The suspense is soon broken, the last stone has sped on its mission, the wick has been taken, a stone on Laird Scott’s side that was lying farther from the tee than one of the opponents’, is ‘lifted’ into second place, which with the mason’s winner makes exactly the magic score of thirty-one! Like the thaw which after this long-continued storm will be welcomed by man and beast alike, so does the thaw now melt the frozen tongues of the players. Hats fly up in frenzy of delight, and the phenomenon is witnessed (only to be witnessed on ice) of a Scottish laird and his humble tenant in ecstatic embrace. Flasks are produced, hands shaken by rivals as well as by friends—though chiefly by friends: preparations are made to carry home the paraphernalia of the roaring game: and while Betty congratulates the laird and his guests on their victory, there is happiness in store for Andrew Denholm, whose prowess so notably contributed to secure the honour of Tweedsmuir. AN IRISH COUNTRY FUNERAL. The difference between English and Irish as regards the funeral customs of the peasantry in both countries is great. To have a large assemblage at the ‘berrin’ is among the latter an object of ambition and pride to the family; and the concourse of neighbours, friends, and acquaintances who flock from all parts to the funeral is often immense. Even strangers will swell the funeral cortège, and will account for doing so by saying: ‘Sure, won’t it come to our turn some day, and isn’t a big following—to do us credit at our latter end—what we’d all like? So why shouldn’t we do what is dacent and neighbourly by one another?’ What a contrast there is between a quiet interment in an English country parish, attended only by the household of the departed, and the well-remembered scenes in the churchyard of Kilkeedy, County Limerick! Here, in days gone by, a funeral was a picturesque and touching sight. There was something very weird and solemn in the sound of the ‘keen,’ as it came, mournful and wild upon the ear, rising and falling with the windings of the road along which the vast procession moved. In the centre was the coffin, borne on the shoulders of relatives or friends, and followed by the next of kin. Outside the churchyard gate, where was a large open space, there was a halt. The coffin was laid reverently on the ground, the immediate relatives of the dead kneeling round it. And now on bended knees all in that vast assemblage sink down. Every head is bowed in prayer—the men devoutly uncovered—every lip moves; the wail of the keeners is hushed; you could hear a pin drop among the silent crowds. It is a solemn and impressive pause. After a few minutes the bearers again take up their burden and carry it into the churchyard, when after being three times borne round the church, it is committed to its final resting-place.