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It happened one day, in or about the year 1827, that poor Pickle during the absence of his master was taken unwell; and the watchful guardian immediately warned the marquis of the sad fact (and of the progress of the disease), which lasted three days for which he sent the three following laconic despatches :

YESTER, May 1st, 18—.
MY LORD,
Pickle 's no weel.
Your Lordship’s humble servant, etc.

YESTER, 2d May, 18—,
MY LORD,
Pickle will no do!

I am your Lordship’s, etc.

YESTER, 3d May, 18 ,
MY LORD,
Pickle's dead !

I am your Lordship’s, etc.

I have heard of an old Forfarshire lady who, knowing the habits of her old and spoilt servant, when she wished a note to be taken without loss of time, held it open and read it over to him, saying, “ There, noo, Andrew, ye ken a'that's in't; noo dinna stop to open it, but just send it aff.” Of another servant when sorely tried by an unaccustomed bustle and hurry, a very amusing anecdote has been recorded. His mistress, a woman of high rank, who had been living in much quiet and retirement for some time, was called upon to entertain a large party at dinner. She consulted with Nichol, her faithful servant, and all the arrangements were made for the great event. As the company were arriving, the lady saw Nichol running about in great agitation, and in his shirt sleeves. She remonstrated, and said that as the guests were coming in he must put on his coat. “Indeed, my lady," was his excited reply, “indeed, there's sae muckle rinning here and rinning there, that I'm juist distrackit. I hae cuist'n my coat and waistcoat, and faith I dinna ken how lang I can thole my breeks.” There is often a ready wit in this class of character, marked by their replies. I have the following communicated from an ear-witness : “ Weel, Peggy," said a man to an old family servant, “ I wonder yer aye single yet ?“Me marry," said she indignantly ; “I wadna gie my single life for a' the double anes I ever saw.”

“ You serve the deevil,” said she. “Me!” said the girl ; “na, na, I dinna serve the deevil, I serve ae single lady."

A baby was out with the nurse, who walked it up and down a garden. “Is 't a laddie or a lassie ?” said the gardener. “A laddie,” said the maid. “Weel,” says he, “I'm glad o' that, for there's ower mony women in the world." “ Hech, man," said Jess, “ div ye no ken there's aye maist sawn o' the best crap ?

The answers of servants used curiously to illustrate habits and manners of the time, as the economical modes of her mistress' life were well touched by the lass who thus described her ways and domestic habits with her household : “ She's vicious upo' the wark : but eh, she’s vary mysterious o' the victualling."

A country habit of making the gathering of the congregation in the churchyard previous to and after divine service an occasion for gossip and business, which I remember well, is thoroughly described in the following: A lady on hiring a servant-girl in the country, told her, as a great indulgence, that she should have the liberty of attending the church every Sunday, but that she would be expected to return home always immediately on the conclusion of service. The lady, however, rather unexpectedly found a positive objection raised against this apparently reasonable arrangement. “ Then I canna engadge wi' ye, mem; for 'deed I wadna gie the crack i’ the kirkyard for a the sermon."

The changes that many of us, have lived to witness in this kind of intercourse between families and old servants is a part of a still greater change — the change in that modification of the feudal system, the attachment of clans. This, also, from transfers of property and extinction of old families in the Highlands, as well as from more general causes, is passing away ; and it includes also changes in the intercourse between landed proprietors and cottagers, and abolition of harvest homes, and such meetings. People are now more independent of each other, and service is become a pecuniary and not a sentimental question.

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RANDALL, JAMES RYDER, an American song-writer and journal. ist; born at Baltimore, Md., January 1, 1839. He was educated at Georgetown College, D. C., and when quite young removed to New Orleans, where he obtained a position on the “Sunday Delta." He is the author of a number of songs in behalf of the Confederate cause, including “ Maryland, my Maryland," written in 1861 (his most popular work); “The Sole Sentry;” “There's Life in the Old Land yet,” and “ The Battle Cry of the South.” He is also the author of considerable fugitive verse. In 1866 he became editor-inchief of the “ Constitutionalist” of Augusta, Ga., and subsequently held other editorial positions in the South. “Randall,” says Professor Hart, “is the Tyrtæus of the late war. He has not published any volume, but his war lyrics, particularly his • Maryland, my Maryland,' and one or two others, spoke to the hearts of seven millions of people as nothing else, probably, that was written during the war."

MY MARYLAND.
The despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland!
His torch is at thy temple door,

Maryland !
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,

Maryland, my Maryland !

Hark to thy wandering son's appeal,

Maryland !
My mother State, to thee I kneel,

Maryland!
For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,

Maryland, my Maryland!

Thou wilt not cower in the dust,

Maryland !
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,

Maryland !
Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust,
And all thy slumberers with the just,

Maryland, iny Maryland !

Come, 't is the red dawn of the day,

Maryland!
Come with thy panoplied array,

Maryland!
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray,
With Watson's blood at Monterey,
With fearless Lowe and dashing May,

Maryland, my Maryland !

Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain,

Maryland !
Virginia should not call in vain,

Maryland!
She meets her sisters on the plain :
«c°Sic semper!” 't is the proud refrain
That baffles minions back amain,

Maryland, my Maryland!

Come, for thy shield is bright and strong,

Maryland ! Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong,

Maryland ! Come to thine own heroic throng, That stalks with liberty along, And give a new key to thy song,

Maryland, my Maryland !

I see the blush upon thy cheek,

Maryland !
But thou wast ever bravely meek,

Maryland!
But lo! there surges forth a shriek
From hill to hill, from creek to creek;
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,

Maryland, my Maryland !

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll,

Maryland!
Thou wilt not crook to his control,

Maryland !
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,

Maryland, my Maryland !

I hear the distant thunder hum,

Maryland!
The Old Line's bugle, fife and drum,

Maryland!
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb
Huzza, she spurns the Northern scum;
She breathes, she burns — she'll come ! she'll come!

Maryland, my Maryland !

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