boy of ten or twelve years old, driving an old lady in a pony-carriage to visit a friend in a secluded part of the county of Durham. Half our journey was made when, without a word of warning, the reins were suddenly snatched out of my hand, and the pony brought to a stand. Full of astonishment, I looked to my companion for some explanation of this assault on my independence, and saw her gazing with intense interest on a magpie then crossing the road. After a pause of some seconds she exclaimed, with a sigh, “Oh, the nasty bird! Turn back, turn back!” And back we turned, the old lady instructing me on the way home in the following verse, which certainly justified the course we had taken:
One is sorrow, two mirth,
Three a wedding, four a birth,
Five heaven, six hell,
Seven the de’il’s ain sell.
I have since heard another rendering of the last couplet—
Five a sickening, six a christening,
Seven a dance, eight a lady going to France.
The first couplet, with some variations, is in universal use; but I think, on the whole, the magpie receives more notice in the North of England than elsewhere. One clerical friend informs me of a lady who pleads guilty to making a cross in the air when she sees a magpie crossing her path, by way of dispelling the ill-luck attending the bird; and another tells me how he himself invariably takes off his hat on catching sight of a single magpie, in the hope that by this polite attention he may avert the evil consequences attendant on the apparition. I have heard precisely the same thing of a man of education and good position in Yorkshire; and a lady of that county, Mrs. L——, tells me a curious instance of the good effects of attending to the magpie’s warning. It relates to a gentleman with whom she was well acquainted, a county magistrate and a landowner. One day, in the year 1825, he was riding to York with the view of depositing his rents in Challoner’s Bank, when a magpie flew
