Then Shamus' mother in the crowd standing by, Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry,
"Oh, judge, darlin', don't, oh, don't say the word, The crathur is young, have mercy, my lord;
He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin'—
You don't know him, my lord, oh, don't give him to ruin-
He's the kindliest crathur, the tenderest-hearted—
Don't part us for ever, we that's so long parted.
Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord,
An' God will forgive you, oh, don't say the word!''
That was she first minute that O'Brien was shaken,
When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken ;
An' down his pale cheeks at the words of his mother,
The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther another.
But at last by the strength of his high-mountain pride,
He conquered and mastered his grief's swelling tide,
'An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't cry any more,
Don't make me seem broken in this my last hour,
For I wish, when my heart's lyin' under the raven,
No thrue man can say that I died like a craven!"
Then towards the judge Shamus bent down his head,
An' that minute the solemn death sintence was said.
The morn' was bright, and the mists rose on high,
An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky-
But why are the men standin' idle so late?
An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street?
What come they to talk of? what come they to see?
An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree?
Oh Shamus O'Brien, pray fervent and fast,
May the saints take your soul for this day is your last;
Pray fast, and pay strong, for the moment is nigh
When strong, proud and great as you are, you must die.
At last they threw open the big prison gate,
An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state,
An' a cart in the middle, and Shamus was in it;
Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute.
An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien,
Wid prayin' and blessin' and all the girls cryin',
A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees,
Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' thro' trees.
Then the hangman dhrew near, and the people grew still,
Young faces grew sickly, and warm hearts turned chill;
An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare,
For the grip iv the life-strangling cord to prepare :
An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer,
But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound,
And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground;
Bang, bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres,
He's not down! he's alive still; now stand to him, neighbors.
Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,
Oh, by japers, he's free! Than thunder more loud
By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken-
One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang,
But if you want hangin' it's yourselves you must hang;
To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,
An' bad luck's in the dice if you catch him again.
The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that,
An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat;
An' the sheriffs wor both of them punished severely,
An' fined like the devil, because Jime done them fairly.
VI. THE DUTCHMAN'S TELEPHONE.
"I GUESS I haf to gif up my delephone already," said an old citizen, as he
entered the office of the campany with a very long face.
"Why, what's the matter now?"
"Oh! eferytings. I got dot delephone in mine house so I could spheak mit der poys in der saloon down town, und mit my relations in Springwells, but I haf to gif it up. I never haf so much droubles.
"Vhell, my poy Shon, in der saloon, he rings der pell and calls me oop und says an old friend of mine vhants to see how she vorks. Dot ish all right. I say, 'Hello!' and he says "Come closer.' I goes closer und helloes again. Den he says, 'Shtand a little off.' I shtands a little off and yells vunce more, und he says, 'Shpeak louder.' I yells louder. I goes dot vhay for ten minutes, und den he says, 'Go to Texas, you old Dutchman !' You see?"
"Und den mein brudder in Springwells he rings der pell and calls me oop and says, how I vhas dis eafnings? I says I vhas feeling like some colts, and he says: 'Who vhants to puy some goats?' I says: 'Colts-colts-colts!' und he answers: 'Oh! coats. I thought you said goats!' Vhen I goes to ask him ef he feels petter I hear a voice crying out, 'Vhat Dutchman is dot on dis line?" somepody answers, 'I doan' know, but I likes to punch his headt!'
Vhell, somedimes, my vife vhants to shpeak mit me vhen I am down in der saloon. She rings mein pell und I says, 'Hello!' Nopody shpeaks to me. She rings again, und I says, 'Hello,' like dunder! Den der Central Office tells me to go aheadt, und den tells me holdt on, und den tells mein vhife dot I am gone avhay. I yells oudt, 'Dot ish not so,' and somepody says, 'How can I talk if dot old Dutchmans doan' keep shtill?' You see?"
"Und when I gets in bedt at night, somepody rings der pell like der house vas on fire, und vhen I shumps oudt und says hello, I hear somepody saying: 'Kaiser, doan' you vhant to puy a dog?' I vhants no dog, and vhen I tells 'em so, I hear some peoples laughing: 'Haw! haw! haw!' You see?"
"Und so you dake it oudt, und vhen somebody likes to shpeak mit me dey shall come right avay to mein saloon. Oof my brudder ish sick he shall get better, und if somepody vhants to puy me a dog, he shall come vhere I can punch him mit a glub.'
VII. MR. LISTON'S "INVITATIONS."
Enters, counting on his fingers.
EVEN shillings a-head for supper-let me see,
That's just a guinea-fish and fowl for three;
I beg your pardon; I was making bold
And little odd expenses may-but hold.
To calculate upon my fingers, so—
Whether 'twould not be cheaper to contract
For suppers-for five hundred, that's the fact;
Since I intend, in these election days,
To put up for a place that's past all praise:
A candidate for Sandwich-I request
Of all here their vote and interest.
With you I'll make, in spite of all control, ·
Like greater men, a voyage to the Poll.
We'll spread our canvas, that's to say our cloth,
And steer (if supper lies there) duly North;
But I must say I'd rather seek the shore
Where some experienced Cook has been before.
Sandwich, I reckon, will be no bad place,
So tell me your opinion to my face.
Yes, laugh; but spite of that I thus invite
All that are present here this present night,
(You know I'm absent, but not now) to share
The contest with me; and I here declare
That when the supper, that's the poll, is done,
I won't, like some, neglect the promised fun;
Nor turn my back upon a lawful dance
Or song-you still shall have my countenance,
And that might prove a plum to those that win it-
At least I own I've found my pudding in it.
Talking of pudding--you may take your choice--
Mine must be hasty, so just give your voice
In favor of my plan; but if you come
To sup, that's poll, 'twill cost a precious sum.
No scrambling, mind! let each man get a leg,
I hope besides that no "kind creature' here
Is deaf--I hate deaf people--they're so queer;
I once was served a pretty trick---no matter,
I never found he grew a morsel fatter.
I'll write a book of rules in sweet-sauc'd metre,
And call it "Every man his own beef-eater."
Laughing may be excused, it helps digestion-
It also helps the carver, that's the question;
So laugh (you always laugh at me) who will,--
I give you free permission-laugh your fill.
There's one great comfort between me and you,
People can seldom stuff and giggle too.
But now the cost, let's reckon the amount;
There's three full tiers-a pit-the seats we'll count-
At just two shillings-let me add up--that' done;
At three shillings a-head, and you (to the Gallery) at one.
Well, let me see you all accept the treat,
That is to say, you think my offerings meet,
You'll come; I don't think three shillings dear
To swallow the good things you see and hear;
Three, and two, and one-but I may err-
I'll step and fetch my ready-reckoner.
But no, it's no use now; (the Curtain rises) for once I'm late in My reckoning; for see there-the supper's waiting!
VIII.-A CHAPTER ON LOGIC.
N Eton stripling, training for the law,
A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw,
One happy Christmas,. laid upon the shelf,
His cap and gown, and stores of learned pelf,
With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome,
To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home.
Arrived, and pass'd the usual how,d'ye-do's,
Inquiries of old friends, and college news.
"Well, Tom-the road--what saw you worth discerning?
"And how goes study?-What is't you're learning?
"Oh! Logic, Sir; but not the shallow rules
"Of Locke and Bacon-antiquated fools!
"Tis wit and wrangler's logic; thus, d'ye see,
"I'll prove it at once, as plain as A. B. C.
"That an eel pie's a pigeon. To deny it,
"Would be to swear black's not black.' "Come let's try it."
"An eel pie is a pie of fish."-"Agreed."
'Fish pie may be a jack pie.”—"Well, proceed.”
"A jack pie is a John pie; and, 'tis done,
"For every John-Pie must be a Pie-John." (Pigeon.)
"Bravo!" Sir Peter cries, "Logic for ever!
"That beats my Grandmother, and she was clever!
"But hold, my boy, it surely would be hard,
"That wit and learning should have no reward,
"To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross,
"And there I'll give thee"-"What?"
"My Chestnut Horse?"
A horse!" cries Tom, "Sblood, pedigree, and paces!
"Zounds, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races !''
To bed he went, and wept for downright sorrow,
That night must go before he'd see the morrow;
Dreamt of his boots and spurs, and leather breeches ;
Hunting of cats, and leaping rails and ditches,
Left his warm rest an hour before the lark;
Dragg'd his old uncle, fasting, to the park.
Halter in hand, each vale he scour'd ;-at loss
To spy out something like a chestnut horse;
But no such animal the meadows cropp'd.
At length, beneath a tree, Sir Peter stopp'd,
A branch he caught, then shook it, and down fell
A fine Horse-chestnut, in its prickly shell.
"There, Tom, take that.” “Well, Sir, and what beside ?” "Why, since your booted, saddle it, and ride."
"Ride what? a chestnut !" "Ay, come, get across;
"I tell you, Tom, that chestnut is a horse
"And all the horse you'll get; for I can show,
"As clear as sunshine that 'tis really so;
"Not by the musty, fusty, worn-out rules
"Of Lock and Bacon-addle-headed fools!
"Or old Mallebranche-blind pilot into knowledge!
"But by the laws of wit and Eton College;
"All axioms but the wrangler's I'll disown,
"And stick to one sound argument-your own;
"Thus, now, you've proved it, as I dont deny,
"That a pie-John's the same as a John-pie.
"What follows, then? but as a thing of course,
"That a Horse Chestnut is a Chestnut Horse."
Tom scampered home in dudgeon-sought his room-
Locked himself in to fret and stamp, and fume.
If logic failed to make a horse, alas !
He felt that it indeed had made-an Ass!
IX. THE FARMER'S BLUNDER.
FARMER once to London went,
To pay the worthy 'squire his rent;
He comes, he knocks, soon entrance gains,-
Who at the door such guest detains?
Forth struts the 'squire, exceeding smart';
"Farmer, you're welcome to my heart;
"You've brought my rent, then—to a hair?
"The best of tenants, I declare!"
The steward's call'd, the accounts made even,
The money paid, the receipt was given;
"Well, said the 'squire, "now you shall stay
"And dine with me old friend, to-day;
"I've here some ladies, wondrous pretty,
"And pleasant sparks, I warrant, will fit ye."
He scratched his ears, and held his hat,
And said, "No' zur, two words to that;
"For look, d'ye see, when I'ze to dine
"With gentlefolks zo cruel fine,
"I'ze use to make, and 'tis no wonder,
"In word or deed, some plaguy blunder;
“Zo, if your honor will permit,
"I'll with your zarvants pick a bit.”
"Pooh!" says the 'squire, "it shan't be done.”
And to the parlor push'd him on.
To all around he nods and scrapes,
Not waiting maid or butler 'scapes.
With often bidding takes his seat,
But at a distance mighty great.
Though often asked to draw his chair,
He nods, nor comes an inch more near.
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