yesterday and witnessed the tria! of some newly-invented rifled cannon. The trial was of short duration, and the jury brought in a verdict of "innocent of any intent to kill." The first gun tried was similar to those used in the Revolution, except that it had a larger touchhole, and the carriage was painted green instead of blue. This novel and ingenious weapon was pointed at a target about sixty yards distant. It didn't hit it, and as nobody saw any ball, there was much perplexity expressed. A midshipman did say that he thought the ball must have run out of the touchhole when they loaded up, for which he was instantly expelled from the service. After a long search without finding the ball, there was some thought of summoning the Naval Retiring Board to decide on the matter, when somebody happened to look into the mouth of the cannon, and discovered that the ball hadn't gone out at all. The inventor said this would happen sometimes, especially if you didn't put a brick over the touchhole when you fired the gun. The Government was so pleased with this explanation, that it ordered forty of the guns on the spot, at two hundred thousand dollars apiece. The guns to be furnished as soon as the war is over. The next weapon tried was Jink's double backaction revolving cannon, for ferry boats. It consists of a heavy bronze tube, revolving on a pivot, with both ends open, and a touch-hole in the middle. The last weapon subjected to trial was a mountain howitzer of a new pattern. The inventor explained that its great advantage was, that it required no powder. In battle it is placed on the top of a high mountain, and a ball slipped loosely into it. As the enemy passes the foot of the mountain, the gunner in charge tips over the howitzer, and the ball rolls down the side of the mountain into the midst of the doomed foe. The range of this terrible weapon depends greatly on the height of the mountain and the distance to its base. The Government ordered forty of these mountain howitzers at a hundred thousand dollars apiece, to be planted on the first mountains discovered in the enemy's country. These are great times for gunsmiths; and if you find any old cannon around the junk-shops, just send them along. There is much sensation in nautical circles, the pirates, by an ingenious Connecticut chap. Yesterday he exhibited a small model of it at a cabinet meeting, and explained it thus : You will perceive," says he to the President, "that the machine itself will only be four times the size of the Great Eastern, and need not cost over a few millions of dollars. I have only got to discover one thing before I can make it perfect. You will observe that it has a steam-engine on board. This engine works a pair of immense iron clamps, which are let down into the water from the extreme end of a very lengthy horizontal spar. Upon approaching the pirate, the captain orders the engineer to put on steam. Instantly the clamps descend from the end of the spar and clutch the privateer athwartships. Then the engine is reversed, the privateer is lifted bodily out of the water, the One of these noble animals was presented to me last week, by an old-maid relative, whose age I once guessed to be "about nineteen." The glorious gift was accompanied by a touching letter; she honoured my patriotism, and the self-sacrificing spirit that had led me to join the gallant Mackerel Brigade, and get a furlough as soon as a rebel picket appeared; she loved me for my mother's sake, and as she happened to have ten shillings about her, she thought she would buy a horse with it for me. Mine, affectionately, Tabitha Turnips. The beast is fourteen hands high, fourteen hands long, and his sagacious head is shaped like an oldfashioned pick-axe. Viewed from the rear, his style of architecture is Gothic, and he has a gableend, to which his tail is attached. His eyes are two pearls set in mahogany, and before he "I LEFT HIM LEANING AGAINST A POST." spar swings around over the deck, and the pirate | lost his sight, they were said to be brilliant. ship is let down into the hold by the run. Then shut your hatches, and you have ship and pirates safe and sound." The President's features lighted up beautifully at the words of the great inventor; but in a moment they assumed an expression of doubt, and says he : "But how are you going to manage, if the privateer fires upon you while you are doing this?" "My dear sir," says the inventor, "I told you I had only one thing to discover before I could make the machine perfect, and that's it." The horse is an animal in which I have taken a deep interest ever since the day on the Union Course, when I bet ten dollars that the "Pride of the Canal" would beat "Lady Clamcart," and was compelled to leave my watch with Mr. Simpson on the following morning. The horse is the swarthy Arab's bosom friend, the red Indian's solitary companion, and the circus proprietor's salvation. I rode down to the Patent Office the other day, and left him leaning against a post, while I went inside to transact some business. Pretty soon the Com missioner of Patents came tearing in like mad, and says he : "I'd like to know whether this is a public building belonging to the United States, or a second-hand auction-shop." "What mean you, sirrah?" I asked, majestically. "I mean," says he, "that some enemy to his country has gone and stood an old mahogany umbrella-stand right in front of this office." To the disgrace of his species be it said, he referred to the spirited and fiery animal for which I am indebted to woman's generosity. I admit that when seen at a distance, the steed somewhat resembles an umbrella-stand; but a single look into his pearly eyes is enough to prove his relations with the animal kingdom. I have named him Pegasus, and when I mount him, Villiam Brown, of Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, says that I remind him of Santa Claus sitting astride the roof of a small Gothic cottage, holding on by the chimney. Villiam is becoming rather too familiar, and I hope he'll be shot at an early day. At an early hour yesterday morning, while yet the dew was on the grass, and on everything else green enough to be out at that matinal hour, I saddled my Gothic steed Pegasus, and took a trot for the benefit of my health. Having eaten a whole straw bed and a piece of an Irishman's shoulder during the night, my architectural beast was in great spirits, and as he snuffed the fresh air and unfurled the remnants of his warlike tail to the breeze of heaven, I was reminded of that celebrated Arabian steed which had such a contempt for the speed of all other horses that he never would run with them-in fact, he never would run at all. Having struck a match on that rib of Pegasus which was most convenient to my hand, I lit a cigar, and dropped the match, still burning, into the right ear of my fiery charger. Something of this kind is always necessary to make the sagacious animal start; but when once I get his mettle up he never stops, unless he happens to hear some crows cawing in the air just above his venerable head. I am frequently glad that Pegasus has lost his eyesight; for could he see the expression on the faces of some of these same crows, when they get near enough to squint along his backbone, it would wound his sensibilities fearfully. On this occasion he carried me, at a speed of 2:40 hours a mile, to a point just this side of Alexandria, where the sound of heavy cannonading made me pause. At first I remembered an engagement I had in Washington, and was about to hasten back; but while I was pressing the lighted end of my cigar to the side of Pegasus, to make him turn, Colonel Wobert Wobinson, of the Western Cavalry, came walking towards me from a piece of woods on my right, and informed me that ten of his men had just been attacked by fourteen thousand rebels with twenty columbiads. "The odds." says he, "is rather heavy; but our cause is the noblest the world ever knew, and if my brave boys do not vanquish the unnatural foe, an indignant and decimated people will at once call upon the Cabinet to resign." I told him that I thought I had read something like that in the Tribune; but he didn't seem to hear me. By this time the cannonading had commenced to subside, and as I trotted alongside of Colonel Wobinson toward the field of battle, I asked him what he had done with his horse. He replied, that while on his way to the field his sagacious beast had observed a hay-stack, and was so entranced with the vision that he refused to go a step farther; so he had to leave him there. Upon reaching the scene of strife, we discovered that the ten Western Cavalry men had routed the rebels, killing four regiments, which were all carried away by their comrades, and capturing six columbiads, which were also carried away. On our side nobody was killed nor wounded. In fact, two of our men, who went into the fight sick with the measles, were entirely cured, and captured four good surgeons. I must state, however, that, although nobody was killed or wounded on our side, there was one man missing. It seems that when he found the balls flying pretty thickly about his ears, he formed himself into a hollowsquare, and retreated in good order into the neighbouring bushes. He formed himself into a hollowsquare by bending gently forward until his hands touched the ground, and made his retrograde movement on all fours. I went over to Virginia the other day to review Berdan's Sharpshooters, and was much astonished at their wonderful skill with the rifle. The target is a little smaller than the side of a barn, with a hole through the centre exactly the size of a bullet. They set this up just six hundred yards away, and fire at it in turn. After sixty of them had fired, I went with them to the target, but couldn't see that it had been hit by a single bullet. I remarked this to the captain, whereupon he looked pityingly at me, and says he : "Do you see that hole in the bull's-eye, just the size of a bullet?" I allowed that I did. "Well," says he, "the bullets all went through that hole." Now I don't mean to say that the Captain lied; but it's my opinion-my private opinion-that if he ever writes a work of fiction, it will sell! |