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breed,” says he. Think o' that, Sally, dear, t'abuse my relations.

Sal. Oh, the ruffin.

Kat. Dirty breed, indeed! By my sowkins, they're as good as his any day in the year, and was never behoulden toNew pitta yatées—to go a beggin' to the mendicity for their dirty -New pittayatees—their dirty washin's o pots, and sarvants' lavins, and dogs' bones, all as one as that cruck'd disciple of his mother's cousin's sisther, the old dhrunken asperseand, as she is.

Sal. No, in troth, Katty dear.

Kat. Well, where was I ? Oh, aye, I left off at- -New pittayatees-I left off at my dirty breed. Well, at the word

dirty breed," I knew full well the bad dhrop was up in him, and faith it's soon and suddint he made me sinsible av it, for the first word he said was- -New pittayatees—the first word he said was to put his shouldher to the door, and in he bursted the door, fallin' down in the middle o' the flure, cryin' outNew pittayatees-cryin' out, “ bad luck attind you,” says he ; “how dare you refuse to lit me into my own house, you sthrap," says he, “agin the law o' the land,” says he, scramblin' up on his pins agin, as well as he could ; and, as he was risin', says I-New pitta yatecs--says I to him (screeching out loud, that the neighbours in the flure below might hear me), “ Mikee, my darlint,” says I.

“ Keep the pace, you vagabone,” says he ; and with that he hits me a lick av a- -New pitayatee--a lick of a stick he had in his hand, and down I fell (and small blame to me), down I fell an the flure, crying? -New pittayatees-cryin' out “ Murther, murther !”

Sal. Oh, the hangin’-bone villain !

Kat. Oh, that's not all! As I was risin', my jew'l, he was goin' to sthrek me agin ; and with that, I cried outpittayateesI cried out, “ Fair play, Mikee,” says I, “don't sthrek a man down ; but he wouldn't listen to rayson, and was goin' to hit me agin, when I put up the child that was in my arms betune me and harm. Look at your babby, Mikee,”

“ How do I know that, you flag-hoppin' jade," says he. (Think o’that, Sally, jew'l, misdoubtin' my vartue, and I an honest woman as I am, God help me!)

Sal. Oh, bud you're to be pitied, Katty, dear.

Kat. Well, puttin' up the child betune me and harm, as he was risin' his hand, “ Oh,” says I, “ Mikee, darlint, don't sthrek the babby;" but, my dear, before the word was out o' my mouth, he sthruck the babby. (I thought the life id lave me.) And,

-New

66

says I.

cry

;

iv coorse, the poor babby, that never spuk a word, began to

-New pittayatees began to cry, and roar, and bawl, and no wondher.

Sal. Oh, the haythen, to sthrek the child.

Kat. And, my jewel, the neighbours in the flure below, hearin' the skrimmage, kem runnin' up the stairs, crying out

-New pittayatees-cryin' out, “Watch, watch ! Mikee M’Evoy,” says they, “ would you murther your wife, you villain ?" 's What's that to you," says he “ isn't she my own ?” says he," and if I plase to make her feel the weight of myNew pittayatees—the weight o' my fist, what's that to you ?" says he; “ its none o' your business any how, so keep your tougue in your jaw, and your toe in your pump, and 'twill be betther for your

-New pittayatees—'twill be betther for your health, I'm thinkin'," says he; and with that he looked crukid at thim, and squared up to one o' them (a poor defenceless craythur, a tailor.)

“Would you fight your match,” says the poor innocent man.

“ Lave my sight,” says Mick, or, by Jingo, I'll put a stitch in your sid

my jolly tailor,” says he. “ Yiv put a stitch in your wig already,” says the tailor, " and that'll do for the present writin?" And with that, Mikee was goin' to hit him with a

New pittayatee-a lift-hander; but he was cotch owld iv, before he could let go his blow; and who should stand up for-nint him, butMy new pittayatees—but the tailor's wife; (and, by my sowl, it's she that's the sthrapper, and more's the pity she's thrown away upon one o' the sort ;) and says she, “ let me at him," says she, “its I that's used to give a man a lickin' every day in the week : you're bould on the head now, you vagabone,” says

6 but if I had you alone,” says she ; “no matther if I wouldn't take the consait out o' your- -New pittayatees-out o' your braggin' hearte;” and that's the way she wint on bullyraggin' him ; and, by gor, they all tuk patthern after her, and abused him, my dear, to that degree, that, I vow to the Lord, the very dogs in the sthreet wouldn't lick his blood.

Sal. Oh, my blessin' on them.

Kat. And with that, one and all, they began to cry-New pittayatees--they began to cry him down ; and, at last, they all swore out, “ Hell's bells'attind your berrin',” says they, “you vagabone,” as they just tuk him up by the scuff o' the neck, and threwn him down the stairs ; every step he'd take, you'd think he'd brake his neck (Glory be to God!) and so I got rid o'the ruffin ; and then they left me, cryin' New pitta yatees -c-ryin' afther the vagabone; though the angels knows well

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he wasn't deservin' o' one precious dhrop that fell from my two good-lookin' eyes, and oh ! but the condition he left me in.

Sal. Lord look down an you.

Kat. And a purty sight it id be, if you could see how I was lyin' in the middle oʻthe flure crying — My new pittayateescryin' and roarin', and the poor child, with his eye knocked out, in the corner, cryin' New pittayatees—and, indeed, every one in the place was cryin' - New pittayatees—was cryin' murther.

Sal. And no wondher, Katty dear.

Kat. Oh bud that's not all. If you seen the condition the place was in afther it; it was turned upside down like a beggar's breeches. Throth I'd rather be at a bull-bait than at it, enough to make an honest woman cry-New pittayatees—to see the daycent room rack'd and ruin'd, and my cap tore off my head into tatthers, throth you might riddle bull dogs through it; and bad luck to the hap'orth he left me but a few New pittayatees a few coppers ; for the morodin' thief spint all his-New pittayatees-all his wages o' the whole week in makin' a baste iv himself; and God knows but that comes aisy to him; and divil a thing I had to put inside my face, nor a dhrop to drink, barrin' a few--New pittayatees--a few grains o'tay, and the ind of a quarther o' sugar, and my eye as big as your fist, and as black as the pet (savin' your presence), and a beautiful dish iv--New pitta yatees-dish iv delf, that I bought only last week in Timple bar, bruk in three halves, in the middle of the 'ruction, and the rint o' the room not ped, --and I dipindin' only an-- New pittayatees—an cryin' a sieve-full o' pratees, or screechin' a lock of savoys, or the like.

But I'll not brake your heart any more, Sally dear ;-God's good, and he never opens one door, but he shuts another, and that's the way iv it; an' strinthins the wake with- -New pittayatees--with his purtection ; and may the widdy and the orphin's blessin' be an his name, I pray! And my thrust is in divine providence, that was always good to me, and sure I don't despair ; but not a night that I kneel down to say my prayers, that I don't pray for--New pittayatees—for all manner o' bad luck to attind that vagabone, Mikee M'Evoy. My curse light an him this blessid minit; and

(A voice at a distance calls, “ Potatoes !”] Kat. Who calls ? [Perceives her customer.] Here ma'am. Good-bye, Sally, darlint-good-bye. “New pittay-a-tees !"

(Exit Katty by the Cross Poddle.)

BATTLE OF FLODDEN-FIELD, AND DEATH OF

MARMION.

BLOUNT and Fitz-Eustace rested still
With Lady Clare upon the hill ;
On which, (for far the day was spent,)
The western sun-beams now were bent.
The cry they heard, its meaning knew,
Could plain their distant comrades view:
sadly to Blount did Eustace say:
“ Unworthy office here to stay !
No hopes of gilded spurs to-day-
But see! look up-on Flodden bent,
The Scottish foe has fired his tent."

And sudden, as he spoke,
From the sharp ridges of the hill,
All downward to the banks of Till,

Was wreathed in sable smoke;
Volumed, and vast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war,

As down the hill they broke;
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march: their tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet blown

At times a stifled hum,
Told England, from his mountain-throne

King James did rushing come.
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes,
Until at weapon-point they close.
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust.
With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust;

And such a yell was there,
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if men fought upon the earth,

And fiends in upper air.
Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye
Could in their darkness nought descry.
At length the freshening western blast
Aside the shroud of battle cast;
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears
Above the brightening cloud appears ;
And in the smoke the pennons flew,
As in the storm the white sea-mew.
Then marked their dashing broad and far,
The broken billows of the war,
And plumed crests of chieftains brave,
Floating like foam upon the wave;

But nought distinct they see:

Wide raged the battle on the plain;
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain;
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain;
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again,

Wild and disorderly.
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew

Around the battle yell.
The Border slogan rent the sky :
A Home! a Gordon! was the cry;

Loud were the clanging blows;
Advanced-forced back—now low, now high,

The pennon sunk and rose :
As bends the bark's mast in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,

It wavered mid the foes.
No longer Blount the view could bear :
“By heaven, and all its saints! I swear,

I will not see it lost!
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare
May bid your beads and patter prayer,

I gallop to the host.”
And to the fray he rode amain,
Followed by all the archer train.
The fiery youth, with desperate charge,
Made, for a space, an opening large,

The rescued banner rose :
But darkly closed the war around ;
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground,

It sunk among the foes,
Then Eustace mounted too ;-yet staid,
As loath to leave the helpless maid,

When, fast as shaft can fly,
Blood shot his eyes, his nostrils spread,
The loose rein dangling from his head,
Housing and saddle bloody red,

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by;!
And Eustace, maddening at the sight,

A look and sign to Clara cast,

To mark he would return in haste,
Then plunged into the fight.
Ask me not what the maiden feels,

Left in that dreadful hour alone :
Perchance her reason stoops, or reels;

Perchance a courage not her own,

Eraces her mind to desperate tone.
The scattered van of England wheels ;-

She only said, as loud in air
The tumult roared, “13 Wilton there?"

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