not for the world think of dining upon nothing; no, no, let it be for money-come, how much do you ask?" The hostess made answer, "The gentlemen's table is eightpence, the next is six." "Then the most is the best for me," cried Howleglass, as he made for a large, well-furnished board, where he ate to his heart's content.

He went to the hostess as soon as he had finished, and begged her to pay him, as she had said, for that he was a poor man, and could not afford his time for nothing. "My friend," replied the woman, "you have to give me eightpence, and then you are quit." "No, no," cried Howleglass, "you are to give me eightpence, and then you shall be quit of me. You declared we were to eat here for love of money, and that for dining at the gentlemen's table it was to be eightpence. Certainly, as I told you, I did not intend to dine upon nothing, nor for nothing, but I expected to get eightpence; and I assure you I have worked hard and performed my best to deserve it. I can do no more give me the money and let me go!" The hostess replied: "You have said well, for I think you have eaten as much as any four, yet you have the conscience to ask me to pay you for it. That would be strange indeed! But you are a wag! Away with you! A meal is not much, but deuce take me if I pay you too for eating me up. And hark you! come to my table no more, unless you come to pay to-day's reckoning with it: a pretty trade I should drive, marry come up, on these terms. I might very soon shut up shop." So Howleglass took his departure, not without saluting her before she had worked herself into a great fume, and adding, "Well, if you can, on your conscience, take my labor for nothing, fare you well!"

How HOWLEGLASS JOURNEYED TO ROME, WHERE HE HAD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE POPE.

After Howleglass had practiced his arts for some length of time, he bethought him of the proverb which says, "Go to Rome, my honest man, and come back a rogue again." For true it is, that neither a good horse nor a bad man mend their condition by going to visit Rome.

Forthwith then our hero set out for that city, where he first showed his wit by taking up his residence at the house of a rich widow, who seeing so handsome a young man, inquired

whence he came. He said, from the country of Saxony, and that he was purposely come to have an interview with the Pope.

"Then," said she, "my friend, you may indeed see him, but to speak with him is a very different matter, especially if you be a stranger, as you say. For my part, I would give a hundred or two of solid ducats to any one who will obtain for me a conference with him."—"Will you give me a hundred ducats if I will do it?"-"That I will," repeated the jolly widow, boldly, for she little imagined that he could bring about such an interview without paying a number of fees.

Howleglass now watched the time when the holy procession was accustomed to proceed to the church of St. Giovanni (the Lateran), in order to celebrate mass. Observing the procession go by, Howleglass contrived to pass into the chapel along with the rest, edging up as near to the chair of St. Peter as he possibly could. When the time drew nigh for the elevation of the host, he turned his back upon the altar just as his Holiness raised the chalice, and fixed his eye upon the cardinals, keeping the same position until the whole ceremony was over. Mass being finished, one of the cardinals acquainted the holy pontiff that there was a young man present who had turned his back upon the holy sacrament. The Pope commanded that he should be instantly secured and brought before him, as he would banish him for an example to all bad Christians; and Howleglass speedily found himself seized and confronted with the mighty pontiff himself.

He first inquired of our hero what was the nature of his creed. He replied, "I am a Christian, and observe just the same faith as my hostess; and he then mentioned her name, which was pretty well known.

The good dame was instantly sent for, in order to throw light upon the mystery, and the Pope first inquired of what faith she was. "Oh, dear! of the holy Catholic faith, to be sure; I believe in all that the holy Church chooses to command or to forbid." Then Howleglass cried out, "So do I! I believe all that too." "How came it, then, that you turned your back upon the holy sacrament?" said the Pope. Howleglass replied, "Most holy father, I am a very great sinner, and felt as if I were not worthy of beholding the holy sacrament, before which I was to make confession." The Pope said that such being the case it only did him credit, and permitted him to go, after bestowing his benediction on Howleglass and his hostess.

OLD ENGLISH BALLADS.

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

THE king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O whar will I get guid sailòr,
To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailòr
That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid [open] letter
And signed it wi' his hand,

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch lauched he:

The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has don this deid,

This ill deid don to me;

To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail upon the se ?

"Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,

Our guid schip sails the morne."

"O say na sae, my master deir,

For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;

And I feir, I feir, my deir mastèr,
That we will com to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith [loth]
To weet [wet] their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Their hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,

Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spens
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.

Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,
It's fiftie fadom deip:

And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.

EDWARD, EDWARD.

"Why dois your brand sae drop wi' bluid, Edward, Edward ?

Why dois your brand sae drop wi' bluid? And why sae sad gang yee, O?" "O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid, Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid:

And I had nae mair bot hee, O."

"Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward:

Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee, O."
"O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,

That erst was sae fair and free, O."

"Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair, Edward, Edward:

Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Some other dule ye drie, O."

"O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Alas! and wae is me, O!"

"And whatten penánce wul ye drie for that, Edward, Edward?

And whatten penánce wal ye drie for that? My deir son, now tell me, O."

"Ile set my feit in yonder boat, Mither, mither:

Ile set my feit in yonder boat,

And Ile fare ovir the sea, O."

"And what wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha', Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha',
That were sae fair to see, O?"

"Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',
Mither, mither:

Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',

For here nevir mair may I bei, O."

"And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, Whan ye gang ovir the sea, O?"

"The warldis room, late them beg throw life,
Mither, mither:

The warldis room, let them beg throw life,
For thame nevir mair wul I see, O."

"And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir ?
My deir son now tell me, O.”

"The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Mither, mither:

The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Sic counseils ye gave to me, O."

CHILD MAURICE.

Child Maurice hunted ithe silver wood,
He hunted itt round about,

And noebodye that he ffounde therin,
Nor none there was with-out.

*

And he tooke his silver combe in his hand,

To kembe his yellow lockes.

He sayes, Come hither, thou litle ffoot-page,
That runneth lowlye by my knee,