66 "What!" said Stackpole, " arn't thee the Pennsylvany warhorse, the screamer of the meeting-house, the bloody-mouthed ba'r of Yea-Nay-and-Verily?" 66 "I am a man of peace," said the submissive Slaughter. "Yea verily, verily and yea!" cried Ralph, snuffling through the nostrils, but assuming an air of extreme indignation. "Strannger, I've heerd of you! You're the man that holds it agin duty and conscience to kill Injuns, the redskin screamers that refuses to defend the women, the splendiferous creatur's! and the little children, the squall-a-baby d'ars! And wharfo'? Because as how you're a man of peace and no fight, you superiferous, long-legged, no-souled crittur! But I'm the gentleman to make a man of you. So down with your gun, and 'tarnal death to me, I'll whip the cowardly devil out of you." "Friend," said Nathan, his humility yielding to a feeling of contempt, "thee is theeself a cowardly person, or thee wouldn't seek a quarrel with one thee knows can't fight thee. Thee would not be so ready with thee match." With that, he stooped to gather up his skins, a proceeding that Stackpole, against whom the laugh was turned by this sally of Nathan's, resisted him by catching him by the nape of the neck, twirling him round, and making as if he really would have beaten him. Even this the peaceful Nathan bore without anger or murmuring; but his patience fled, when Stackpole, turning to the little dog, which by bristling its back and growling, expressed a half inclination to take up its master's quarrel, applied his foot to its ribs with a violence that sent it rolling some five or six yards down the hill, where it lay for a time yelping and whining with pain. "Friend!" said Nathan, sternly, "thee is but a dog theeself, to harm the creature! What will thee have with me?" "A fight! a fight, I tell thee!" replied Captain Ralph, "till I teach thy leatherified conscience the new doctrines of Kentucky." "Fight thee I cannot and dare not," said Nathan; and then added, much to the surprise of Forrester, who, sharing his indignation at the brutality of his tormentor, had approached to drive the fellow off, -"But if thee must have thee deserts, thee. shall have them. Thee prides theeself upon thee courage and strength will thee adventure with me a friendly fall?" "Hurrah for Bloody Nathan!" cried the young men, vastly delighted at his unwonted spirit, while Captain Ralph himself expressed his pleasure, by leaping into the air, crowing, and dashing off his hat, which he kicked down the hill with as much good will as he had previously bestowed upon the little dog. "Off with your leather nightcap, and down with your rifle," he cried, giving his own weapon into the hands of a looker-on, "and scrape some of the grease off your jacket; for, 'tarnal death to me, I shall give you the Virginny lock, fling you headfo'most, and you'll find yourself, in a twinkling, sticking fast right in the centre of the 'arth!" "Thee may find theeself mistaken," said Nathan, giving up his gun to one of the young men, but instead of rejecting his hat, pulling it down tight over his brows. "There is locks taught among the mountains of Bedford, that may be as good as them learned on the hills of Virginia-I am ready for thee." "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" cried Ralph Stackpole, springing towards his man, and clapping his hands, one on Nathan's left shoulder, the other on his right hip: "Are you ready?” "I am," replied Nathan. "Down then, you go, war you a buffalo!" And with that the captain of the horse-thieves put forth his strength, which was very great, in an effort that appeared to Roland quite irresistible; though, as it happened, it scarce moved Nathan from his position. "Thee is mistaken, friend!" he cried, exerting his strength in return, and with an effort that no one had anticipated. By magic, as it seemed, the heels of the captain of the horse-thieves were suddenly seen flying in the air, his head aiming at the earth, upon which it as suddenly descended with the violence of a bombshell; and there it would doubtless have burrowed, like the aforesaid implement of destruction, had the soil been soft enough for the purpose, or exploded into a thousand fragments, had not the shell been double the thickness of an ordinary skull. "Huzza! Bloody Nathan for ever!" shouted the delighted villagers. "He has killed the man," said Forrester; "but bear witness, all, the fellow provoked his fate.” "Thanks to you, strannger! but not so dead as you reckon," said Ralph, rising to his feet, and scratching his poll with a stare of comical confusion. "I say, strannger, here's my shoulders, but whar's my head? Do you reckon I had the worst of it?" "Huzza for Bloody Nathan Slaughter! He has whipped the ramping tiger of Salt River!" cried the young men of the station. "Well, I reckon he has," said the magnanimous Captain Ralph, picking up his hat: then, walking up to Nathan, who had taken his dog into his arms, to examine into the little animal's hurts, he cried, with much good-humored energy,"Thar's my fo'paw, in token I've had enough of you, and want no mo'." [Of course Nathan is himself the Jibbenainosay.] RORY O'MORE'S PRESENT TO THE PRIEST. BY SAMUEL LOVER. [SAMUEL LOVER, Irish artist, songster, and story-teller, was born in Dublin in 1797. He began as an artist, acquiring repute as a miniature painter and becoming secretary of the Royal Hibernian Society of Arts. His "Legends and Stories of Ireland" (1831, gave him reputation as an author. About 1835 he went to London, and became very popular as an entertainer, singing his own songs in companies, to his own music (collected 1839). In 1837 he published the novel "Rory O'More," which was a great success and was dramatized; in 1842" Handy Andy" appeared. In 1844 he began giving public entertainments with his own songs and recitations, which had great vogue in England and America. He died July 6, 1868.] "WHY, thin, I'll tell you," said Rory. "I promised my mother to bring a present to the priest from Dublin, and I could not make up my mind rightly what to get all the time I was there. I thought of a pair o' top-boots; for, indeed, his reverence's is none of the best, and only you know them to be top-boots, you would not take them to be top-boots, bekase the bottoms has been put in so often that the tops is wore out intirely, and is no more like top-boots than my brogues. So I wint to a shop in Dublin, and picked out the purtiest pair o' top-boots I could see;-whin I say purty, I don't mane a flourishin' taarin' pair, but sich as was fit for a priest, a respectable pair o' boots; and with that, I pulled out my good money to pay for thim, whin jist at that minit, remembering the thricks o' the town, I bethought o' myself, and says I, 'I suppose these are the right thing?' says I to the man. You can thry them,' says he. How can I thry them?' says I. 'Pull them on you,' says he. Throth, an' I'd be sorry,' says I, 'to take sich a liberty with them,' says I. Why, aren't you goin' to ware thim?' says he. Is it me?' says I, 'me ware top-boots? Do you think it's takin' lave of my sinsis I am?' says I.—Then what do you want to buy them for?' says he. For his reverence, Father Kinshela,' says I. Are they the right sort for him?'-'How should I know? says he. You're a purty bootmaker,' says I, 'not to know how to make a priest's boot!'How do I know his size?' says he. --'Oh, don't be comin' off that away,' says I. There's no sich great differ betune priests and other min!'" "I think you were very right there," said the pale traveler. "To be sure, sir," said Rory; "and it was only jist a come off for his own ignorance. Tell me his size,' says the fellow, and I'll fit him.'-'He's betune five and six fut,' says I. — 'Most men are,' says he, laughin' at me. He was an impidint fellow. 'It's not the five, nor six, but his two feet I want to know the size of,' says he. So I persaived he was jeerin' me, and says I, Why, thin, you respectful vagabone o' the world, you Dublin jackeen! do you mane to insinivate that Father Kinshela ever wint barefutted in his life, that I could know the size of his fut,' says I; and with that I threw the boots in his face. Take that,' says I, 'you dirty thief o' the world! you impidint vagabone o' the world! you ignorant citizen o' the world!' And with that I left the place." "It is their usual practice," said the traveler, "to take measure of their customers." "Is it, thin?" "It really is." "See that, now!" said Rory, with an air of triumph. "You would think that they wor cleverer in the town than in the counthry; and they ought to be so, by all accounts; — but in the regard of what I towld you, you see, we're before them intirely." "How so?" said the traveler. “Arrah! bekase they never throuble people in the counthry at all with takin' their measure; but you jist go to a fair, and bring your fut along with you, and somebody else dhrives a cartful o' brogues into the place, and there you sarve yourself; and so the man gets his money and you get your shoes, and every one's plazed. "But what I mane is where did I lave off tellin' you about the present for the priest? — wasn't it at the bootmaker's shop? yes, that was it. Well, sir, on laving the shop, as soon as I kem to myself afther the fellow's impidince, I begun to think what was the next best thing I could get for his reverence; and with that, while I was thinkin' about it, I seen a very respectable owld gintleman goin' by, with the most beautiful stick in his hand I ever set my eyes on, and a goolden head to it that was worth its weight in goold; and it gev him such an iligant look altogether, that says I to myself, 'It's the very thing for Father Kinshela, if I could get sich another.' And so I wint lookin' about me every shop I seen as I wint by, and at last, in a sthreet they call Dame Sthreet—and, by the same token, I didn't know why they called it Dame Sthreet till I ax'd; and I was towld they called it Dame Sthreet bekase the ladies were so fond o' walkin' there; and lovely craythurs they wor! and I can't b'lieve that the town is such an onwholesome place to live in, for most o' the ladies I seen there had the most beautiful rosy cheeks I ever clapt my eyes upon -and the beautiful rowlin' eyes o' them! Well, it was in Dame Sthreet, as I was sayin', that I kem to a shop where there was a power o' sticks, and so I wint in and looked at thim ; and a man in the place kem to me and ax'd me if I wanted a cane? No,' says I, 'I don't want a cane; it's a stick I want,' says I. A cane, you mane,' says he. . - for I was determined to have no stick, 'No,' says I, 'it's a cane, but to stick to 'I don't want a nate Faith!' says he, one,' says I, but a responsible one,' says I. 'if an Irishman's stick was responsible, it would have a great dale to answer for' - and he laughed a power. I didn't know myself what he meant, but that's what he said." "It was because you asked for a responsible stick," said the traveler. "And why wouldn't I," said Rory, "when it was for his reverence I wanted it? Why wouldn't he have a nice-lookin', respectable, responsible stick?" "Certainly," said the traveler. "Well, I picked out one that looked to my likin’— a good substantial stick, with an ivory top to it-for I seen that the goold-headed ones was so dear I couldn't come up to them; and so says I, 'Give me a howld o' that,' says I—and I tuk a grip iv it. I never was so surprised in my life. I thought to get a |