sort of reclining position against that flat gray stone, just at high-water mark; he selects it as his constant resting-place, because (again to use his own words), "the tide, bad cess to it! was apt to come fast in upon a body, and there was a dale of trouble in moving; but even if one chanced to fall asleep, sorra a morsal of harm the salt water could do ye on the gray stone, where a living merwoman sat every New Year's night combing her black hair, and making beautiful music to the wild waves, who, consequently, trated her sate wid great respict -why not?" There, then, is Larry his chest leaning on the mermaid's stone, as we call it — his long, bare legs stretched out behind, kicking occasionally, as a gad-fly or merry-hopper skips about what it naturally considers lawful prey: - his lower garments have evidently once been trousers - blue trousers, but as Larry when in motion is amphibious, they have experienced the decaying effects of salt water, and now only descend to the knee, where they terminate in unequal fringes. Indeed, his frieze jacket is no great thing, being much rubbed at the elbows and no wonder; for Larry, when awake, is ever employed, either in pelting the sea-gulls (who, to confess the truth, treat him with very little respect), rowing his boat, or watching the circles formed on the surface of the calm waters. by the large or small pebbles he throws into it; and as Larry, of course, rests his elbow on the rocks while performing these exploits, the sleeves must wear; for frieze is not "impenetrable stuff." His hat is a natural curiosity, composed of faded straw, banded by a misshapen sea-ribbon, and garnished with "delisk" red and green, his cutty-pipe stuck through a slit in the brim, which bends it directly over the left eye, and keeps it "quite handy without any trouble." His bushy reddish hair persists in obstinately pushing its way out of every hole in this extraordinary hat, or clusters strangely over his Herculean shoulders, and a low-furrowed brow, very unpromising to the eye of a phrenologist: - in truth, Larry has somewhat of a dogged expression of countenance, which is relieved at times by the humorous twinkle of his little gray eyes, pretty much in the manner that a star or two illumes the dreary blank of a cloudy November night. The most conspicuous part of his attire, however, is an undressed wide leather belt, that passes over one shoulder, and then under another strap of the same material that encircles his waist; from this depends a rough wooden case, containing his whiskey bottle; a long, narrow knife; pieces of rope of varied length and thickness; and a pouch which contains the money he earns at his "vocation." "Good-morrow, Larry!" "Good-morrow kindly, my lady! maybe ye 're going across?" "No, thank ye, Larry, but there's a silver sixpence for good luck." "Ough! God's blessing be about ye! I said so to my woman this morning, and she bothering the soul o' me for money, as if I could make myself into silver, let alone brass: ―asy, says I, what trouble ye take! sure we had a good dinner yesterday; and more by token, the grawls were so plased wid the mate — the craturs! sorra morsel o' pratee they'd put in their mouths; - and we 'll have as good a one to-day." "The ferry is absolutely filled with fish, Larry, if you would only take the trouble to catch it!" "Is it fish? Ough! sorra fancy I have for fasting matebesides, it's mighty watery, and a dale o' trouble to catch. A grate baste of a cod lept into my boat yesterday, and I lying just here, and the boat close up: I thought it would ha' sted while I hollered to Tom, who was near breaking his neck after the samphire for the quality, the gomersal!— but, my jewil! it was whip and away wid it all in a minit-back to the water -Small loss!" "But, Larry, it would have made an excellent dinner.” Sure, I'm after telling your ladyship that we had a rale mate dinner, by grate good luck, yesterday. "But to-day, by your own confession, you had nothing." "Sure, you've just given me sixpence." 66 But suppose I had not!" "Where's the good of thinking that now?" "Oh, Larry, I'm afraid you never think of to-morrow!" "There's not a man in the whole parish of Bannow thinks more of it than I do," responded Larry, raising himself up; "and, to prove it to ye, madam, dear, we 'll have a wet nightI see the sign of it, for all the sun's so bright, both in the air and the water." "Then, Larry, take my advice; go home and mend the great hole that is in the thatch of your cabin." "Is it the hole?-where 's the good of losing time about it now, when the weather's so fine?" "But when the rain comes?" VOL. X.-32 "Lord bless ye, my lady! sure I can't hinder the rain! and sure it's fitter for me to stand under the roof in a dry spot, than to go out in the teams to stop up a taste of a hole. a drop comes through it in dry weather." 66 Sorra Larry, you truly need not waste so much time; it is ten chances to one if you get a single fare to-day;- and here you stay, doing nothing. You might usefully employ yourself, by a little foresight. "Would ye have me desert my trust? Sure I must mind the boat. But, God bless ye, ma'am, darlint! don't be so hard intirely upon me; for I get a dale o' blame I don't by no manner of means desarve. My wife turns at me as wicked as a weasel, because I gave my consint to our Nancy's marrying Matty Keogh; and she says they were to come together on account that they had n't enough to pay the priest; and the end of it is, that the girl and a grandchild are come back upon us; and the husband is off - God knows where!" "I'm sorry to hear that, Larry; but your son James, by this time, must be able to assist you. "There it is again, my lady! James was never very bright, and his mother was always at him, plaguing his life out to go to Mister Ben's school, and saying a dale about the time to come; but I did n't care to bother the cratur; and I'm sorry to say he's turned out rather obstinate and even the priest says it's bekase I never think of to-morrow." "I'm glad to find the priest is of my opinion. But, tell me, have you fatted the pig Mr. Herriot gave you?" "Oh! my bitter curse (axing yer pardon, my lady) be upon. all the pigs in and out of Ireland! That pig has been the ruin of me; it has such a taste for eating young ducks as never was in the world; and I always tether him by the leg when I'm going out; but he 's so cute now, he cuts the tether." "Why not confine him in a sty? You are close to the quarry, and could build one in half an hour." "Is it a sty for the likes of him! cock him up wid a sty! Och, Musha! Musha! the tether keeps him asy for the day." "But not for the morrow, Larry." "Now ye 're at me agin! — you that always stood my friend. Meal-a-murder! if there is n't Rashleigh Jones making signs for the boat! Oh! ye 're in a hurry, are ye?-well, ye must wait till yer hurry is over; I'm not going to hurry myself, wid sixpence in my pocket, for priest or minister." "But the more you earn the better, Larry." "Sure I've enough for to-day." "But not for to-morrow, Larry. "True for ye, ma'am, dear; though people take a dale o' trouble, I'm thinking, whin they've full and plinty at the same time; and I don't like bothering about it then." "But do you know the English think of to-morrow, Larry ?" "Ay, the tame negres! that's the way they get rich, and sniff at the world, my jewil; and they no oulder in it than Henry the Second; for sure, if there had been English before his time, it's long sorry they 'd ha' been to let Ireland so long alone." ARTHUR HENRY HALLAM. HALLAM, ARTHUR HENRY, an English poet, son of Henry Hallam; born at London, February 1, 1811; died at Vienna, September 15, 1833. He distinguished himself at Eton and Cambridge, where he was graduated in 1832. At Trinity College he gained a prize for an English essay on the philosophical writings of Cicero. He was betrothed to a sister of Alfred Tennyson, whose "In Memoriam" is a memorial of the friendship of the two young poets. A collection of his essays and poems was made by his father in 1834. To ALFRED TENNYSON. ALFRED, I would that you beheld me now, On a quaint bench, which to that structure old Beyond, a gentle slope leads into shade Of mighty trees, to bend whose eminent crown And the gay humming things that Summer loves, |