e my own, would prefer a jet d'eau at
Versailles to this cascade with all its accompaniments of rock and roar;
but this is Flora's Parnassus, Captain Waverley, and that fountain her
Helicon. It would be greatly for the benefit of my cellar if she could
teach her coadjutor, Mac-Murrough, the value of its influence: he has
just drunk a pint of usquebaugh to correct, he said, the coldness of the
claret.--Let me try its virtues.' He sipped a little water in the hollow
of his hand, and immediately commenced, with a theatrical air,--

'O Lady of the desert, hail!
That lov'st the harping of the Gael,
Through fair and fertile regions borne,
Where never yet grew grass or corn.

But English poetry will never succeed under the influence of a Highland
Helicon.--ALLONS, COURAGE!--

O vous, qui buvez, a tasse pleine,
A cette heureuse fontaine,
Ou on ne voit, sur le rivage,
Que quelques vilains troupeaux,
Suivis de nymphes de village,
Qui les escortent sans sabots'--

'A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid persons
of all Arcadia. Do not, for Heaven's sake, bring down Coridon and Lindor
upon us.'

'Nay, if you cannot relish LA HOULETTE ET LE CHALUMEAU, have with you in
heroic strains.'

'Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of
Mac-Murrough's cup, rather than of mine.'

'I disclaim it, MA BELLE DEMOISELLE, although I protest it would be the
more congenial of the two. Which of your crackbrained Italian romancers
is it that says,

Io d'Elicona niente
Mi curo, in fe de Dio, che'il bere d'acque
(Bea chi ber ne vuol) sempre me spiacque!
[Good sooth, I reck not of your Helicon;
Drink water whoso will, in faith I will drink none.]

But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley, here is little Cathleen
shall sing you Drimmindhu.--Come, Cathleen, ASTORE (i.e. my dear),
begin; no apologies to the CEANKINNE.'

Cathleen sang with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the burlesque
elegy of a countryman on the loss of his cow, the comic tones of which,
though he did not understand the language, made Waverley laugh more
than once. [This ancient Gaelic ditty is still well known, both in the
Highlands and in Ireland. It was translated into English, and published,
if I mistake not, under the auspices of the facetious Tom D'Urfey, by
the title of 'Colley, my Cow.']

'Admirable, Cathleen!' cried the Chieftain; 'I mu