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THE VILLAGE DISPENSARY.
The hour is come, the Leech is in his chair,
up pen, turns o'er his book, and studies.
And used to labour?' 'Ay, from morn till night.' 'Fond of strong beer, too?' `Mainly-drink three quarts.' • Marry! I wonder not then at your pains; But take you this; an' it stir not your ribs, Why then there is no virtue left in rhubarb. Begone! and see me our next public day. Come — for the next.—Who's here? Eh ! damsel Alice, And not well yet?' 'No, Sir; my old complaints, Tremblings, heart-burnings, want of sleep at night, Failure of appetite, and loss of spirits.' ‘Turn round your face; why, ay, thou lookest pale; Hast thou a sweetheart?' 'La, Sir! ‘Nay, confess it.' • There's Harry—' Ay! he keeps your company, Does he not?' 'Yes.' Then marry, and be well! Eh! more? Come, mother, tell me your complaint; Illness, no doubt.' 'I've had the Poticar.' 'Ay, and
worse.' * He gave me store of drugs, And when my gold was gone- • He sent you here.' • Just so.' It is their customary wont;
They deluge you with drugs to drain your purse;
veins and stores be emptied out;
Throw physic to the dogs,-- for I am sick on't!'
THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL.
BY J. H. WIFFEN, ESQ.
It is currently believed in Scotland, and on the Borders, that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy festival, and snatch away the drinking-cup, shall find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in safety across a running stream. A goblet is still carefully preserved in Eden-hall, Cumberland, which is supposed to have been seized, at such a banquet, by one of the ancient family of Musgrave. The fairy train vanished, crying aloud,
“ If that glass either break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Eden-hall !” From this prophecy the goblet took the name it bears—the Luck of Eden-hall.
MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER.
On Eden's wild, romantic bowers
The summer moonbeams sweetly fall,
The stately towers of Eden-hall.
There, lonely in the deepening night,
A lady at her lattice sits,
And tunes her idle lute by fits.
But little can her idle lute
Beguile the weary moments now;
Her wistful eye, and anxious brow:
For, as the chord her finger sweeps,
Ofttimes she checks her simple song,
Lord Musgrave from her arms so long :
And listens, as the wind sweeps by,
His steed's familiar step to hear :-
And foot-fall of the distant deer.”
In, lady, to thy bower ! fast
weep The chill dews on thy cheek so pale ; Thy che, ished hero lies asleep,
Asleep in distant Russendale !
The noon was sultry, long the chase,
And when the wild stag stood at bay, BURBEK reflected from its face
The purple lights of dying day.
Through many a dale must Musgrave hie,
Up many a hill his courser strain, · Ere he behold, with gladsome eye,
His verdant bowers and halls again.
But twilight deepens,—o'er the wolds
The yellow moonbeam rising plays, And now the haunted forest holds
The wanderer in its bosky maze.
No ready vassal rides in sight;
He blows his bugle, but the call Roused echo mocks; farewell, to-night,
The homefelt joys of Eden-hall !
His steed he to an alder ties,
His limbs he on the green-sward flings; And, tired and languid, to his eyes
Woos sorceress-Slumber's balmy wings.
A prayer, a sigh, in murmurs faint,
He whispers to the passing air ;The Ave to his patron saint,
The sigh was to his lady fair.
'T was well that in that Elfin wood
He breathed the supplicating charm, Which binds the Guardians of the good
To shield from all unearthly harm.
Scarce had the night's pale Lady staid
Her chariot o'er the accustomed oak, Than murmurs in the mystic shade
The slumberer from his trance awoke.
Stiff stood his courser's mane with dread,
His crouching greyhound whined with fear; And quaked the wild-fern 'round his head,
As though some passing ghost were near.
Yet calmly shone the moonshine pale
On glade and hillock, flower and tree; And sweet the gurgling nightingale
Poured forth her music, wild and free.
Sudden her notes fall hushed; and near
Flutes breathe, horns warble, bridles ring — And in gay cavalcade, appear
The Fairies round their Fairy King.
Twelve hundred Elfin knights and more
Were there, in silk and steel arrayed; And each a ruby helmet wore,
And each a diamond lance displayed.
And pursuivants with wands of gold,
And minstrels scarfed and laurelled fair, Heralds with blazoned flags unrolled,
And trumpet-tuning dwarfs were there.
Behind, twelve hundred ladies coy,
On milk-white steeds, brought up their Queen, Their kerchiefs of the crimson soy,
Their kirtles all of Lincoln-green.
Some wore, in fanciful costume,
A sapphire or a topaz crown ;
Which their own tercel-gents struck down: