The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1897-02-12

hall, whose ornamental architecture
indicated the abode of wealth ant
grandeur in former days. The
parsonage who appeared to preside
at the jovial board, was man OF
tall, slender stature, with a thin,
sharp nose, a prominent but some
what narrow forehead, thin lips,
and dark eyes, in whose deep and
slumbering fires seemed to dwell a
subtle soul, rife with intrigue and
knavery. He was dressed in dark
cloth surtoeet, velvet doublet, and
light pantaloons. His feet, which
were placed on the table, were
encased in heavy Jefferson boots,
and his left elbow resting on the
table, while he held in his right
hand the flowing bowl, applying it
at intervals to his lips. His com
panion, whose countenance was of a
more sullen and moody cast, occu-
pied the other side of the table,
with his feet protruded toward the
fire, and his right hand, which held
the bowl resting on his knee, while
his left hung negligently by his
side. His small, gray eyes twinkled
meath their beetling brow, and
were fixed with thoughtful and
vacant stare on the Pickering blaze.
His long brown frock coat swept
the floor on either side of his chair,
under which was placed a miserable
excuse for a hat. Thus seated, he
had maintained for a long time a
dogged silence, while he seemed to
mediate on some event past or
anticipated. Not so, however with
his ever restless companion, who
persisted in breaking in upon his
reverie with frequent scraps of bac
chanalian songs, and loud calls,
such as
Grouse up, Mr.. Culpepper !!
Haveyou lostyour tongue? You've
been maintaining deaf and dumb
silence for a good half hour! What
are you scheming now? Have you
another peddling exhpedition in
anticipation? Ha, ha ha ~
This raillery reused the dreamer
at length, and he replied
"What are you bawling about,
Niel?'' for it was no other than
Mel Riley. "I think you are the
most uncompromising fool [ ever
saw. Can't you let a man indulge
in his Elysian dreams, without
breaking in upon his reveries with
your confounded prate?"
This singular rebuke served only
to increase the obstreporous mirth
of Mel, who commenced, in voice
of thunder and a discordant tone,
the old song of the "Bonny Brown
Bowl, ~
"Our vicar still breaches that Peter and Paule
Laid swinging long curse on the bonny brown
bowl,
That there's wrath and dispair in the jolly black
jack,
And the seven deadly sins in a f1agon of sack:
Yet, whoop, Branaby off with thy liquor,
Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar!"
Finishing the stanza, he seized
his comrade by the shoulder, and
with a jerk that nearly tumbled the
meditating Culpepper on the floor,
he shouted in his ear
Grouse up man, and don't sit
with an empty bowl on your knee.
Fill up a bumper to your favorite
bard. Whoshall it be? Ha !ha! haW
The worthy Culpepper this time
obeyed the summons of Mel, and
filling his glass to the brim, he
said
"Goldsmith-the man of social
pleasure, wit and song!"
Off went the bumper in honor of
Britain's rural bard, and Mel, re-
placing his bowl on the board with
a clatter, and stamping his foot,
roared out a couplet from the ''De-
serted Village"-
Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passers eye"
"Ha! ha ha! l admire your
taste, Mr.. Culpepper, I admire your
taste," Mel enthusiastically eX-
claimed. "Now, fill up a glass,
Mr.. Culpepper, to Bobby Burns,
the man of love and song, and of
thesocial glass, too. Ha ha " and
the pledge to Scotia's bard followed
that of the harmonious Irish poet.
"Burns is my favorite," pursued
Mel, commencing panegyric on
the works of the immortal plough
man. "Just mark, Mr.. Culpepper,
how he makes 'the wisest man the
world e'er saw praise his Scotch
drink
Gle him strong drink until he winks,
That's sinkin' in despair -
and reciting the well known prelude
to "Scotchl Drink, )" Mel concluded,
with a loud stamp and his usual
cha ha! hal" that made the old
hall ring. "Who would have
thought" he continued, "of going
to Judah's wisest king for text to
praise Scotch whiskey, but Burns?
Ha! ha ha ="
every pathetic poet" remarked
Culpepper; "but not so sublime and
passionate as Byron, nor so harmo-
nious as Goldsmith, nor so unstoOp-
ing i'm his flight as Pope"