ANECDOTE OF JEROME DUIGENAN, A HARPER.--Some curious tales are told of Jerome Duigenan, a Leitrim harper, born in the year 1710. One is of so extraordinary a character, that, were it not for the particularity of the details, which savour strongly of an origin in fact, the editor would hesitate to give it publicity. He is, however, persuaded that he has it as it was communicated to O'Neill, between whose time and that of Duigenan there was scarcely room for the invention of a story not substantially true. It is as follows:--"There was a harper," says O'Neill, "before my time, named Jerome Duigenan, not blind, an excellent Greek and Latin scholar, and a charming performer. I have heard numerous anecdotes of him. The one that pleased me most was this. He lived with a Colonel Jones, of Drumshambo, who was one of the representatives in parliament for the county of Leitrim. The colonel, being in Dublin, at the meeting of parliament, met with an English nobleman who had brought over a Welsh harper. When the Welshman had played some tunes before the colonel, which he did very well, the nobleman asked him, had he ever heard so sweet a finger? 'Yes,' replied Jones, 'and that by a man who never wears either linen or woollen.' 'I bet you a hundred guineas,' says the nobleman, 'you can't produce any one to excel my Welshman.' The bet was accordingly made, and Duigenan was written to, to come immediately to Dublin, and bring his harp and dress of _Cauthack_ with him; that is, a dress made of beaten rushes, with something like a caddy or plaid of the same stuff. On Duigenan's arrival in Dublin, the colonel acquainted the members with the nature of his bet, and they requested that it might be decided in the House of Commons, before business commenced. The two harpers performed before all the members accordingly, and it was unanimously decided in favour of Duigenan, who wore his full _Cauthack_ dress, and a cap of the same stuff, shaped like a sugar loaf, with many tassels; he was a tall, handsome man, and looked very well in it."--_Bunting's Ancient Music of Ireland._ THE MOUNTAIN WALK. BY J. U. U. From the haunts of busy life, Homes of care, and paths of strife, Up the breezy mountain way, 'Mid the upper fields of day, Let me wander, far and lonely, Without guide, save nature only; And still ever as I go, Lose all thought of things below, Cast all sorrow to the wind, While the low vales sink behind: Fetterless and spirit free As the merry mountain bee. Like a spirit, thought and eye Buoyant between earth and sky, There to bask in free pure light On the joyous mountain height; Dallying with the breeze and shower, Claiming kin with every flower, Catching iris dreams that glance On the breath of circumstance. Changing with the changeful scene-- Solemn, sombre, gay, serene: As each change fresh wonders bring, Weaving thought from every thing.