6 . good, brave handful of a solid stick, but, my dear, it was well it didn't fly out o' my hand a'most, it was so light. Phew!' says I, what sort of a stick is this?' 'I tell you it's not a stick, but a cane,' says he. Faith! I b'lieve you,' says I. You see how good and light it is,' says he. Think o' that, sir! to call a stick good and light—as if there could be any good in life in a stick that wasn't heavy, and could sthreck a good blow! Is it jokin' you are?' says I. I. 'Don't you feel it yourself?' says he. Throth, I can hardly feel it at all,' says I. Sure that's the beauty of it,' says he. Think o' the ignorant vagabone! — to call a stick a beauty that was as light a'most as a bulrush! And so you can hardly feel it!' says he, grinnin'. Yis, indeed,' says I; and what's worse, I don't think I could make any one else feel it either.' 'Oh! you want a stick to bate people with!' says he. To be sure,' says I; 'sure that's the use of a stick.' To knock the sinsis out o' people!' says he, grinnin' again. Sartinly,' says I, 'if they're saucy' lookin' hard at him at the same time. Well, these is only walkin' sticks,' says he. Throth, you may say runnin' sticks,' says I, 'for you daren't stand before any one with sich a thraneen as that in your fist.' 'Well, pick out the heaviest o' them you plaze,' says he; 'take your choice.' So I wint pokin' and rummagin' among thim, and, if you believe me, there wasn't a stick in their whole shop worth a kick in the shins-divil a one! "But why did you require such a heavy stick for the priest?' "Bekase there is not a man in the parish wants it more," said Rory. "Is he so quarrelsome, then?" said the traveler. 66 No, but the greatest o' pacemakers," said Rory. "Then what does he want the heavy stick for?" "For wallopin' his flock, to be sure," said Rory. "Walloping!" said the traveler, choking with laughter. "Oh! you may laugh," said Rory, "but 'pon my sowl! you wouldn't laugh if you wor undher his hand, for he has a brave heavy one, God bless him and spare him to us!" "And what is all this walloping for?" "Why, sir, whin we have a bit of a fight, for fun, or the regular faction one, at the fair, his reverence sometimes hears of it, and comes av coorse." "Good God!" said the traveler, in real astonishment, "does the priest join the battle?" "No, no, no, sir! I see you're quite a sthranger in the But he counthry. The priest join it!-Oh! by no manes. comes and stops it; and, av coorse, the only way he can stop it is to ride into thim, and wallop thim all round before him, and disparse thim-scatther thim like chaff before the wind; and it's the best o' sticks he requires for that same." "But might he not have his heavy stick on purpose for that purpose, and make use of a lighter one on other occasions?" "As for that matther, sir," said Rory, "there's no knowin' the minit he might want it, for he is often necessitated to have recoorse to it. It might be, going through the village, the public house is too full, and in he goes and dhrives thim out. Oh! it would delight your heart to see the style he clears a public house in, in no time!" "But wouldn't his speaking to them answer the purpose as well?" "Oh, no! he doesn't like to throw away his discoorse on thim: and why should he?— he keeps that for the blessed althar on Sunday, which is a fitter place for it: besides, he does not like to be sevare on us." "Severe !" said the traveler, in surprise, "why, haven't you said that he thrashes you round on all occasions?" "Yis, sir; but what o' that?-sure that's nothin' to his tongue - his words is like swoords or razhors, I may say we're used to a lick of a stick every day, but not to sich language as his reverence sometimes murthers us with whin we displaze him. Oh! it's terrible, so it is, to have the weight of his tongue on you! Throth! I'd rather let him bate me from this till to-morrow, than have one angry word with him.” "I see, then, he must have a heavy stick," said the traveler. "To be sure he must, sir, at all times; and that was the raison I was so particular in the shop; and afther spendin' over an hour-would you b'lieve it? - divil a stick I could get in the place fit for a child, much less a man." "But about the gridiron ?" “Sure I'm tellin' you about it," said Rory; "only I'm not come to it yet. You see," continued he, "I was so disgusted with them shopkeepers in Dublin, that my heart was fairly broke with their ignorance, and I seen they knew nothin' at all about what I wanted, and so I came away without anything for his reverence, though it was on my mind all this day on the road; and comin' through the last town in the middle o' the rain, I thought of a gridiron." "A very natural thing to think of in a shower of rain," said the traveler. "No, 'twasn't the rain made me think of it -I think it was God put a gridiron in my heart, seein' that it was a present for the priest I intended; and when I thought of it, it came into my head, afther, that it would be a fine thing to sit on, for to keep one out of the rain, that was ruinatin' my cordheroys on the top o' the coach; so I kept my eye out as we dhrove along up the sthreet, and sure enough what should I see at a shop halfway down the town but a gridiron hanging up at the door! and so I wint back to get it." "But isn't a gridiron an odd present ?— hasn't his reverence one already?" "He had, sir, before it was bruk but that's what I remembered, for I happened to be up at his place one day, sittin' in the kitchen, when Molly was brilin' some mate an it for his reverence; and while she jist turned about to get a pinch o' salt to shake over it, the dog that was in the place made a dart at the gridiron on the fire, and threwn it down, and up he whips. the mate, before one of us could stop him. With that Molly whips up the gridiron, and says she, 'Bad luck to you, you disrespectful baste! would nothin' sarve you but the priest's dinner?' and she made a crack o' the gridiron at him. As you have the mate, you shall have the gridiron too,' says she; and with that she gave him such a rap on the head with it, that the bars flew out of it, and his head went through it, and away he pulled it out of her hands, and ran off with the gridiron hangin' round his neck like a necklace; and he went mad a'most with it; for though a kettle to a dog's tail is nath'rel, a gridiron round his neck is very surprisin' to him; and away he tatthered over the counthry, till there wasn't a taste o' the gridiron left together." RORY O'MORE. BY SAMUEL LOVER. YOUNG Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn; "With your tricks, I don't know, in troth, what I'm about; And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure? "Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like, The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be bound" "Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground." Sure I dream ev'ry night that I'm hating you so!" "Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough; Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck; And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with light, MR. PICKWICK'S ADVENTURE WITH THE MIDDLEAGED LADY IN YELLOW CURL PAPERS. BY CHARLES DICKENS. [CHARLES DICKENS, one of the greatest novelists and humorists of the world, was born February 7, 1812, at Portsea, Eng. His father being unprosperous, he had no regular education and much hardship; at fourteen became an attorney's clerk, and at seventeen a reporter. His first short story appeared in December, 1833; the collected "Sketches by Boz" in 1836, which also saw the first number of "The Pickwick Papers," finished in November, 1837. There followed "Oliver Twist, ," "Nicholas Nickleby," "Master Humphrey's Clock" (finally dissolved into the "Old Curiosity Shop" and "Barnaby Rudge "), the "American Notes," ," "Martin Chuzzlewit," the "Christmas Carol" (other Christmas stories followed later), "Notes from Italy," "Dombey and Son," "David Copperfield," "Bleak House," "Hard Times," "Little Dorrit," "Great Expectations,' ," "A Tale of Two Cities," "Our Mutual Friend," and the unfinished "Edwin Drood." Several of these, and his "Uncommercial Traveller" papers, appeared in All the Year Round, which he edited. He died June 9, 1870.] "THAT 'ere your governor's luggage, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller senior, of his affectionate son, as he entered the yard of the Bull Inn, Whitechapel, with a traveling bag and a small portmanteau. "You might ha' made a worser guess than that, old feller," replied Mr. Weller the younger, setting down his burden in the yard, and sitting himself down upon it afterwards. "The Governor hisself'll be down here presently." "He's a cabbin' it, I suppose?" said the father. "Yes, he's a havin' two mile o' danger at eight-pence," responded the son. "How's mother-in-law this mornin'?" "Queer, Sammy, queer," replied the elder Mr. Weller, with impressive gravity. "She's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical order lately, Sammy; and she is uncommon pious, to be sure. She's too good a creetur for me, Sammy-I feel I don't deserve her." "Ah," said Mr. Samuel, "that's wery self-denyin' o' you." "Wery," replied his parent, with a sigh. "She's got hold o' some inwention for grown-up people being born again, Sammy- the new birth, I thinks they calls it. I should wery much like to see that system in haction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see your mother-in-law born again. Wouldn't I put her out to nurse! "What do you think them women does t'other day?" continued Mr. Weller, after a short pause, during which he had significantly struck the side of his nose with his forefinger, some half-dozen times. "What do you think they does, t'other day, Sammy?" "Don't know," replied Sam, "what?” "Goes and gets up a grand tea drinkin' for a feller they calls their shepherd," said Mr. Weller. "I was a standing starin' in, at the pictur shop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it; Tickets half a crown. All applications to be made to the committee. Secretary, Mrs. Weller;' and when I got home, there was the committee a sittin' in our back parlor |