But if he had, he'd never deign
To shoot with Number One.

"It's very hard, and so it is,
To live in such a row;
And here's a ballad-singer come
To aggravate my woe;
O take away your foolish song
And tones enough to stun--
There is 'nae luck about the house,'
I know at Number One."


Next is a prose sketch:


THE FURLOUGH.--AN IRISH ANECDOTE.


"In the autumn of 1825, some private affairs called me into the sister
kingdom; and as I did not travel, like Polyphemus, with my eye out,
I gathered a few samples of Irish character, amongst which was the
following incident:--

"I was standing one morning at the window of 'mine Inn,' when my
attention was attracted by a scene that took place beneath. The Belfast
coach was standing at the door, and on the roof, in front, sat a
solitary outside passenger, a fine young fellow, in the uniform of the
Connaught Rangers. Below, by the front wheel, stood an old woman,
seemingly his mother, a young man, and a younger woman, sister or