"Good night, sir," replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside the door-shook his head walked onstopped-snuffed the candle-shook his head again- and finally proceeded slowly to his chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation. THE BELLS OF SHANDON. BY FRANCIS MAHONY. [FRANCIS MAHONY, better known as "Father Prout," was born in Cork, Ireland, 1804. He was educated by the Jesuits at Amiens, studied theology at Paris, and became a priest. In London he formed one of the famous group about Maginn who wrote for Fraser's Magazine, and about 1834 began to contribute to it under the name of “Father Prout,” mainly translations of English songs into foreign languages and foreign ones into English, which remain his literary monument. Later he was correspondent of English papers from Rome and Paris. Though much more wit, diner-out, bohemian, and scholarly littérateur than priest, he remained faithful to the beliefs and loyal to the pride of his church. He died in May, 1866.] WITH deep affection And recollection, I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Sweet Cork, of thee, With thy bells of Shandon That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee. I've heard bells chiming Cathedral shrine, While at a glib rate Brass tongues would vibrate; But all their music I've heard bells tolling From the Vatican; But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly: Oh, the bells of Shandon Of the river Lee. There's a bell in Moscow, While on tower and kiosk, oh, In Saint Sophia The Turkman gets, And loud in air Calls men to prayer, From the tapering summits Of tall minarets. Such empty phantom More dear to me: Of the river Lee. SAM SLICK AND THE NOVA SCOTIANS. BY THOMAS CHANDLER HALIBURTON. [THOMAS CHANdler HaliburTON, Canadian judge and humorist, was born in Windsor, Nova Scotia, December, 1796; called to the bar in 1820; chief justice of the Court of Common Pleas and judge of the Supreme Court from 1828 to 1856, when he resigned and removed to England, where he remained till his death, August 27, 1865. He wrote very many works, including a history of Nova Scotia; but one of them has sunk deep into popular memory, -"The Clockmaker; or, Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of Slickville" (1837-1840). It was the first work in which "dialect" American was used; Artemus Ward says it founded the American school of humor. It is a bitter satire on the sluggishness and inefficiency of the Nova Scotians, contrasted with the alert wits of the New Englanders.] THE CLOCKMAKER. I HAD heard of Yankee clock peddlers, tin peddlers, and Bible peddlers, especially of him who sold Polyglot Bibles (all in English) to the amount of sixteen thousand pounds. The house of every substantial farmer had three substantial ornaments,a wooden clock, a tin reflector, and a Polyglot Bible. How is it that an American can sell his wares, at whatever price he pleases, where a bluenose would fail to make a sale at all? I will inquire of the Clockmaker the secret of his success. "What a pity it is, Mr. Slick" (for such was his name), "what a pity it is," said I, "that you, who are so successful in teaching these people the value of clocks, could not also teach them the value of time." "I guess," said he, "they have got that ring to grow on their horns yet, which every four-year-old has in our country. We reckon hours and minutes to be dollars and cents. They do nothing in these parts, but eat, drink, smoke, sleep, ride about, lounge at taverns, make speeches at temperance meetings, and talk about 'House of Assembly.' If a man don't hoe his corn, and he don't hoe a crop, he says it is all owing to the Bank; and if he runs into debt and is sued, why he says the lawyers are a curse to the country. They are a most idle set of folks, I tell you.' "But how is it," said I, "that you manage to sell such an immense number of clocks (which certainly cannot be called necessary articles) among a people with whom there seems to be so great a scarcity of money?" Mr. Slick paused, as if considering the propriety of answer ing the question, and looking me in the face said, in a confidential tone," Why, I don't care if I do tell you, for the market is glutted, and I shall quit this circuit. It is done by a knowledge of soft sawder and human natur. But here is Deacon Flint's," said he; "I have but one clock left, and I guess I will sell it to him." At the gate of a most comfortable-looking farmhouse stood Deacon Flint, a respectable old man, who had understood the value of time better than most of his neighbors, if one might judge from the appearance of everything about him. After the usual salutation, an invitation to "alight" was accepted by Mr. Slick, who said he wished to take leave of Mrs. Flint before he left Colchester. We had hardly entered the house, before the Clockmaker pointed to the view from the window, and, addressing himself to me, said, "If I was to tell them in Connecticut, there was such a farm as this away down east here in Nova Scotia, they wouldn't believe me - why there ain't such a location in all New England. The Deacon has a hundred acres of dike — "Seventy," said the Deacon, "only seventy." "Well, seventy; but then there is your fine deep bottom, why I could run a ramrod into it "Interval, we call it," said the Deacon, who, though evidently pleased at this eulogium, seemed to wish the experiment of the ramrod to be tried in the right place. "Well, interval, if you please (though Professor Eleazar Cumstick, in his work on Ohio, calls them bottoms), is just as good as dike. Then there is that water privilege, worth 3000 or 4000 dollars, twice as good as what Governor Cass paid 15,000 dollars for. I wonder, Deacon, you don't put up a carding mill on it: the same works would carry a turning lathe, a shingle machine, a circular saw, grind bark, and "Too old," said the Deacon, "too old for all those speculations."-"Old," repeated the Clockmaker, "not you; why you are worth half a dozen of the young men we see nowadays; you are young enough to have he said something in a lower tone of voice, which I did not distinctly hear; but whatever it was, the Deacon was pleased; he smiled and said he did not think of such things now. "here "But your beasts, dear me, your beasts must be put in and have a feed," saying which, he went out to order them to be taken to the stable. As the old gentleman closed the door after him, Mr. Slick drew near to me, and said in an undertone, "That is what I call 'soft sawder.' An Englishman would pass that man as a sheep passes a hog in a pasture, without looking at him; or," said he, looking rather archly, "if he was mounted on a pretty smart horse, I guess he'd trot away, if he could. Now I find" here his lecture on "soft sawder was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Flint. "Jist come to say good-by, Mrs. Flint." "What, have you sold all your clocks?" "Yes, and very low, too, for money is scarce, and I wished to close the consarn; no, I am wrong in saying all, for I have just one left. Neighbor Steel's wife asked to have the refusal of it, but I guess I won't sell it; I had but two of them, this one and the feller of it, that I sold Governor Lincoln. General Green, the Secretary of State for Maine, said he'd give me 50 dollars for this here one-it has composition wheels and patent axles, it is a beautiful article a real first chop-no mistake, genuine superfine, but I guess I'll take it back; and beside, Squire Hawk might think kinder harder, that I did not give him the offer." "Dear me," said Mrs. Flint, "I should like to see it; where is it?" "It is in a chest of mine over the way, at Tom Tape's store. I guess he can ship it on to Eastport." "That's a good man," said Mrs. Flint, "jist let's look at it." Mr. Slick, willing to oblige, yielded to these entreaties, and soon produced the clock, a gaudy, highly varnished, trumpery-looking affair. He placed it on the chimney-piece, where its beauties were pointed out and duly appreciated by Mrs. Flint, whose admiration was about ending in a proposal, when Mr. Flint returned from giving his directions about the care of the horses. The Deacon praised the clock, he too thought it a handsome one; but the Deacon was a prudent man, he had a watch he was sorry, but he had no occasion for a clock. “I guess you're in the wrong furrow this time, Deacon, it ain't for sale," said Mr. Slick; “and if it was, I reckon neighbor Steel's wife would have it, for she gives me no peace about it.' Mrs. Flint said that Mr. Steel had enough to do, poor man, to pay his interest, without buying clocks for his wife. "It's no consarn of mine," said Mr. Slick, "as long as he pays me, what he has to do, but I guess I don't want to sell it, and besides it comes too high; that clock can't be made at Rhode Island under 40 dollars. Why, it ain't possible," said the Clockmaker, in apparent surprise, looking at his watch, "why, as I'm alive it is 4 o'clock, and if I haven't been two hours here - how on airth shall I reach River Philip to-night? I'll tell you what, Mrs. |