certained that the apartment in which the ladies were assembled was farther up the passage, and that a retreat by the staircase was thus se. cured to the Benedicts.

No one hinted to his neighbour what familiar household tone had met his individual ear; but, with as little confusion and as little formality as possible, the committee dissolved. Some months have elapsed, but no farther meeting of the club members has taken place. Old Mr. Thompson's house in High Street continues unoc. cupied, and the "Benedict Club" has not yet been established in Rareborough.

OLD MOUNTAIN DEW.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

AWAY with your port and your fine-flavour'd sherry,
And fill up with toddy as high as you please;
We men of the Northland should know ourselves better
Than pledge her in liquors so paltry as these!
In whisky, perfumed by the peat of the heather,
We'll drink to the land of the kind and the true,-
Unsullied in honour,

Our blessings upon her!

Scotland for ever! and old mountain dew!
Neish! neish! neish! hurra!

Mountain dew! clear as a Scot's understanding,
Pure as his conscience wherever he goes,
Warm as his heart to the friend he has chosen,
Strong as his arm when he fights with his foes!
In liquor like this should old Scotland be toasted;
So fill up again, aud the pledge we'll renew-
Long flourish the honour

Her children have won her

Scotland for ever! and old mountain dew!
Neish! neish! neish! hurra!

May her worth, like her lowland streams, roll on unceasing,
Her fame, like her highland hills, last evermore,-
And the cold of her glens be confined to the climate,
Nor enter the heart, though it creep through the door!
And never may we, while we love and revere her,
As long as we're brave, and warm-hearted, and true,
Want reason to boast her,

Or whiskey to toast her

Scotland for ever! and old mountain dew!

Neish! neish! neish! hurra!