PHAIDRIG CROHOORE.

Oh! Phaidrig Crohoore was the broth of a boy, and he stood six feet eight;

And his arm was as round as another man's thigh-'tis

Phaidrig was great:

And his hair was as black as the shadows of night,

And hung over the scars left by many a fight;

And his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud,
And his eye like the lightnin' from under the cloud.
And all the girls liked him, for he could speak civil
And sweet when he chose it,--for he was a divil.

An' there wasn't a girl, from thirty-five under,

Niver a matter how cross, but he could come round her.
But of all the sweet girls that smiled on him, but one
Was the girl of his heart, an' he loved her alone.

An' warm as the sun, as the rock firm and sure
Was the love of the heart of Phaidrig Crohoore;
An' he'd die for one smile from his Kathleen O'Brien,
For his love, like his hatred, was strong as a lion.

But Michael O'Hanlon loved Kathleen as well
As he hated Crohoore,-deep as old ocean's swell!
But O'Brien liked Hanlon, for they were the same parties,
The O'Briens, O'Hanlons, an' Murphys, and Carthys-

An' they all went together an' hated Crohoore,
For it's many's the batin' he gave them before:
An' O'Hanlon made up to O'Brien, an' says he;
"I'll marry your daughter if you'll give her to me."

An' the match was made up, an' Shrovetide came on,
The company assimbled, three hundred if one-
There was all the O'Hanlons and Murphys and Carthys
An' the young boys an' girls av all o' them parties.

An' the O'Briens, av coorse, gathered sthrong on that day,
An' the pipers an' fiddlers were tearin' away;
There was roarin', an' jumpin', an' jiggin', an' flingin',
An' jokin', an' blessin', an' kissin', an' singin'.

An' they all were a-laughin'-why not, to be sure?
How O'Hanlon came inside of Phaidrig Crohoore!

An' they all talked and laughed the length of the table,
Aitin' an' drinkin' the while they were able;

An' with pipin', an' fiddlin', an' roarin' like thunder,
Your head you'd think fairly was splittin' asunder.
And the priest called out-"Silence, ye blackguards agin!"
An' he took up his prayer-book, just goin' to begin.

And they all held their tongues from their funnin' and bawlin';

So silent you'd notice the smallest pin fallin'!

And the priest just beginnin' to read-when the door
Sprung back to the wall, and in walked Crohoore.

Oh! Phaidrig Crohoore was the broth of a boy, an' he stood six feet eight,

An' his arm was as round as another man's thigh-'tis Phaidrig was great!

An' he walked slowly up, watched by many a bright eye,
As a black cloud moves on through the stars of the sky.

An' none strove to stop him, for Phaidrig was great,
Till he stood all alone, just opposite the sate
Where O'Hanlon and Kathleen, his beautiful bride,
Were sittin' so illigant out side by side.

An' he gave her one look that her heart almost broke,
An' he turned to O'Brien, her father, and spoke;

An' his voice, like the thunder, was deep, sthrong an' loud,
An' his eyes shone like lightnin' from under the cloud:

"I didn't come here like a tame crawlin' mouse,

But I stand like a man in my inimy's house;

In the field, on the road, Phaidrig never knew fear
Of his foemen, an' God knows he'll not show it here.

"So lave me at aise for three minutes or four

To spake to the girl I'll never see more."

An' to Kathleen he turned, and his voice changed its tone
For he thought of the days when he called her his own.

An' his eye blazed like lightnin' from under the cloud
On his false-hearted girl, reproachful and proud.
An' says he, "Kathleen bawn, is it thrue what I hear,
That you marry of free choice, without threat or fear?

"If so, spake the word, and I'll turn and depart,
Chated once, and once only, by woman's false heart."
Oh! sorrow and love made the poor girl quite dumb,
An' she tried hard to spake, but the words wouldn't come;

For the sound of his voice, as he stood there fornint her,
Wint cold on her heart as the night wind in winther;
An' the tears in her blue eyes stood tremblin' to flow,
An' pale was her cheek as the moonshine on snow.
Then the heart of bould Phaidrig swelled high in its place,
For he knew, by one look in that beautiful face,

That the strangers an' foemen their pledged hands might

sever,

Her true heart was his, and his only, forever!

An' he lifted his voice, like the eagle's hoarse call,
An' says Phaidrig, “She's mine still, in spite of ye all!"
Then up jumped O'Hanlon, an' a tall boy was he,
An' he looked on bould Phaidrig as fierce as could be;

An' says he, "By the hokey, before ye go out,
Bould Phaidrig Crohoore, you must fight for a bout."
Then Phaidrig made answer, " I'll do my endeavor;"
An' with one blow he stretched out bould Hanlon forever.
In his arms he took Kathleen an' stepped to the door,
An' he leaped on his horse, and flung her before;
An' they all were so bothered that not a man stirred,
Till the gallopin' hoofs on the pavement was heard.
Then up they all started, like bees in the swarm,
An' they riz a great shout, like the burst of a storm,
An' they roared, an' they ran, an' they shouted galore;
But Kathleen and Phaidrig they never saw more.

LORRAINE.-CHARLES KINGSLEY.

The line Barum', Barum', Barum', Barum', Barum', Barum', Baree', in the following poem, is simply a refrain and is supposed to be carelessly hummed to the music of the instruments which are being played for the performances in the circus ring.

"Are you ready for your steeple-chase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree?

Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree. You're booked to ride your capping race to-day at Coulterlee, You're booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see, To keep him straight, and keep him first, and win the run for me.

Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree."

She clasped her new-born baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree,

Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.

I cannot ride Vindictive, as any man might see, And I will not ride Vindictive, with this baby on my knee, He's killed a boy, he's killed a man, and why must he kill me?"

"Unless you ride Vindictive, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree, Unless you ride Vindictive to-day at Coulterlee,

And land him safe across the brook, and win the blank for me,

It's you may keep your baby, for you'll get no keep from me." "That husbands could be cruel," said Lorraine, Lorraine,

Lorree,

"That husbands could be cruel, I have known for seasons three;

But oh! to ride Vindictive while a baby cries for me,

And be killed across a fence at last, for all the world to see?"

She mastered young Vindictive-oh! the gallant lass was she!

And she kept him straight, and won the race, as near as near could be;

But he killed her at the brook against a pollard willow tree, Oh! he killed her at the brook-the brute!- for all the

world to see,

And no one but the baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorree.

OLD DADDY TURNER.

This was the picture in front of "Old Daddy Turner's" cabin in the "Kaintuck" quarter the other afternoon: Two colored men sitting on a wash-bench, silent and sorrowful; an old dog, sleeping in the sun at their feet, and a colored woman calling to a boy who was on the fence: "Now, Jeems Henry, you git right down from dat! Doan you know dat Daddy Turner am jist on de p'int of dyin' and gwine up to Hebben?"

Here was the picture inside: The poor old white-headed man lying on his dying bed, flesh wasted away and strength departed. Near him sat his faithful old wife, rocking to and fro and moaning and grieving. Further away was a colored man and woman, solemn-faced and sad-hearted, and shaking their heads as they cast glances toward the bed. For a long time the old man lay quiet and speechless, but at length

he signed to be propped up. A sun as warm as springtime poured into the room. He took notice of it, and a change came to his face as his eyes rested upon his grieving wife. "Ize bin gwine back in my mind!" he whispered, as he reached out his thin hand for her to clasp. "Fur ober fo'ty y'ars we's trabbled 'long de same path. We sarved de same master as slaves 'way back in de dim past. We sang de same songs-we prayed de same prayers-we had hold of han's when we listed in de Gospel ranks an' sot our faces to'rds de golden gates of Hebben. Ole woman, Ize gwine to part wid you! Yes, Ize gwine ter leave yer all alone!"

"Oh! Daddy! Daddy!" she wailed as she leaned over him. "Doan't take on so, chile! It's de Lawd's doin's, not mine. 1o-morrow de sun may be as bright an' warm, but de ole man won't be heah. All de arternoon Ize had glimpses of a shady path leadin' down to de shor' of a big, broad ribber. Ize seen people gwine down dar to cross ober, an' in a leetle time I'll be wid 'em."

She put her wrinkled face on the pillow beside his and sobbed, and he placed his hand on her head and said: "It's de Lawd, chile—de bressed Lawd! Chile, Ize tried to be good to yer. You has been good to me. We am nuffin but ole cull'd folks, po' in eberyting, but tryin' to do right by eberybody. When dey tole me I'd got to die, I wasn't sartin if de Lawd wanted a po' ole black man like me up dar in His golden Hebben 'mong de angels, but He'll take me— yes, chile, He will! Dis mawnin' I heard de harps playin', de rustle of wings, an' a cloud sorter lifted up an' I got a cl'ar view right frew de pearly gates. I saw ole slaves an' nayburs dar, an' dey was jist as white as anybody, an' a hundred han's beckoned me to come right up dar 'mong 'em."

"Oh, Daddy! I'll be all alone-all alone!" she wailed. "Hush, chile! Ize gwine to be lookin' down on ye! Ize gwine to put my han' on yer head an' kiss ye when yer heart am big wid sorrow, an' when night shets down an' you pray to de Lawd, I'll be kneelin' long side of ye. Ye won't see me, but I'll be wid ye. You's old an' gray. It won't be long before ye'll git de summons. In a little time de cloud will lif' fur ye, an' I'll be right dar by de pearly gates to take ye in my arms."