"Ride into the town, and see if there's a letter for me," said the squire, one day to our hero.-" Yis, sir."

"You know where to go ?"-" To the town, sir."

"But do you know where to go in the town?"" No, sir." "And why don't you ask, you stupid thief?"—"Sure I'd find out, sir."

"Didn't I often tell you to ask what you're to do, when you don't know?"—" Yis, sir.”

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"And why don't you ?"—" I don't like to be throublesome, sir."

"Confound you!" said the squire; though he could not help laughing at Andy's excuse for remaining in ignorance.

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"Well," continued he, "go to the post-office. You know the post-office, I suppose?" Yis, sir; where they sell gunpowdher."

"You're right for once," said the squire; for his Majesty's postmaster was the person who had the privilege of dealing in the aforesaid combustible. "Go then to the post-office, and ask for a letter for me. Remember, Remember, not gunpowder, but a letter."

"Yis, sir," said Andy, who got astride of his hack, and trotted away to the post-office. On arriving at the shop of the postmaster, (for that person carried on a brisk trade in groceries, gimlets, broad-cloth, and linen-drapery,) Andy presented himself at the counter, and said,

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"I want a letther, sir, if you plaze."

"Who do you want it for ?" said the postmaster, in a tone which Andy considered an aggression upon the sacredness of private life: so Andy thought the coolest contempt he could throw upon the prying impertinence of the postmaster was to repeat his question.

"I want a letther, sir, if you plaze."

"And who do you want it for?" repeated the postmaster. "What's that to you?" said Andy.

The postmaster, laughing at his simplicity, told him he could not tell what letter to give him unless he told him the direction. "The directions I got was to get a letther here, that's the directions."

"Who gave you those directions ?". "The masther." "And who's your master?"-"What consarn is that o' yours?"

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Why, you stupid rascal! if you don't tell me his name, how can I give you a letter ?"-"You could give it if you liked; but you 're fond of axin' impidint questions, bekaze you think I'm simple."

"Go along out o' this! Your master must be as great a goose as yourself, to send such a messenger.". "Bad luck to your impidince?" said Audy; " is it Squire Egan you dar to say goose to?"

"Oh, Squire Egan's your master, then ?"-" Yis; have you anything to say agin it?"

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Only that I never saw you before."-" Faith, then you '11 never see me agin if I have my own consint."

"I won't give you any letter for the squire, unless I know 're his servant. Is there any one in the town knows you ?” Plenty," said Andy; "it's not every one is as ignorant as

you

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you."

Just at this moment a person entered the house to get a letter, to whom Andy was known; and he vouched to the postmaster that the account he gave of himself was true." You may give him the squire's letter. Have you one for me?"-"Yes, sir,' said the postmaster, producing one: "fourpence."

The new-comer paid the fourpence postage, and left the shop with his letter.

"Here's a letter for the squire," said the postmaster. "You've to pay me elevenpence postage."

"What 'ud I pay elevenpence for ?"" For postage."

"To the divil wid you! Didn't I see you give Mr. Delany a letther for fourpence this minit, and a bigger letther than this? and now you want me to pay elevenpence for this scrap a thing. Do you think I'am a fool ?"

of

"Well,

"No; but I'm sure of it," said the postmaster. you're welkim to think what you plaze; but don't be delayin' me now; here's fourpence for you, and gi' me the letther." "Go along, you stupid thief?" said the postmaster, taking up the letter, and going to serve a customer with a mousetrap.

While this person and many others were served, Andy lounged up and down the shop, every now and then putting in his head in the middle of the customers, and saying, "Will you gi' me the letther ?"

He waited for above half an hour, in defiance of the anathemas of the postmaster, and at last left, when he found it impossible to get the common justice for his master which he thought he deserved as well as another man; for, under this impression, Andy determined to give no more than the fourpence.

The squire in the mean time was getting impatient for his return, and, when Andy made his appearance, asked if there was a letter for him." There is, sir," said Andy.

"Then give it to me."-" I haven't it, sir."

"What do you mean ?" "He wouldn't give it to me, sir." "Who wouldn't give it to you?"-" That owld chate beyant in the town, wanting to charge double for it."

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Maybe it's a double letter. Why the devil didn't you pay what he asked, sir?"-" Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated? It's not a double letther at all: not above half the size o' one Mr. Delany got before my face for fourpence."

"You'll provoke me to break your neck some day, you va gabond! Ride back for your life, you omadhaun! and pay what

ever he asks, and get me the letter."-" Why, sir, I tell you he was sellin' them before my face for fourpence a-piece."

"Go back, you scoundrel! or I'll horsewhip you; and if you're longer than an hour, I'll have you ducked in the horsepond!"

Andy vanished, and made a second visit to the post office. When he arrived, two other persons were getting letters, and the postmaster was selecting the epistles for each, from a parcel of them that lay before him on the counter; at the same time many shop customers were waiting to be served.

"I'm come for that letther," said Andy.-"I'll attend to you by-and-by."

"The masther's in a hurry."-" Let him wait till his hurry's

over.

"He'll murther me if I'm not back soon."-"I'm glad to hear it."

While the postmaster went on with such provoking answers to these appeals for despatch, Andy's eye caught the heap of letters that lay on the counter; so, while certain weighing of soap and tobacco was going forward, he contrived to become possessed of two letters from the heap, and, having effected that, waited patiently enough until it was the great man's pleasure to give him the missive directed to his master.

Then did Andy bestride his hack, and, in triumph at his trick on the postmaster, rattle along the road homeward as fast as his hack could carry him. He came into the squire's presence, his face beaming with delight, and an air of self-satisfied superiority in his manner, quite unaccountable to his master, until he pulled forth his hand, which had been grubbing up his prizes from the bottom of his pocket; and holding three letters over his head, while he said, "Look at that!" he next slapped them down under his broad fist on the table before the squire, saying,

"Well! if he did make me pay elevenpence, by gor, I brought your honour the worth o' your money, anyhow!"

Then home he went, sore discontent,

And many an oath he swore,

And he kicked up rows with his children and spouse,
When they met him at the door.

Next market-day he drove away
To the town his loaded wain:
The farmers all, save Farmer Wall,
They sold off all their grain.

No bidder he found, and he stood astound

At the close of the market day,

When the market was done, and the chapmen were gone
Each man his several way.

He stalked by his load along the road;
His face with wrath was red:

His arms he tossed, like a good man crossed
In seeking his daily bread.

His face was red, and fierce was his tread,
And with lusty voice cried he,

"My corn I'll sell to the devil of hell,
If he 'll my chapman be."

These words he spoke just under an oak

Seven hundred winters old;

And he straight was aware of a man sitting there
On the roots and grassy mould.

The roots rose high, o'er the green-sward dry,
And the grass around was green,
Save just the space of the stranger's place,
Where it seemed as fire had been.

All scorched was the spot, as gipsy-pot
Had swung and bubbled there:

The grass was marred, the roots were charred,
And the ivy stems were bare.

The stranger up-sprung: to the farmer he flung
A loud and friendly hail,

And he said, "I see well, thou hast corn to sell,
And I'll buy it on the nail."

The twain in a trice agreed on the price;

The stranger his earnest paid,

And with horses and wain to come for the grain

His own appointment made.

The farmer cracked his whip, and tracked

His way right merrily on:

He struck up a song as he trudged along,

For joy that his job was done.

His children fair he danced in the air;
His heart with joy was big;

He kissed his wife; he seized a knife,
He slew a sucking pig.

The faggots burned, the porkling turned
And crackled before the fire;

And an odour arose, that was sweet in the hose
Of a passing ghostly friar.

He twirled at the pin, he entered in,

He sate down at the board;

The pig he blessed, when he saw it well dressed, And the humming ale out-poured.

The friar laughed, the friar quaffed,

He chirped like a bird in May;

The farmer told how his corn he had sold
As he journeyed home that day.

The friar he quaffed, but no longer he laughed,
He changed from red to pale:

"Oh, helpless elf! 'tis the fiend himself

To whom thou hast made thy sale!"

The friar he quaffed, he took a deep draught; He crossed himself amain :

"Oh, slave of pelf! 'tis the devil himself
To whom thou hast sold thy grain!

"And sure as the day, he'll fetch thee away,
With the corn which thou hast sold,
If thou let him pay o'er one tester more
Than thy settled price in gold."

The farmer gave vent to a loud lament,
The wife to a long outcry;
Their relish for pig and ale was flown;
The friar alone picked every bone,
And drained the flagon dry.

The friar was gone: the morning dawn
Appeared, and the stranger's wain
Came to the hour, with six-horse power,
To fetch the purchased grain.

The horses were black: on their dewy track
Light steam from the ground up-curled ;
Long wreaths of smoke from their nostrils broke,
And their tails like torches whirled.

More dark and grim, in face and limb,
Seemed the stranger than before,

As his empty wain, with steeds thrice twain,
Drew up to the farmer's door.