of what she, of all things, considered as sacred to cleanliness, and hearing him lapping the buttermilk, ran towards him, exclaiming, "De'il's in the worriecow, is he gaun to pollute my hail kirn o' mulk wi' his ill-fared greasy gab and moosty pash!" While she accompanied the exclamation with a smart blow on the musician's back. Monsieur Coulon, eager at the draught, and about precisely poised on the churn, no sooner received the blow, than it threw him off his balance, and to the utter dismay of all present, was seen to pop head-foremost into the gaping vessel. The Frenchman's heels were instantly kicking in the air, while a loud gurgling noise ised from the churn that demanded instant attention. In the twinkling of an eye I dashed forward, and seized the struggling musician by the limbs, and with one effort extricated the poor fellow from his wooden surtout. But what words can describe or what pencil delineate the absurd and ridiculous appearance of the half-drowned horn-blower. Gasping for breath, and struggling for vision, he stood before us in all the insignia of this new order of the Bath, with a countenance whose yellow wrinkles poured down streams of buttermilk, while adown his long queue a torrent rushed from the wellsoaked fountain of his wig. The matron was in the deepest distress for having been the innocent cause of such a mishap to the poor Frenchman; and to an infinity of apologies added every exertion in her power to restore his garb and his temper to their former propriety. While Monsieur Coulon was busily making up matters with the matron and her mirror,, the roll of a distant drum awakened attention, and hinted to us the necessity of an immediate retreat. Having each pulled a piece from our purse, we pressed it on the gudewife; but it was not till we had qualified the gift by telling her to lay it out on something for her daughter that she would consent to touch our silver. On regaining the bridge, we learned that the troop of Glasgow volunteer cavalry had, previous to our arrival, dispersed the whole pitch-fork belligerent band of discontents, who, after burning the parish records of Kilpatrick, had taken up a position on a neighbouring hill. There being no further danger apprehended, the idea a fearful one to those accustomed to feather-beds-of our corps bivou acking that night on the lawn of Garscube was abandoned. The colonel, after a lengthy harangue, in which he declared that the regiment under his command had that day done | honour to itself, and, as usual, mixed up the sermon with what he had himself accomplished on the 6th January, 1781, at last gave the welcome word of "Right about, face," and off marched the volunteers at a smart pace for the city. As we trudged along the road, more occupied with the freaks of the foray than the feats of our prowess, a furious-looking dog was seen to rush down from a farm-steading a little off the road, whose appearance gave strong and determined symptoms of combativeness. On observing it approaching, I instantly halted, and called out to my punchy foraging companion, "Huzza! G-; there's an enemy at last for you-will you meet him?" "By gom! that's an awfu' illfared neebour," said my friend; "shall it be blood?" And, without waiting a reply, up went his musket to the shoulder-off went the shot; but, alas! on came the mastiff. The danger was imminent; the dog looked as bold as a lion. "Charge bayonets!" cried I-"A la victoire!" blew M. Coulon; and in a moment the supposed disseminator of hydrophobia received such a tickling of the steel as sent him to the rightabout in a twinkling. My portly friend, however, was not to be satisfied with merely flanking the enemy. He had determined that no quarter should be given, and, bent on signalizing himself, he made another fearful thrust at the retreating foe. Happily, however, for the dog, but unfortunately for the volunteer, the lunge missed its object, the steel pierced the earth, and over went my friend headforemost into the ditch, at the expense, too, of his bayonet, which snapped asunder under the force and pressure of seventeen stone. After the tuilzie with the mastiff, nothing remarkable happened till we arrived within a mile of Glasgow. Here, however, a scene occurred that is yet fresh in my recollection, while it still occasions considerable merriment among the small knot of septuagenarians that gazed upon it then. The rear-guard having telegraphed the approach of cavalry, the colonel instantly threw the battalion into a position to receive them, and sent out a few skirmishers to reconnoitre. On these falling back, with the intelligence that the commander of the advancing corps (which was the Glasgow light horse) had given the countersign and parole, the colonel wheeled us into line, and when the dragoons were in the act of passing, ordered a general salute. The glittering of the firelocks and the noise of the music created, as might be supposed, a very considerable confusion to the corn-chest, which she soon reached, to among individuals who were almost as ignorant of a cover as a campaign-a confusion which the captain, from having his charger burdened with a prisoner, who most unmilitarily occupied the front of the saddle, felt some difficulty to calm. But if the majority of this troop of chasseurs felt rather uneasy in their saddles on this saluting occasion, there was one in particular in the rear whose position and countenance betokened anything but security and self-possession. The galloway which this awkward wight bestrode being as fiery as the proboscis of her rider, no sooner had fixed her eye on so many new faces than she showed an evident disposition to dissolve immediately her present co-partnery. The perilous prancings and curious curvettings that succeeded, having attracted attention, what was the astonishment of all to find that the light dragoon was no other than the wouldbe Bailie Lawboard, whose picture the barber had drawn so graphically in the morning. It was now evident that the poor deacon's desire for notoriety had here led him a rather dangerous dance, since it was plain to all that his scat would not long remain either secure or a sinecure. Guiltless alike of the rules of Gambado and of Pembroke, the tailor soon lost all command of his steed, while the persuaders, from the early habit which their wearer had acquired of drawing up his legs when in danger, having been brought to bear rather unceremoniously on the flanks of the mare, made her as unceremoniously throw up her heels, and eject the dragoon from his saddle. The animal, finding the rider embracing her rather too kindly round the neck, and feeling the usual restrainers dangling about her ears, set off at full gallop, and it was now a hundred guineas to a goose that the chasseur would be, ere a few minutes, gazetted a field officer. To the footpads, as the volunteers were opprobriously designated by their brethren on horseback, the appearance of a trooper charging in the manner of the deacon was anything but gall and wormwood; and no sooner did the corps recognize the copper nose of the snip in a John Gilpin attitude, than they, in defiance of all order, simultaneously roared out, "There goes the tailor riding to Brentford!" The loud shout, followed by a louder bang of the bass drum, having put more mettle into the galloway's heels, she soon shot ahead of the troop, and having shied and flung up her heels at an abrupt turn of the road, off went the tailor over the hedge into a cornfield, and on went the mare over the toll-bar ter. the utter consternation of the snip's anxious consort, who awaited his arrival. The deacon, though a little alarmed, was far more comfortable than he had been for many minutes before, on finding himself, like Commodore Trunnion, thus safely riding at anchor. The colonel, fearing, however, that some medical assistance might be requisite, and recollecting that the troop boasted only a farrier, instantly despatched his orderly for the volunteer surgeon, who rode in the rear of the corps. This son of Esculapius, though at the head of his profession, was a gentleman of a most somnolent disposition, and what is more singular, his steed partook of the poppy-juice qualities of its masThere was this happy peculiarity, however, about the horse and the rider, that both were never found in the arms of Morpheus together. On this occasion the surgeon, having no gun-shot wounds to attend to, had given way to his usual propensity on leaving Garscube, while his horse continued so sharply awake, as to have carried his master through the whole manoeuvres which the regiment had performed on the march. The surgeon having been roused from his snooze by the orderly, instantly galloped off to the assistance of the trooper, who had, however, previous to his reaching the ground, got fairly on his legs, and was taking considerable credit for throwing himself off so neatly. The doctor, having applied a finger to the tailor's pulse, and having passed his hand over his limbs, declared him free from blemish, and that there was no necessity for prescribing any other medicine than a walk to the city. The doctor and the deacon having taken their position in the rear of the regiment, it proceeded onward, and soon found itself within the precincts of Glasgow. On entering the city the band immediately struck up "Caller Herring," the sounds of which made every window fly open, and suggested to every cook the necessity of making instant preparation for the approach of her hungry master. Fearing, however, that the instructive melody might not altogether tell on the deaf ears of Girzy, my fat friend, who had agreed to take a steak with me, no sooner saw my old housekeeper at the window than he bawled out at the top of his voice, "Girzy, my lass, you may put on the taties noo!" Scarcely had the pleasing sound reached the ear of old Girzy, than I was accosted by the well-known "Guadeo valere" of Ritchie Falconer, who, after sarcastically exclaiming, "Fortuna favet fortibus," breathlessly inquired what had befallen his customer the deacon, and told us of the consternation of his wife. The story of the tailor's mishap satisfied the barber, while the appearance of Lawboard himself quieted the fearful prognostications of his anxious helpmate. The corps, on reaching its usual place of rendezvous, was immediately dispersed, while the soldiers hurried home to calm the fears of their wives, mothers, and sisters. In the evening the club-rooms of the city rang with unusual mirth and jollity. Each roof echoed back the scenes of the day and of the foray, but among them there was none that occasioned more fun and laughter than the tale of the churn and the promotion of the tailor. Thus began and thus ended the ever-memorable day of the Battle of Garscube-a day unstained with blood, unsurpassed by heat, alike famous for its foray and for the capture of one prisoner-a day in short which proved the brightest gem in the garland of Glasgow volunteer glory, and has afforded as noble a theme of conversation to the few remaining pig-tailed soldiers of the Scottish western metropolis as that of St. Hiliers did to their gallant commander. The Glasgow corps of volunteers, which so eminently distinguished itself on that eventful occasion, scarcely survived the close of the century that gave it birth, while the generality of the happy faces that grinned with delight at the ludicrous plight of Deacon Lawboard have now, as Hamlet says, few left to mock their grinning; and had I not perhaps been reminded the other day of the immortal action of this gallant corps, by perusing the equally deathless deed of its bounty on the wall of the Royal Infirmary Hall, I might possibly have never dreamed of becoming the humble annalist of its military glory. Courteous and indulgent reader, having now doubtless exhausted thy time and thy patience, permit me, ere I close, to plead the tell-tale privilege of an old soldier; a plea which may, perhaps, induce thee to pardon the gossip and the garrulity of a JOHN STRANG. A MERRY HEART. Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, From "A Winter's Tale." COME WHOAM TO THI CHILDER AN' ME. [Edwin Waugh, born at Rochdale, Jan. 29, 1817. As the "Lancashire Poet," Mr. Waugh has earned a reputation in England and America such as his genius merits. He has been designated the "Lancashire Burns;" and the pathos, humour, and power with which he paints the homely ways and thoughts of his country people exalt him to a high place amongst the poets of the present day. An edition of his poems is published by Bell and Daldy, London. He has also written many sketches and tales, of which the most notable are: Sketches of Lancashire Life and Localities, Tufts of Heather, Tattlin Matty, Besom Ben, Home Life of the Lancashire Factory Folk, The Owd Blanket, Yeth Bobs an' Scaplins, Snowed Up, &c.] Aw've just mended th' fire wi' a cob; Owd Swaddle has brought thi new shoon; There's some nice bacon collops o'th hob, An' a quart o' ale-posset i'th oon; Aw've brought thi top cwot, doesto know, For th rain's comin' deawn very dree: An' th' har'stone's as white as new snow; Come whoam to thi childer an' me. When aw put little Sally to bed, Hoo cried 'cose her feyther weren't theer; So aw kiss'd th' little thing, an' aw said Thae'd bring her a ribbin fro' th' fair; An' aw gav ber her doll, an' some rags, An' a nice little white cotton bo'; An' aw kiss'd her again; but hoo said At hoo wanted to kiss thee an' o'. An' Dick, too, aw'd sich wark wi' him, "Has th' boggarts taen houd o' my dad?" An' he cried whol his e'en were quite red;He likes thee some weel, does yon lad! At th' lung-length aw geet 'em laid still; An' aw hearken't folks' feet at went by; So aw iron't o' my clooas reet weel, An' aw hanged 'em o'th maiden to dry; When aw'd mended thi stockin's an' shirts, Aw sit deawn to knit i' my cheer, An' aw rayley did feel rather hurt Mon, aw'm one-ly when theaw art'nt theer. "Aw've a drum and a trumpet for Dick; Aw've a yard o' blue ribbin for Sal; Aw've a book full o' babs; an' a stick, An' some bacco an' pipes for mysel; Aw've brought thee some coffee an' tay Iv thae'll feel i' my pocket, thae'll see; An' aw've bought tho a new cap to-day,But aw olez bring summat for thee! "God bless tho, my lass; aw'll go whoam, An' aw'll kiss thee an' th' childer o' reawnd; Thae knows, at wheerever aw roam, Aw'm fain to get back to th' owd greawnd; Aw can do wi' a crack o'er a glass; Aw can do wi' a bit ov a spree; ON CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. [Thomas Chalmers, D.D., LL.D., born at Anstruther, Fife, 17th March, 1780; died at Edinburgh, 30th May, 1847. He was distinguished as an orator, philosopher, and divine. He was the earnest and potent advocate of church extension, and the leader of the Disruption movement in the Church of Scotland, 1842-3. The services he rendered to his country and religion were invaluable. He was the author of numerous theological and philosophical works. The follow ing essay was written before he became occupied in the great labour which formed the noble climax of a noble career. ] Man is the direct agent of a wide and continual distress to the lower animals, and the question is, Can any method be devised for its alleviation? On this subject that scriptural image is strikingly realized, "The whole inferior creation groaning and travailing together in pain," because of him. It signifies not to the substantive amount of the suffering, whether this be prompted by the hardness of his heart, or only permitted through the heedlessness of his mind. In either way it holds true, not only that the arch-devourer man stands pre-eminent over the fiercest children of the wilderness as an animal of prey, but that for his lordly and luxurious appetite, as well as for his service or merest curiosity and amusement, nature must be ransacked throughout all her elements. Rather than forego the veriest gratifications of vanity, he will wring them from the anguish of wretched and illfated creatures; and whether for the indulgence of his barbaric sensuality or barbaric splendour, can stalk paramount over the sufferings of that prostrate creation which has been placed beneath his feet. That beauteous domain whereof he has been constituted the terrestrial sovereign, gives out so many blissful and benignant aspects; and whether we look to its peaceful lakes, or its flowery landscapes, or its evening skies, or to all that soft attire which overspreads the hills and the valleys, lighted up by smiles of sweetest sunshine, and where animals disport themselves in all the exuberance of gaiety-this surely were a more befitting scene for the rule of clemency than for the iron rod of a murderous and remorseless tyrant. But the present is a mysterious world wherein we dwell. It still bears much upon its materialism of the impress of Paradise. But a breath from the air of Pandemonium has gone over its living generations. And so "the fear of man, and the dread of man, is now upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea; into man's hands are they delivered: every moving thing that liveth is meat for him; yea, even as the green herbs, there have been given to him all things." Such is the extent of his jurisdiction, and with most full and wanton license has he revelled among its privileges. The whole earth labours and is in violence because of his cruelties: and from the amphitheatre of sentient nature there sounds in fancy's ear the bleat of one wide and universal suffering a dreadful homage to the power of nature's constituted lord. These sufferings are really felt. The beasts of the field are not so many automata without sensation, and just so constructed as to give forth all the natural signs and expressions of it. Nature hath not practised this universal deception upon our species. These poor animals just look, and tremble, and give forth the very indications of suffering that we do. Theirs is the distinct cry of pain. Theirs is the unequivocal physiognomy of pain. They put on the same aspect of terror on the demonstrations of a menaced blow. They exhibit the same distortions of agony after the infliction of it. The bruise, or the burn, or the fracture, or the deep incision, or the fierce encounter with one of equal or superior strength, just affects them similarly to ourselves. Their blood circulates as ours. They have pulsations in various parts of the body like ours. They sicken, and they grow feeble with age, and, finally, they die just as we do. They possess the same feelings; and what exposes them to like suffering from another quarter, they possess the same instincts with our own species. The lioness robbed of her whelps causes the wilderness to ring aloud with the proclamation of her wrongs; or the bird whose little household has been stolen fills and saddens all the grove with melodies of deepest pathos. All this is palpable even to the general and unlearned eye; and when the physiologist lays open the recesses of their system by means of that scalpel under whose operation they just shrink and are convulsed as any living subject of our own species, there stands forth to view the same sentient apparatus, and furnished with the same conductors for the transmission of feeling to every minutest pore upon the surface. Theirs is unmixed and unmitigated pain-the agonies of martyrdom, without the alleviation of the hopes and the sentiments, whereof they are incapable. When they lay them down to die their only fellowship is with suffering; for in the prison-house of their beset and bounded faculties there can no relief be afforded by communion with other interests or other things. The attention does not lighten their distress as it does that of man by carrying off his spirit from that existing pungency and pressure which might else be overwhelming. There is but room in their mysterious economy for one inmate, and that is, the absorbing sense of their own single and concentrated anguish. And so in that bed of torment, whereon the wounded animal lingers and expires, there is an unexplored depth and intensity of suffering which the poor dumb animal itself cannot tell, and against which it can offer no remonstrance; an untold and unknown amount of wretchedness, of which no articulate voice gives utterance. But there is an eloquence in its silence; and the very shroud which disguises it only serves to aggravate its horrors. To obtain the regards of man's heart in behalf of the lower animals we should strive to draw the regards of his mind towards them. We should avail ourselves of the close alliance that obtains between the regards of his attention and those of his sympathy. For this purpose we should importunately ply him with the objects of suffering, and thus call up its respondent emotion of sympathy, that among the other objects which have hitherto engrossed his attention, and the other desires or emotions which have hitherto lorded it over the compassion of his nature, and overpowered it, this last may at length be restored to its legitimate play, and reinstated in all its legitimate pre-eminence over the other affections or appetites which belong to him. It affords a hopeful view of our cause that so much can be done by the mere obtrusive presentation of the object to the notice of society. It is a comfort to know that in this benevolent warfare we have to make head not so much against the cruelty of the public as against the heedlessness of the public; that to hold forth a right view is the way to call forth a right sensibility; and that to as sail the seat of any emotion, our likeliest process is to make constant and conspicuous exhibition of the object which is fitted to awaken it. Our text, taken from the profoundest book of experimental wisdom in the world, keeps clear of every questionable or casuistical dogma, and rests the whole cause of the inferior animals on one moral element, which is, in respect of principle; and on one practical method, which is, in respect of efficacy, unquestionable: "A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast." Let a man be but righteous in the general and obvious sense of the word, and let the regard of his attention be but directed to the case of the inferior animals, and then the regard of his sympathy will be awakened to the full extent at which it is either duteous or desirable. Still it may be asked, To what extent will the duty go? and our reply is, that we had rather push the duty forward than be called upon to define the extreme termination of it. Yet we do not hesitate to say that we foresee not aught so very extreme as the abolition of animal food; but we do foresee the indefinite abridgment of all that cruelty which subserves the gratifications of a base and selfish epicurism. We think that a Christian and humanized society will at length lift their prevalent voice for the least possible expense of suffering to all the victims of a necessary slaughter-for a business of utmost horror being also a business of utmost despatch-for the blow, in short, of an instant extermination, that not one moment might elapse between a state of pleasurable existence and a state of profound unconsciousness. Again, we do not foresee, but with the perfecting of the two sciences of anatomy and physiology, the abolition of animal experiments; but we do foresee a gradual, and at length a complete, abandonment of the experiments of illustration, which are at present a thousandfold more numerous than the experiments of humane discovery. As to field-sports, we for the present abstain from all prophecy in regard either to their growing disuse or to the conclusive extinction of them. We are quite sure, in the meantime, that casuistry upon this subject would be altogether powerless; and nothing could be imagined more keenly or more energetically contemptuous, than the impatient, the impetuous disdain wherewith the enamoured votaries of this gay and glorious adventure would listen to any demonstration of its unlawfulness. We shall therefore make no attempt to dogmatize them out of that fond and favourite amusement which they prosecute with all the intensity of a passion. It is not thus that the fascination will be dissipated. And |