which had been brought over from Holland at the time of the settlement.

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folk were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence; and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder.

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with such fixed, statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth countenances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote together. His companion now emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game. By degrees Rip's awe subsided. He even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had much of the flavour of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to take another draught. One taste provoked another; and he repeated his visits to the flagon so often, that at length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes-it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were hopping and twittering amongst the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. "Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with the keg of

liquor the mountain ravine-the wild retreat among the rocks-the woe-begone party at nine-pins-the flagon. "Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip; "what excuse shall I make to Dame van Winkle?"

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave gentlemen of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and shouted his name, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and, if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip; "and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame van Winkle."

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

1. And are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think o' wark?
Ye jades, lay by your wheel;

Is this the time to spin a thread,
When Colin's at the door?

Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore;

For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a',

There's little pleasure in the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

2. And gi'e to me my bigonet,
My bishop's satin gown;
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's in the town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockings pearly blue,
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

3. Rise, lass, and make a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot,

Gi'e little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak' their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw,
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa'.

4. There's twa fat hens upon

the coop,

Been fed this month and mair;

Mak' haste and thraw their necks about,

That Colin weel may fare;

And spread the table neat and clean,

Gar ilka thing look braw,

For who can tell how Colin fared

When he was far awa'?

5. Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air ;

His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair.
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

6. If Colin's weel, and weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave;

And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest aboon the lave;

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',

There's little pleasure in the house,

When our gudeman's awa'.

WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.

XXXIII.

RIP VAN WINKLE.-IV.

With some difficulty Rip Van Winkle got down into the glen he found the gully up which he and his companion had ascended the preceding evening; but to his astonishment, a mountain stream was now foaming down it-leaping from rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch, and wild-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild grape-vines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of net-work in his path.

At length he reached the place where the ravine had