Susan found her friend Rose at the hawthorn, in the midst of a crowded circle of her companions, to whom she was reading “Susan’s Lamentation for her Lamb.” “The words are something, but the tune—the tune—I must have the tune,” cried Philip. “I’ll ask my mother to ask Sir Arthur to try and find out which way that good old man went after the ball; and if he’s above ground, we’ll have him back by Susan’s birthday, and he shall sit here—just exactly here by this, our bush, and he shall play—I mean, if he pleases—that same tune for us, and I shall learn it—I mean, if I can—in a minute.” The good news that Farmer Price was to be employed to collect the rents, and that Attorney Case was to leave the parish in a month, soon spread over the village. Many came out of their houses to have the pleasure of hearing the joyful tidings confirmed by Susan herself. The crowd on the play-green increased every minute. “Yes,” cried the triumphant Philip, “I tell you it’s all true, every word of it. Susan’s too modest to say it herself; but I tell ye all, Sir Arthur gave us this play-green for ever, on account of her being so good.” You see, at last Attorney Case, with all his cunning has not proved a match for “Simple Susan.” THE WHITE PIGEON. THE little town of Somerville, in Ireland, has, within these few years, assumed the neat and cheerful appearance of an English village. Mr. Somerville, to whom this town belongs, wished to inspire his tenantry with a taste for order and domestic happiness, and took every means in his power to encourage industrious, well behaved people to settle in his neighbourhood. When he had finished building a row of good slated houses in his town, he declared that he would let them to the best tenants he could find, and proposals were publicly sent to him from all parts of the country. By the best tenants, Mr. Somerville did not, however, mean the best bidders; and many, who had offered an extravagant price for the houses, were surprised to find their proposals rejected. Amongst these was Mr. Cox, an alehouse keeper, who did not bear a very good character. “Please your honour, sir,” said he to Mr. Somerville, “I expected, since I bid as fair and fairer for it than any other, that you would have let me the house next the apothecary’s. Was not it fifteen guineas I mentioned in my proposal? and did not your honour give it against me for thirteen?” “My honour did just so,” replied Mr. Somerville, calmly. “And please your honour, but I don’t know what it is I or mine have done to offend you. I’m sure there is not a gentleman in all Ireland I’d go further to sarve. Would not I go to Cork to-morrow for the least word from your honour?” “I am much obliged to you, Mr. Cox, but I have no business at Cork at present,” answered Mr. Somerville, drily. “It is all I wish,” exclaimed Mr. Cox, “that I could find out and light upon the man that has belied me to your honour.”