SCENE IN A COUNTRY INN IN THE PROVINCE OF NELSON.

Evening Star, Issue 3656, 10 November 1874, Page 3

SCENE IN A COUNTRY INN IN THE PROVINCE OF NELSON.

The following communication was addressed to the ‘ Nelson Evening Mail’ : Having occasion to spend an evening in a small country 1 otel in this beautiful Province. I overheard a conversation around the barroom fire which spoke so highly for the intelligence and intellectual culture of the dwellers in the nr.all hamlet, that I shall hardly be accused of any violation of so.LI confidence if 1 endeavor to transcribe some fmnll part of it The company consisted of some tight or ten pars n-». The conversation was net wholly uninti r sling, e.ompr sing the usual topics of horsT, doers, sheep, and t’-oir diseases, farm nrodnee and its prices, and, as usual, the ceremony of glasses round was repeated from time to time. “Come, gentlemen,” ;aid a fine hale old gentleman, “ 1 think it’s my turn now. Let us keep it up in the g ;od oid stylo ; as the poet says—

Funde vinum, funde; tanquam sint fluminis unde

Nee quseras uncle ; sed funde semper abuude. “There you he with your French ageo, squire,” a id a stalwart countryman, whom I took to be a thiiving immigrant fanner, and a capital sp - citnen of his class, “ I suppose that theer’s got a Englhn belonging to it, ha’nb it. Wot's it all about, s iuirel eb ?”

The Pqaire—“ Ask that young gentleman there; notwithstanding his jumper and short ppe, I think- he has not left school so long as to have forgotten his Latin. Come, sir, do you think you could give my fiiend here a translation of that old couelet ? ’ - - The youth, a very good-looking, gentlemanly lad, spite of his evident desire to make himself appear like an old hand, said modestly—“ Can you repeat them for me again, squire?” The squire did so, slowly and with emphasis, and the taking out his note-book and pencil, with a little consideration wrote down and read—

Pour out the wine, The drink divine, In draughts as deep as ocean's brine ; Nor ask whence shine Those drops benign, But still pour out the muscadine. Squire—“ Very fair, sir, you do great credit to your school, wherever it was.” A quiet young gentleman in black, whom I believe to be the pai'snn, remarked— “The translation is spirited, but I may remark I am sure without offence, that its fault lies in being more diffuse than the original; and, again, to particularise tha wine—muscadine; I think that weakens the effect.” Country Well ; gie ns a loach o’t yourself, pas’s m ; you be a scholard, you be Be:-t in the parish, I reckon.” Parson—“ Not so much a scholar as you think gaffer.' I Lave it to less sober men to s>ng the honors of the vine. Though wine is one of the best gifts to man, as I’ve read.”

A wca'her-boaten Scotchman, evidently of the shepherd class, here took his pipe out of his mouth and said—“Askin’ ycer pardon, sir, but what for aye ‘ wine Wine’s unco gude in its way, but cauld on the stomach, i’m thinking. Are ye just weel advised noo,' that the poet was na speaking o’ whisky ?” Parson I doubt it, Sandy. He says vintim, and vhtum means wine.” An irishman, with red hair and high cheek bines—“ >orrah one of it, ye’re honor. Shuro, hav’nt 1 heard Tim Dooly, me oil'd schoolmaster that was, in Quid Ireland, di-cowiso on that very point. 1 Vinum, boys,’he’d say, ‘is commonly supposed to be wine, but as ihs word is always used avid great honor, and the pods do be praising it beyanfc telling; it stands to rnyson it manes the best dhrink in the world ; and that dhrink we aU know is whisky. So yon may trm-late vinum—whisky.' That was Tim Dooley’s won! ; and a great scholar he was —rest his son!.” Parson his translation ready. Com-', Sandy.” The Scotcl man, who had been alternately scratching his head and a small piece of paper with a pencil, to my great surprise read out the following : Eh mon -tak’ ye’er fu’ o’ whisky, Eneuch to male’ the ocean frisky ; Dinna speer wha pays the cost o’t, Tak’ a rich gude wiliie-Waugh t o’t. Squire.— “By the Lord' Harry, Sandy, you’re a poet; that rendering of ‘ unde ’ by ‘ who pays for it ’ is your ' country all over.” .

Sandy.—“ Weel, I conseeder its a rational translation of the poet’s idea.” Paddy.— “ Translation is it ? Shnre d’ye call it a thranalation to put a thing from one forrin tongue into another ? Put it into Fnglish, me dear, ond then talk ahoul thranslation. Look here now”—and then this Irish bullock-driver, actually without paper, and after a moment’s pause, repeated with a glorious brogue— Fill me cmishkeeu Wid ould potheen, As aften as flow the tides, O ; The divil may care How it comes there, Barrin’ there’s lashin’a inside, O. “ Talk o’ thranslating, be gor ; there’s a touch of ould Tim Dooly’s st\ 1c for ye ?’’ Countryman : “ Darn’d if t see much differ’nco ’twixb Squire’s lingo and yourn. Your’s and Sandy’s English and Squire’s Frinch be all pretty much alike. But I’ll tell ’e what it means— Gie I a barrel o’ beer As big as yon harbor doon th’cer, I doant care what They puts in the vat, If on’ny they mak’s ’tin good beer.” Theer now, that’s what I ca’al good h'nglish, and good sense too—clang’d if faint.” A small, thin cadaverous looking man herd rose. His noso, by the way, was a leetle red, which probah'y accounts for its use in tinging his pronunciation. He said : *1 Gentlemen, it is very distiessing to me to listen to a conversation whose object it is to glorify the use of intoxicating liquors. The original lints were fortunately in a dead language, new unused. It is lamentable that it should have been resuscitated to corrupt the morals of more civilised times. Whilst you have been distorting the poet’s words in bp so many shapes, I have humbly endeavored to produce a modest paraphrase, which

I shall hope to sing at the next meeting of my total abstinence brethren. It runs as follows : Pour out the tea, The nice Bohea, As harmless as the watery sea ; It may not be . The real Chinee, But still we drink it copiously, rids was too much for the squire. He rose from Lis chair, his face beaming with the indignant hue of his favorite beverage, so deeply outraged, and roared out, “ l andlord, bring half-a-dozm of your host old port The green seal, mind.” The wine was brought in a bask; t He took one bottle tendnrlv, and proceeded to uncork it with great care. * Then he fi :ed out a glass for each, including the tec totall- r, for he knew human nature ; muttering in himself as he filled the glasses—“ ' o vmum is whisky and fcec-r, is it ?' ■ that’s had enough but tea ! Ugh. Heaven above us—vmum, tea I After all, I think mine’s the best translation— Pour out the wine--the wine out-pour In wa\ os that roll from shore to shore, Nor ask whence conies the generous store, But still the sparkling wine out-pour. That s a little closer than yours, my youn<r friend, if not so sparkling. But, ah me! when shall we see a language that cm express so much in so few words like the Latin ? Put those two lines into any two of any modern tongue, my lad, and you’ll be a much better lingui'-t than I am ; and yet thfy want our lads nob to learn Latin. Fancy educating a boy on weak t-:a and no Latin.” 8o I went to bed, saying to myself; nelson is the place of aU the world to live in. If this be the ordinary style of con-yersa-ionat a way-side inn, what muss not the society belike? Bub just as I dropped off to sle -p. I sty ted up and • akl :-Gf course 1 toiciot, Domett live*! hero for years r Jbo author cf “ Banolf and Amohia” has imptegnared the very climate with Ids genius —that accounts for it. And I went to sleep.

A Traveller.