uinity; but failing in that object, after
most minute investigation, he never withdrew his patronage. For many
years he watched over the rising fortunes of the family; and as the
young people arrived at maturity, provided for them as though they
were his own children, to the extent of many thousand pounds; and when
he died, he left among them the whole of his property. Now, though
the heart and conduct of this good man were truly benevolent, there
can be no question respecting the motive of his actions, for he often
avowed it. He was determined to _keep up_ the respectability of his
_name_; and with great pleasure we have to record that the few who now
bear it, move in a much higher circle than would have been their lot
but for him whose memory they hold in reverence, and consider as the
founder of their family. Reader! imitate him, and "keep up" the
respectability of your name.

THE WET WOOING.

A NARRATIVE OF NINETY-EIGHT.

[_MAGA._ APRIL 1832.]

It was in the autumn of 1798, when the North of Ireland had settled
down into comparative tranquillity, that I took up my quarters at
Knowehead, the grazing farm of a substantial relative, in the remote
pastoral valley of Glen---- in Antrim.

The second morning of my stay I had fished a considerable distance up
the river; but having broken my top in an unlucky leap, was sitting in
impatient bustle, lapping the fracture, and lamenting my ill fortune,
as ever and anon I would raise my eyes and see the fresh curl running
past my feet; when I perceived by the sudden blackening of the water,
and by an ominous but indescribable sensation of the air, that
something unusual was brewing overhead. I looked up: there it was, a
cloud, low-hung and lurid, and stretching across the whole northern
side of the horizon. I had scarce time to gather my clews and bobbins
into a hurried wisp, and take shelter under an overhanging bank hard
by, when down it came, heavy, hissing, and pelting the whole surface
of the river into spray. I drew myself close to the back of the
hollow, where I lay in a congratulatory sort of reverie, watching the
veins of muddy red, as they slowly at first, and then impetuously,
flowed through and finally displaced the dark spring water--the
efforts of the beaten rushes and waterflags, as they quivered and
flapped about under the shower's battery--the gradual increase of
swell and turbulence in the river opposite; and lower down, the war
which was already