150 BEATING THE SPRINGS AND THE WOOD. 



Potatoes for the press, waiter ! Waiter, salt for 

 the press !" and so on. 



There was a stout farmer opposite me, whose 

 performances on the beef and mutton were 

 simply wonderful. This gentleman appeared, 

 however, infinitely perplexed and disturbed by 

 the tunes of a German band, which was hired 

 to play in the progress of the festival. If he 

 had an ear for music I don't wonder at it, for I 

 seldom heard anything more discordant ; but I 

 think his dislike arose from a less fanciful cause. 

 He was, at the eighth repetition of a waltz, 

 driven beyond endurance, and roared out 

 c Stop !' in so commanding a tone, that every 

 one looked round. There was a dead silence 

 for a moment, and the hideous orchestra was 

 struck dumb ; a shout of laughter from the 

 company, however, sent it on again in full 

 swing. Some ladies came in to look at us, and 

 hear the speeches ; when I took a note of their 

 dowdinesses, I was more than ever tickled at 

 the idea of being warned against the fascina- 

 tions of a Castletown belle. 



It was a fortnight after this (the winter was 

 fast coming on and the river was loaded with 



