THE STABLE. 107 



It sounds very beautiful for the Englishman to sing 



" Be it ever so humble, there 's no place like home ;" 

 for the Scotch poet to write 



" Oh Caledonia stern and wild, 

 Meet nurse for a poetic child ;" 



and for his brother Paddy to exclaim 



" Sweetest isle of the ocean, 

 Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh :" 



yet it is impossible to deny that the song, the poetry, 

 and the exclamation are not in unison with the fact 

 that the songster, the poet, and the exclaimer are con- 

 stantly caught in the fact of having stolen away from 

 the very "home," the very "nurse," and the very 

 " isle " they so ardently profess to love : indeed, in proof 

 of the alibi, every region of the globe, healthy or 

 unhealthy, and especially every town, city, and bathing- 

 place in Europe, could not only declare on affidavit 

 that its localities, high-roads, bye-roads, paths, and streets, 

 are, especially in summer time or flea-season, to be seen 

 crawling alive with deserters from British homes, but 

 to the questions, Who is waving that flag in the balloon 

 high above our heads'? Who is standing in solitary 

 triumph on the summit of that white capped mountain ? 

 Who is it that has just descended from human sight 

 to the bottom of the sea in a diving-bell? nine times 



