"I hope the stock are all well this morning?' said Mr. Macna

mara.

"They're all well, I hope,' said Paddy.

"Where are my sheep?' said Mr. Macnamara. "They 're here, sir,' said Paddy.

"Where?' said Mr. Macnamara.

"Here, inside this wall,' said Paddy.

"Gather them up to me,' said Mr. Macnamara. So Paddy gathered up all the sheep round his master.

"Oh, I see them all right,' said Mr. Macnamara, but the black ram, and that's the very one I want to look at most, as you ought very well to know, Paddy.'

"Oh! sir,' said Paddy, did you mean the black ram?' "To be sure I did,' said Mr. Macnamara.

"Why, then, to tell your honour the raal truth, and it's as good to tell it at wanst,' said Paddy, 'the black ram has left your honour's service to make a happy man of me, and I'll tell your honour all about it. You see, this gentleman here has a servant as dairymaid, one Peggy Halloran, that I believe your honour may have seen or heard of, and the girl that I love better than any other woman in the world; and I must tell your honour that this Peggy Halloran-'

"Stop there!' exclaimed Mr. Rochford; you need not go on, for I will tell the rest of the story myself to your master.' And upon this he confessed the whole business to Mr. Macnamara, acknowledged that he had fairly lost the money, which he instantly paid, and attempted to excuse himself with many lame apologies for what he had done.

"After receiving the money, and putting it safely in his pocket, Mr. Macnamara with great feeling and dignity addressed Mr. Rochford in the following words :

:

"Mr. Rochford, in making a remark which seemed to give you some offence last week, and in my subsequent proceedings with you, I was actuated by two motives: -The first was a hope that I might be able to show you the folly and impolicy of that course of occasional subterfuge, which I have had much pain in observing in you for some time back. My second motive was to testify that confidence in my herdsman, which I then thought, but now know, that he deserves. For the double injury which you have attempted on an innocent couple, and upon my purse, I freely forgive you. Your signal failure will, it is to be hoped, lead you to adopt an opposite course for the future, and thus enable you to re-establish yourself in your own opinion and that of others.

"As for Peggy Halloran, I blame her not-she has come out of this business with a pure heart; and I am certain, from all I have ever heard of her, would never have acted as she did, had she not been herself deceived. She will only have to take a useful warning from the past, and let nothing ever persuade her to practise what her innocent spirit might condemn.

"Now, then, Paddy, my faithful true-hearted herdsman,' continued Mr. Macnamara, hold up your head, man, and don't be looking down at your brogues. Hold up your head, and bless God that you did not fall into the cruel snare laid to deprive you of your wellearned character, and me of my twenty pounds. You love Peggy, and she loves you: I think she will make you an excellent wife

take her, then, in God's name!-may you be happy together!—and upon the day of your marriage the whole of this twenty pounds shall be yours. Nor is this all I intend to do for you; for I will put you in a snug little spot of my own over in Burrin, where, with care and industry, I think and hope you will do well and be happy.'

"Many contending passions were still lurking in Mr. Rochford's breast; and had the occurrence taken place with any other person, a duel might have been the consequence. Gradually, however, his better feelings prevailed, nor was he afterwards ashamed to confess, that though he had lost his twenty pounds, he felt that he had still been a considerable gainer by the transaction.

"But the tumblers are empty!" said Mr. Coffy.

SONG-THE MONKS OF OLD.

MANY have told of the monks of old,
What a saintly race they were;
But 'tis more true that a merrier crew
Could scarce be found elsewhere;
For they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quaff'd,

And lived on the daintiest cheer.

And some they would say, that throughout the day
O'er the missal alone they would pore;

But 'twas only, I ween, whilst the flock were seen
They thought of their ghostly lore;

For they sung and laugh'd,

And the rich wine quaff'd,

When the rules of their faith were o'er.

And then they would jest at the love confess'd

By many an artless maid;

And what hopes and fears they have pour'd in the ears
Of those who sought their aid.

And they sung and laugh'd,

And the rich wine quaff'd,

As they told of each love-sick jade.

And the Abbot meek, with his form so sleek,

Was the heartiest of them all,

And would take his place with a smiling face
When refection bell would call;

And they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quaff'd,

Till they shook the olden wall.

In their green retreat, when the drum would beat,
And warriors flew to arm,

The monks they would stay in their convent grey,

In the midst of dangers calm,

Where they sung and laugh'd,

And the rich wine quaff'd,

For none would the good men harm.

Then say what they will, we 'll drink to them still,
For a jovial band they were;

And 'tis most true that a merrier crew

Could not be found elsewhere;

For they sung and laugh'd,

And the rich wine quaff'd.

And lived on the daintiest cheer.

W. J.

Leamington.

M. JASMIN.

M. JASMIN, the author of the following ballad, is neither an agriculturist nor a tender of flocks, but a hair-dresser at Agen, in the South of France. M. Jasmin is not unsuited to his occupation (one held dear by Gil Blas and Figaro) by the poetic turn his mind has taken, or the kind of talent with which he is gifted. He is a true native of the South of France, of the genuine and sterling race of the Marots; one in whose shop Molière would have delighted to sit, as was his wont in the house of the barber of Pezenas. Much has been lately said of M. Reboul of Nismes, who, while following the humble avocation of a baker, has been inspired with a poetic vein, to which the lyre of Lamartine has responded, and paid tribute. But the inspiration of Reboul has nothing in common with that of Jasmin.

Reboul is essentially a French poet of the meditative school; he writes and versifies harmoniously in classic French; but his originality consists still more in the contrast between his writings and his avocation, than in the character of his poetry. Necessitated to a state of manual labour, Reboul, although not ashamed of his condition, neither glories nor takes pleasure in it; sincerely religious, he considers his lot as a part of the duty imposed upon him by his Maker. At a certain hour of the day, when Reboul can command a little leisure, he lays aside his working-dress, and in the retirement of his little cell, in meditation before a crucifix, with the Bible on one hand, and Corneille on the other, he gives up his whole soul to poetry.

The works of Jasmin consist of a volume entitled Las Papillotos (Les Papillotes, or the Curl-papers), and of the following charming little poem, entitled L'Abuglo de Castel Cuillé (L'Aveugle de Castel Cuillé, or the Blind Man of Castel Cuillé). Les Papillotes is a collection of various poems written by the author between 1825 and 1835. The events of his life are therein related; but one of them, in three cantos, called Mons Souvenirs (Mes Souvenirs, or my Reminiscences), contains a detail of the adventures and opinions of Jasmin. This poem bears about it such an impress of reality, as carries conviction of its truth to the reader's mind.

James Jasmin (Jaquou Jansemin) was born in 1797 or 1798. "The last century, old and broken down, had no more," says he, " than a couple of years to pass upon the earth, when, in the corner of an old building, inhabited by a nation of rats, one Maunday Thursday there came into the world a child, the offspring of a lame father and a lame mother, and this little brat was no other than myself. When a prince is born, he is saluted with cannon, and the salute is to proclaim the general happiness; but as for me, poor son of a poor tailor, not even a pop-gun proclaimed my arrival. I was born, however, in the midst of a tremendous clamour, raised at the door of a neighbour, on the occasion of a nuptial serenade; the horns and kettles, the marrow-bones and cleavers, resounded in my new-born ears, accompanied by a song of thirty couplets, the composition of my father." Jasmin's father composed the greater part of the burlesque verses sung so frequently at rustic weddings. Here we find hereditary talent for poetry quite as satisfactorily established, as in the case of the two Marots.

The boyhood of poor Jasmin was marked by many troubles. He had an instinctive dread of school; and when his mother at her work would look at him sorrowfully, and talk in a low voice about school to his grandfather, he would shed tears. One day their poverty burst upon him with a force that made an indelible impression on his mind. It was a Monday; he was just ten years old, and was playing in the street. An old man was carried by in an arm-chair, and in the aged sufferer he recognised his grandfather. "Oh! grandfather," throwing himself on his neck, "where are you going? why do you weep?". My child," said the old man, "I am

going to the hospital: there the Jasmins die." In five days' time he From that sad Monday the boy never forgot the po

was no more.

verty of his family.

"At length," says Jasmin, "O joyful day! my mother running to me in an ecstasy of delight, cried out, To school, my child!-to school.'-'What,' I asked, 'are we grown rich, then? No, my poor boy,' she replied, but you are to have your schooling for nothing.' The boy was diligent; in six months he knew how to read; six months afterwards he could serve at mass; in another six months he was raised to the choir. In six months more he entered college on the foundation, but only for six months: he was, however, beginning to distinguish himself.

Poor Jasmin was, however, expelled suddenly from college for meddling with the canon's sweetmeats, and was compelled to return home.

In the midst of distress Jasmin's love for poetry continued unabated. In his small apartment under the tiles the young aspirant spent part of his nights in reading, musing, and making his first essays in verse. He read with delight the works of Florian : poverty was forgotten, and the hospital vanished from his memory. His razor in the mean time performed its part; and while his brain was teeming with poetry, the chins of his customers may be supposed to have been in no small danger. In due time he opened a little shop on his own account, in the beautiful Promenade du Gravier; and from the very commencement he prospered in his business. His shop was not crowded with customers, to be sure; but, as the proverb goes, "S'il ne pleut pas, il bruine."* In short, curls and poems produced at last a gentle influx of prosperity; and Jasmin, in one of his poetic flights, knocked to pieces the formidable armchair in which his forefathers had been carried to the hospital. Instead of going to the hospital he went to a notary, and saw his name -the first of his family, figuring conspicuously in the tax-gatherer's book. Oh, what an honour!

----

Since Jasmin's poetical reputation was established he has been able thanks to the sale of his productions, and the interest his townspeople took in them, to purchase the house he inhabits, and to secure a small independence, which seems the extent of his wishes. Jasmin has already withstood that kind of temptation which invariably attends success, he was advised to repair to Paris, but his good sense pointed out to him his right sphere. In some pretty lines, addressed to a rich agriculturist of Toulouse, who offered him this advice, he refutes playfully the flattering reasons his friend advanced, by an exposition of his taste and inclinations, to

* If it does not pour, it drizzles.

gether with his moderate wishes. "In my town where every one works, leave me as I am. Every summer, happier than a king, I lay up my provision for the winter, and then I sing like a chaffinch under the shade of a poplar or an ash, too happy to grow grey in the land which gave me birth. As soon in the summer as the pretty chirping of the nimble grasshopper is heard, the young sparrow takes wing, and forsakes the nest where he first felt his growing plumage, the wise man acts not thus."*

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLÉ.

BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.

We are indebted for the foregoing particulars to an interesting paper in "La Revue des Deux Mondes."-Edit.