ield and many a night's
carouse. "What comes next?"

"Ay!" cried Andy.

"Says he, 'When the wind
Laves no scent behind,
To keep the dogs out 's a sin;
I 'll be d--d if I stay,
To lose my day,
This mornin' at Corralin.'"

But ye see he was out in his reck'nin'!" cried Andy; "for, as if

"To give him the lie,
There rose a cry,
As the hounds came yelpin' in;
And from every throat
There swelled one note,
That moruin' at Corralin."

A fit of coughing, brought on by a vigorous attempt to imitate the cry
of a pack, here closed Andy's minstrelsy; and Ellen, who seemed to have
anticipated some such catastrophe, now induced her father to return
to the sitting-room, while she proceeded to use those principles of
domestic medicine clapping on the back and cold water usually deemed of
efficacy in like cases.

"There now, no more singing, but take up your knife and do what I bade
you," said she, affecting an air of rebuke; while the old man, whose
perceptions did not rise above those of a spaniel, hung down his head
in silence. At the same moment the outer door of the kitchen opened, and
Kate Dalton entered. Taller and several years younger than her sister,
she was in the full pride of that beauty of which blue eyes and dark
hair are the chief characteristics, and is deemed by many as peculiarly
Irish. Delicately fair, and with features regular as a Grecian model,
there was a look of brilliant, almost of haughty, defiance about her, to
which her gait and carriage seemed to contribute; nor could the humble
character of her dress, where strictest poverty declared itself,
disguise the sentiment.

"How soon you're back, dearest!" said Ellen, as she took off the
dripping cloak from her sister's shoulders.

"And only think, Ellen, I was obliged to go to Lichtenthal, where little
Hans spends all his evenings in the winter season, at the 'Hahn!' And
just fancy his gallantry! He would see me home, and would hold up
the umbrella, too, over my head, although it kept his own arm at full
stretch; while, by the pace we walked, I did as much for his legs. It is
very ungrateful to laugh at him, for he said a hundred pretty things to
me, about my courage to venture out in such weather, about my accent as
I spoke German, and lastly, in praise of my skill as a sculptor. Only
fancy, Ellen, what a humiliation for me to confess that these pretty
devices were yours, and not mine; a