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When he ended, some observations mannerism, yet with a vein of unexseemed to be making; probably of the pected feeling. It embodies, in a faint sentimental sort, in their homely fa- degree, that mixture of passions, which shion ; but you would have been plea- is the top of what you call musical exsed with the bold way in which the pression, and which is so wonderful in singer, who had really a fine manage- your Scottish air of “ Dinna think,” able voice, broke in with an air that where bitterness and love, grief and has been familiar to me ever since I contempt, mix and get the better of was “ penny-can-high,” as the saying one another, as the colours do on a bit is, but of which I never was aware of of shot-silk. The lad gave the emphathe merit till now. I have forgot what tic places a touch of sarcasm half plain we used to call it, but it goes now by tive, half playful, particularly at the the title of “ My Love is newly listed." conclusion, and seemed to feel the inIt is just one of those ditties which Gay tention of the tune in a way that would have putinto the Beggar's Opera, pleased me mightily. -monotonous, yet original,- full of

1.
0, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing ;
And the corn it ripens fastest when the frosts are setting in;
And when a woman tells me that my face she'll soon forget,
Before we part, I wad a crown, she's fain to follow 't yet.

2.
The snow it melts the soonest when the wind begins to sing ;
And the swallow skims without a thought as long as it is spring;
But when spring goes, and winter blows, iny lass, an ye'll be fain,
For all your pride, to follow me, were 't cross the stormy main.

3.
O, the snow it melts the soonest when the wind begins to sing ;
The bee that flew when summer shined, in winter cannot sting ;
I've seen a woman's anger melt between the night and morn,
And it's surely not a harder thing to tame a woman's scorn.

4.
O, never say me farewell here~no farewell I'll receive,
For you shall set me to the stile, and kiss and take your leave;
But I'll stay here till the woodcock comes, and the martlet takes his wing,
Since the snow aye melts the soonest, lass, when the wind begins toʻsing.

The next was an even-down ballad both in words and music; and, in its noble contempt of mood, tense, person, and propriety in general, might almost vie with the verse I have known you quote, Mr North, from the old ditty of Lord Derwentwater.

“ Macintosh was a gallant soldier,
He carried his musket on his shoulder ;-
Cock your pistols and draw your rapier,

And damn you, Forster, for you're a traytor."
Still, to my silly old notion, there was something redeeming about it.
1.

2. O, I'll cut of my yellow hair,

But when the battle's over,
A musket give to me,

Then soldiers will be gay,
And wheresoe'er thou goest, there, And if I prove a rover,
My love, I'll follow thee;

What will my Nancy say ?
And when our foes we must engage

If then another win your heart,
Upon some foreign strand,

What will your Nancy do ?
Howe'er the bloody battle rage,

She'll only weep, and stand apart,
I'll stand at thy right hand.

And hear her talk with you.
VOL. X.

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3.
Thou hast my heart, so take my hand

My hand I give to thee,
And not again be sure that hand

Another's e'er shall be.
And should my lovely Nancy share

The battle by my side,
The Power above that hears our prayer,

Would shield the soldier's bride. Here the lanıllady made such a clatter with plates and dishes, that for a Minute or two I could hear nothing. When the noise and dirdum had slackened a little, I could just hear a weak voice lilting carelessly a little air that, under many varieties, is common in Northumberland

Your spinsters and your knitters in the sun,
And those free maids that weave their thread with bones,

Do use to chaunt it-it is silly, sooth. Like most ballads, however, its vulgarity has a touch of the plaintive. I could only make out

0! the weary cutters—they've ta'en my laddie frae me,
0! the weary cutters—they've ta’en my laddie frae me;
They've press'd him far away foreign, with Nelson ayont the salt sea.

0! the weary cutters—they've ta’en my laddie frae me. You may think I was contented with this specimen, and as the noise continued, Roger made an errand into the kitchen to try to procure me some copies of the songs. Meanwhile a sprightly voice struck up, and in an interval I discovered that a fishing song was the order of the day. I could not collect the first stanza—the second ran thus : Nae mair we'll fish the coolly Tyne, But we'll away to Coquetside, Nae mair the oozy Team,

For Coquet bangs them a',
Nae mair we'll try the sedgy Pont, Whose winding streams sie sweetly glide,
Or Derwent's woody stream ;

By Brinkburn's bonny Ha'.
In the next stanza that I heard, the spirit of the song had changed.
At Weldon brigg there's wale of wine,

If ye hac coin in pocket ;
If ye can thraw a heckle fine,

There's wale o' trouts in Coquet.
And we will quaff the red-blood wine, And O! in all their angling bouts,
Till Weldon's wa's shall reel,-

On Coquet, Tyne, or Reed,
We'll drink success to hook and line, Whether for maidens or for trouts,
And a' wha bear the creel.

May ariglers still succeed.
By Till, or Coquet, Tyne, or Reed,

In sunshine, or in rain,
Nay fisher ne'er put foot in stream,

Or hand in purse in vain.
Then luck be to the angler lads,

Luck to the rod and line ;
Wi' morn's first beam, we'll wade the stream,

The night we'll wet with wine. The chorus at the end of the third stanza seemed to be more noisy than the rest. When Roger came in, he told me that when he went in he found a pale faced lad, in a blue jacket, blue stockings, and red garters, trolling the simple chant I mentioned. The fishing song, Roger said, was sung by a “betterly looking” young man, in a shooting dress. He willingly shewed Roger a copy of the song, but would not part with it. It was printed in better taste than ordi nary, with a tail-piece of Bewick’s at the top, and the initials of the anthor of the < Reed Water Minstrel” at the bottom. The sentimental now seemed to have given way to the comic; but by this time the day had cleared up, so Fe only heard a fellow with an Irish twang and a portion of sly humour, sing a verse or two to the tune of “ The Pretty Maid of Derby, 0," which you sy

Thomas Moore, Esq. has claimed for the Irish, though to my mind there go two words to that bargain. This last seems to hit Roger's fancy; for I since find he can skirl through it, from beginning to end, under the alluring title of the “ Irish Captain's Garland." I give it you just to fill up the sheet. There was a Captain bold

And straight the gallant Captain so wary,O, At Sunderland, 'tis told,

Said “ Ladies, I request
And he was a gallant gay Lothario;

The tune that you love best."-
So Irish was his air,

She sigh'd, as she whisper'd—“ Paddy
No one but did declare,

Carey, 0.
That he was the very Paddy Carey, 0.

Then straight unto the band
His ancle it was small,

The Captain waved his hand,
His stature it was tall

Having bow'd to his charmer so airy, 0;
As a camel, leopard, or dromedary, 0); And, determined to engage her,
And straight was his back,

He order'd the drum-major
And his whiskers were black, To play up the planxty Paddy Carey, 0.
Och! no one could mistake Paddy Carey, 0.

While the tune it was lilting,
His jacket it was laced,

Sweet Polly's eyes so melting
A sash about his waist,-

Bewitch'd him, like an angel or a fairy, 0; By his side hung his Androferary, 0); And, when the tune was play'd, With his spurs of polish'd steel

He whisper'd her, and said,
That jingled at his heel,

“ Have pity on your own Paddy Carey, 0. There was none could compare with Paddy

“ I am a soldier tall,
Carey, 0.

An Irishman and all,
He loved a maiden tall,

I came all the way from Tipperary, O; Whom some call'd“ Pretty Poll,” And, though I'm something frisky, Though her god fathers only called her I'll love you more than whisky, Mary, 0,

If you can love again your Paddy Carey, 0. Her shape and janty air, Soft eyes and sunny hair,

" I fought at Waterloo, Play'd havock with the heart of Paddy And ran away

from Pat in a quandary, 0;

Where Boney got his due,
Carey, 0.

I've pocket-fulls of plunder,
Though lovers would annoy,

So, joy, you cannot blunder This damsel still was coy,

In striking up a match' with Paddy CaAnd always to their suit was contrary, O; And little did she dream,

Her voice it was hush'd, When to Sunderland she came,

Like the morning she blush'd, That ever she should sigh for Paddy Cam And red unto white did she .vary, 0);

And though she hated violence,

She pocketed in silence On Sunderland Parade

A squeeze and a salute from Paddy CaHe saw her first, 'tis said,

Now, good luck to the tune

That melts the girls so soon,
And puts them into such a sisserary, 0;

Let us stick to the plan

Of being happy when we can,

So, piper, rattle up with Paddy Carey, 0. Many of the local songs of Northumberland are full of exquisite humour ; but these, as you know, Mr North, would require an interpreter. They say the Lord Chancellor's very fond of them ; but I am getting to the end of my tether. Dinah begs her dutiful respects, and so does Roger. You will be sorry to hear poor Mr Charlton of Heatheryside is dead. He stinted himself, latterly, to three or four chearers; but would never liear any thing against the malt-liquor, and the Doctor said it was just as bad for him. With much respect, I am, honoured Sir, your servant to command,

Josiah SHUFFLEBOTHAM. Gowk's-Hall, Oct. 27th, 1821.

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P.S. Your clearing receipt will be well hanselled, as John is brewing : double quantity this year. We are expecting the Lieutenant, Roger's brother, home, poor lad, by and bye. I know you're just frightened at the name of a month, but cannot you spare us a fortnight, Mr North ?--As I know you like these sort of nick-nacks, I got Stavely the clerk, who pretends to be very clever at music, just to prick down a couple of the wildest of the airs. Indeed, the last is so wild, that he says it is hard to tell what key it is in. It is so simple, however, on the whole, that I hope it may be intelligible; though I rather suspect his “sol-fa” knowledge is none of the deepest, and that he would soon be lost among the quirks and quavers, and whuttlewhuts of one of the Bravura things, as the fiddler folks call them.

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weary cutters, they've ta'en my laddie frae me; They've press’d him

far a-way foreign, with Nelson a-yont the salt sea. O the wea-ry

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cutters, they've ta'en my laddie frae me.

Andantino Spiritoso.

O THE snow it melts the soonest when the winds be-gin to

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when a wo-man tells me that my face she'll soon for - get, Be

fore we part, I wad a crown, she's fain to follow 't yet.

LETTER FROM CHRISTOPHER NORTH, ESQ. TO MISS SARAH M'DERMID.

From our Altic, 12th November, 1821. Dear Miss M‘DERMID,-We received your note, stating that your brother Willy's version only gave you a distant glimpse of the merits which you justly supposed were latent to you in the Adventus. As it is quite right that the ladies should enjoy the joke as well as the learned, we wrote off to the Corker, who has dedicated his translation to you. You must come up to-morrow evening to your cookies and tea, and you shall see the first of it.

Yours affectionately, C. N.

A TRUB AND PERFECT ACCOUNT OF THE LANDING OF KING GEORGE THE

FOURTH IN IRELAND.

(Translated from my own original by myself.)

DEDICATED TO MISS M'DERMID. Muse! take up your joyful fiddle, They came to see and know the worth And twang it pizzicato, (1)

Of George the Good, of George the Fourth. But don't attempt the folks to diddle, The roads were cramm'd from south to A fib I've nought to say to.

north Where's the use of telling stories,

As full as they could be, sure. When you're to sing of so great glorics,

6. As foreigners, both Whigs and Tories,

Och ! ye can't read the Book of Fate May wonder and cry “ Nay!” to.

While standing there so weary, 2.

And thinking still, as it grows late, The coming of so great a King

The King

must sure be near ye. Would need some lore to tell on : That King, whose much-desired arrival Madam ! my tale's no common thing, Would give your wearied bones revival, It is one to think well on.

Has changed his mind ! Off ye may drive For mighty powers it sure requires,

all, The Dukes and Barons, Knights and He won't come to Dunleary. Squires,

7. Their grand processions and attires,

There is a harbour, Howth by name, That graced that day, to dwell on.

That he'll for certain steam on ; (2) 3.

Stewart and Fate ye have to blame, But fear won't further my design,

For this which ye ne'er dream on. Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, But pleasure oft comes after pain, And want of pluck's no crime of mine, You shall be christen’d o'er again ; (3) So I'll describe this gay day.

When he returns, he'll not disdain, There is a village called Dunleary,

Your town his grace to beam on. Where all did crowd from far and near ; I

8. Ne'er saw the like—so loud and cheery, “ God save the King !” they said aye.

But now the ships began to fly (4)

Like swallows through the sea, ma'am, 4.

Or swim like fishes in the sky, Thither came Justices of Quorum,

As swift as swift could be, ma'am. To punish any rash one,

And as they came still nigh and nigher, Who'd break the peace—and just before Hope made our hearts beat high and higher, 'em

And all cried out aloud, " I spy her ; I saw Lord Talbot dash on.

That surely must be she, ma'am !” The Corporation tried to wedge in

9. Bellies so huge you can't imagine ! Midst men, wives, tailors, in a rage, in

But, Murraboo ! This crowd of folks Order to learn the fashion.

Will get a mighty take-in ;

They might as well have worn their cloaks, 5.

Their blue coats are mistaken. (5) The crowd was great! in number more Past them the fleet doth swiftly sail,

Than sands upon the sea-shore ! Their hopes and wishes can't prevail, So much the folks their King adore, And borne on wings of steam and gale, And love him without measure !

Howth they their rest will make in.

(1) The Plectrum is admitted to have been a sort of hook used by the ancients (who had not at that time learned the use of their fingers), for twanging their stringed instruments,-a mode of performance, called by our more accomplished violinists, “ Playing Pizzicato."

(2) Another instance of modern improvements, is the use of steam. To think that it was reserved for modern times to find out the use of fingers and hot-water! The latter discovery has introduced, and is introducing, great changes in all the departments of mechanics—in language among the rest. On board a steamer, instead of saying " Up with the main-sail !" the cry is, “ On with the steam !" In like manner, instead of " sailing on a point,” we must say “ steaming."

(3) Dunleary was afterwards called Kingstown. George the Fourth stood sponsor at the ceremony.

(4) Volare Æquore cannot be translated in English. In Irish it signifies uti supra. (5) Blue coats were worn in honour of his Majesty's expected arrival.

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