Of lovers she had full a score,

Or more;

In store;

And fortunes they all had galore,

From the minister down

To the clerk of the crown,

All were courting the Widow Malone,

Ohone!

All were courting the Widow Malone.
But so modest was Mrs. Malone,

Put his arm round her waist, Gave ten kisses, at laste, 'Oh,' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone, My own'; 'Oh,' says he, 'you're my Molly Malone.'

For they're all like sweet Mistress Malone,
Ohone!

Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress Malone."

Never did song create such a sensation as Miss Macan's, and certainly her desires as to the chorus were followed to the letter; for the "Widow Malone, ohone!" resounded from one end of the table to the other, amid one universal shout of laughter. None could resist the ludicrous effect of her melody, and ever poor Sir George, sinking under the disgrace of his relationship, which she had contrived to make public by frequent allusions to her dear brother the General," yielded at last, and joined in the mirth around him.

66

"I insist on a copy of the 'Widow,' Miss Macan," said Power.

"To be sure; give me a call to-morrow; let me see, about two, Father Magrath won't be at home," said she, with a coquettish look.

'Where, pray, may I pay my respects?"

"No. 22 South Anne street-very respectable lodgings. I'll write the address in your pocket-book." Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss Macan wrote a few lines, saying, as she handed it:

66

There, now, don't read it here before the people; they'll think it mighty indelicate in me to make an appointment."

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss Macan's carriage was announced.

Sir George Dashwood, who little flattered himself that his fair guest had any intention of departure,

became now most considerately attentive-reminded her of the necessity of muffling against the night air -hoped she should escape cold, and wished a most cordial good-night, with a promise of seeing her early the following day.

Notwithstanding Power's ambition to engross the attention of the lady, Sir George himself saw her to her carriage, and only returned to the room as a group was collected around the gallant Captain, to whom he was relating some capital traits of his late conquest; for such he dreamed she was.

"Doubt it who will," said he, "she has invited me to call on her to-morrow-written her address on my card-told me the hour when she is certain of being alone. See here!" At these words he pulled forth the card, and handed it to Lechmere.

Scarcely were the eyes of the other thrown upon the writing, when he said; "So, this isn't it, Power." "To be sure it is, man," said Power; “Anne street is devilish seedy; but that's the quarter."

66

'Why, confound it, man," said the other, "there's not a word of that here."

"Read it out," said Power, "proclaim aloud my victory."

Thus urged, Lechmere read:

“Dear P.,—Please pay to my credit, and soon, mark ye, the two ponies lost this evening. I have done myself the pleasure of enjoying your ball, kissed the lady, quizzed the papa, and walked into the cunning Fred Power.

66 'Yours,

FRANK WEBBER.

"The Widow Malone, ohone, is at your service."

Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, his astonishment could not have equaled the result of this revelation. He stamped, swore, raved, laughed, and almost went deranged. The joke was soon spread

THE WIDOW MALONE

through the room, and from Sir George to poor Lucy, now covered with blushes at her part in the transaction, all was laughter and astonishment.

"Who is he? that is the question," said Sir George, who, with all the ridicule of the affair hanging over him, felt no common relief at the discovery of the imposition.

“A friend of O'Malley's," said Power, delighted, in his defeat, to involve another with himself.

"Indeed!" said the General, regarding me with the look of a very mingled cast.

66

'Quite true, sir," said I, replying to the accusation that his manner implied, "but equally so that I neither knew of his plot nor recognized him when here."

"I am perfectly sure of it, my boy," said the General; "and, after all, it was an excellent joke, carried a little too far, it is true; eh, Lucy?"

But Lucy either heard not, or affected not to hear; and, after some little further assurance that he felt not the least annoyed, the General turned to converse with some other friends; while I, burning with indignation against Webber, took a cold farewell of Miss Dashwood, and retired.

66

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW

(Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers)

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, the greatest of American poets, was born at Portland, Maine in 1807; died at Cambridge, Mass., in 1882. He graduated from Bowdoin College in 1825, among his classmates being Nathaniel Hawthorne. Longfellow had shown some ability in making verses while in college, and also a strong love for foreign tongues. He went to Europe for three years and then returned to be professor of modern languages at Bowdoin. His first work to attract attention was Outre-Mer," which gives an account of his life in Europe. It has been compared by some writers to Irving's "Sketch Book." From Bowdoin Longfellow went to Harvard to teach. In 1854 he gave up his college work to devote his life to poetical composition. Longfellow may be classed among the greatest poets. He did not attempt to use his muse to advance or oppose certain political or social ideals. He was a poet of the life beautiful, and tranquil. When he wished, however, he could fill his verse with action, as in "The Ride of Paul Revere." He is at his best in "The Courtship of Miles Standish," the beautiful descriptions and pathetic narrative of "Evangeline" and in the great American epic, "The Song of Hiawatha." The last is still played yearly by the Indians whom the poet has immortalized. Longfellow, of all our poets, has received the greatest attention and praise from the lovers of poetry in England as well as in this country and his bust occupies a niche in Westminster Abbey, in the company of memorials to Shakespeare and others on whose brows fame has set her

crown.