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HOW ERIN WAS BORN.--Continued.

He soon sent it flying-he hurled it below;
Where it fell like winking, old Neptune then

As Pat Roach and the missus, from Galway,

In Dublin once happened to be, With what I am thinking, was a mighty big

To the playhouse they went one fine evening, blow.

Determined diversion to see. That same star was dry land, 'twas lowland But, says Pat as he entered, “ There's no one and highland,

To pay money to, here, at all; ” And formed that sweet island, the land of “Pay here!” cried a voice. “Holy murther! my birth;

Says Pat, “there's a man in the wall." And makes true the story that sent down from

Pay here!” cried a voice. Holy murther!” glory

Says Pat, " there's a man in the wall."
Old Erin so hoary, is a heaven upon earth.-

The missus she looks all around her,

In wonder her eyes they did roll, Now Vanus slept nately, on Erin so stately,

But says she, “ Paddy darling, alanna,

He is here like a rat in a hole." But fainted 'cause lately so bothered and

'Pay here.”

“How much is it?" pressed;

“A shilling."

* A shilli Which much did bewilder, and very nigh killed

apiece, that won't do;

'Tis too much, Mr. Pay here, avourneen, her, When her father distilled her a drop of the

Eighteen pince I will give you for two:

'Tis too much, Mr. Pay here, avourneen, best. This potheen victorious made her feel glorious,

Eighteen pince I will give you for two." A little uproarious, I feel it might prove;

Pat grumbled. but paid and got seated, Then how can ye blame us that Erin's so

The band was beginning to play, famous

He jigged on his seat quite elated, For whisky and fighting, for beauty and

And to the musicians did say: love.-CHORUS.

“ 'Tis yerselves that can do it, me bouchals,

And I wish to yez wid all me mind.”

To the fiddlers, " More power to your elbows,

Mister Bugler, heav'n spare ye yer wind.”

To the fiddlers, “ More power to your elbows,
WELL, Shamus, what brought ye?

Mister Bugler, heav'n spare ye yer wind.”
It's dead, sure, I thought ye-
What's kept ye this fortnight from calling The play then went on and Pat wondered,
on me?

And sat with his mouth open wide,
Stop there! Don't be lyin';

As the proud haughty Lord of the Manor
It's no use denyin'-

Sought to make the fair maiden his bride.
I know you've been waitin' on Kitty Magee. To the mountains," says he, “I will bear thee.”

She shrieked as she saw him approach:
She's ould and she's homely:

Is there no one at hand now to save me?” There's girls young and comely

Shouts a voice: “Yes, me darlin', Pat Roach.” Who've loved you much longer and better

Then up on the seat jumped brave Paddy, than she;

Says he: “Now, you blackguard, be gone, But, 'deed I'm not carin',

Or a lord though you be tin times over, I'm glad I've no share in

I'll knock your two eyes into one.” The love of a boy who loved Kitty Magee.

Sit down there in front!" “What, you spalpeen,

Is it me you thus dare to address? Away! I'm not cryin',

Do you think that Pat Roach would sit aisy, Your charge I'm denyin',

And see that poor girl in distress? You're wrong to attribute such wakeness to me;

But soon sure the row did subside, If tears I am showin',

And as Pat gasped for breath he discovered, I'd have ye be knowin'

Of the door he was on the wrong side; They're shed out of pity for Kitty Magee.

He soon found the missus, next morning

They started for home, and Pat swore What's that? Am I dhramin'?

If he once safely landed in Galway,
You've only been shammin'?

He'd come up to Dublin no more.
Just thryin' to test the affection in me;
But you're the sly divil!

There now! Please be civil;

MOTHER—dear mother, tell me what meant the proud array Don't hug me to death! I'm not Kitty Ma- Of armed men and prancing steeds which passed yon mountain gee.


And who was he of noble mien and brow of lordly pride, Your kisses confuse me;

Who rode, like warrior chief of old, that gallant band beside ? Well, I'll not refuse ye

I know you'll be tindher and loving wid me; “ Marked you how lighted up his eye, as in the noonday sun So show my conthrition

Their silken banners flutter'd wide and flash'd each polish'd gun, For doubts and suspicion,

And how with gentle courtesy he oft and lowly bowed, I'll ax for first bridesmaid Miss Kitty Ma- As rang the brazen trumpets out, and cheer'd th' assembled gee.


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LANTY LEARY. “Methinks the Spartan chief who fell at famed Thermopylæ,

LANTY was in love, you see, Of whom we read but yesternight, was such a man as he

With lovely, lively Rosie Carey, The same proud port and eagle eye--the same determined frown,

But her father can't agree frown,

To give the girl to Lanty Leary. And supple arm to shield a friend or strike a foeman down.

Up to fun, away we'll run,"

Says she, my father's so conthrairy, And then those troops as on they passed, n proud and glit

Won't you follow me? won't you follow me?" tering show,

Faith I will,” says Lanty Leary.
Seemed worthy of the chief who led—'twere pity of the foe
Who roused to wrath their slumbering might, or wronged our
own green land-

But her father died one day
I'd promise them a scattered host with many a shivered brand." (I hear 'twas not by dhrinkin’ wather);

House and land and cash, they say, You're right, dear Mabel, for the chief who leads that warrior He left by will to Rose his daughter; host

House and land and cash to seize, Is Grattan-high and honored name -thy country's proudest Away she cut so light and airy. boast;

“Won't you follow me? won't you follow And they whose closely marshalled ranks the people hailed with

me? cheers,

“Faith I will,” says Lanty Leary. Thy country's soldier-citizens—the gallant Volunteers.”

Rose, herself, was taken bad, Then why, dear mother--tell me why those Volunteers arose?

The fayver worse each day was growin', Was it to guard some sacred right, or to repel our foes ?

Lanty dear,” says she, “ 'tis sad, For I have heard my father say he dreaded England's word

To th’ other world I'm surely goin’. And English perfidy far more than foreign foeman's sword."

You can't survive my loss I know,

Nor long remain in Tipperary, “ They rose to guard from foreign foes—as well from British

Won't you follow me? won't you follow me?" guile-

Faith I won't,” says Lanty Leary.
Thy liberties and mine, my child, and all within this Isle;
To make this glorious land of ours—those hills we love so well,
A fitting home and resting place where freedom's foot might


Did ye's ever go into an Irishman's shanty? “They rose and swore by Freedom's name, by kindred and by Och, b’ys, that's the place where the whisky is

kind, No foreign rule, no foreign guile, their country's limbs should wid his pipe'in his mouth there sits Paddy so

plenty; bind

free, That she should stand erect and fair, as in the olden time,

No king in his palace is prouder than he. The loveliest 'mong the nations-of Ocean's Isles the prime.

Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the

boy! “ That they have nobly kept this pledge, bear witness, one and

all, The bootless plots of England, the baffled hosts of Gaul.

There's a three-legged stool, wid a table to That they may long be spared to guard our country's rights and the door of the shanty is locked with a

divine, Should be your prayer at night and morn, my child, as it is

latch; mine."

There's a nate feather mattress, all bustin'

wid straw,

For the want of a bedstead it lies on the floor. BEAUTIFUL SHAMROCK OF OLD IRELAND.

Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the

boy! THERE'S a sweet little spot away down by Cape Clear, Sure it's Ireland herself, to all Irishman dear;

There's a snug little bureau widout paint or Where the white praties blossom like illigant flowers,

gilt, And the wild birds sing sweetly above the round towers; Made of boards that was left when the shanty And the dear little shamrock, that none can withstand,

was built; Is the beautiful emblem of old Ireland.

There's a three-cornered mirror hangs up on

the wall, In his hat good St. Patrick used always to wear

But niver a face has been in it at all. The shanirock whenever he went to a fair;

Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the And Nebuchadnezzar, no doubt, highly prized

boy! A bit of the blossom when he went disguised; For the bosom of beauty itself might expand,

He has pigs in the sty, and a cow in the stable, When bedecked by the shamrock or old Ireland.

And he feeds thim on scraps that is left from When far, far away, a sweet blossom I've seen,

the table; I've dreamt of shillelahs and shamrocks so green,

They'd starve if confined, so they roam at That grow, like two twins, on the bogs and the hills,

their aise, With a drop in my eye, that with joy my heart fills; And come into the shanty whinever they plaze. And I've blessed the dear sod from a far distant strand, Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the And the beautiful shamrock of old Ireland.


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YOUNG CHARMS. O Woman of Three Cows,, arragh! don't let your tongue thus rattle!

BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young Oh, don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because you may have cattle.

charms, I have seen--and, here's my hand to you, I only say what's

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, true

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud as you.

my arms,

Like fairy-gifts, fading away, Good luck to you, don't scorn the poor, and don't be their des. Thou wouldst still be ador'd as this moment piser;

thou art, For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser:

Let thy loveliness fade as it will; And death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human and around the dear ruin each wish of my brows.

heart Then don't be stiff and don't be proud, good Woman of Three

Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, See where Mononia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants, That the fervor and faith of a soul can be

And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear, "Tis they that won the glorious name and had the grand at

known, tendants!

To which time will but make thee more dear! If they were forced to bow to fate, as every mortal bows, Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows? Oh! the heart, that has truly lov’d, never for.

gets, The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the land to But as truly loves on to the close; mourning;

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he Movrone! for they were banish'u, with no hope of their return

sets, ing

The same look which she turn'd when he Who knows in what abodes of want those youths were driven to

rose! house? Yet you can give yourself these airs, O Woman of Three Cows!


Oh, think of Donnell of the Ships, the chief whom nothing Par fell sick on a time, and he sent for the daunted

priest, See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled, unchanted! That, dying, he might have his blessing, at He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, where thunder cannot rouse

least; Then ask yourself, should you be pround, good Woman of Three And to come with all speed did humbly imCows!

plore him, To fit him out right for the juorney before

him. O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrin'd in story

The good father the summons did quickly Think how their high achievements once made Erin's greatest obey, glory

And found Paddy, alas! in a terrible way; Yet now their bones lie moldering under weeds and cypress Fixed and wild were his looks, and his nose boughs,

cold and blue, And so, for all your pride, will yours, 0 Woman of Three And his countenance wore a cold churchyardCows!

like hue. The good father bid Pat confess all his crimes,

To think of his sins and forsake them betimes; Th' O'Carrolls also, famed when fame was only for the boldest, Or his fate else would be, like other vile souls, Rest in forgotten sepulchers with Erin's best and oldest; To be flayed and be salted, then roasted on Yet who so great as they of yore in battle or carouse?

coals. Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows!

“Oh! think, my dear Pat, on that beautiful

place, Your neighbor's poor, and you, it seems, are big with vain ideas, Where you'll visit St. Patrick and see his Because, inagh! you've got three cows--one more, I see, than

sweet face; she has;

"Tis a country, my jewel, so charming and That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows where you'll never want praties nor brogues to

swate, But, if you're strong, be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows!

your fate.


Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up your scornful Well, well, then," says Pat, with inquisitive bearing,

face, And I'm too poor to hinder you-but, by the cloak I'm wearing! “That country must sure be beautiful place; If I had but four cows inyself, even though you were my spouse, St. Patrick, no doubt, will give us good cheer, I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman of Three But d'ye think he has got any ould whisky Cows!



cut away,


GRANDFATIIER BRIAN. The good father with wonder, amaze and sur

GRANDFATHER BRIAN departed this life, it was on Saint Patrick's prise, Clasped his hands and next turned up the He started off to the next world without ever asking the way;

day, whites of his eyes;

Leaving me all of his riches, with a great deal of wealth, d'ye “Oh! vile sinner," says he, can you hope to

see? be forgiven

With a pair of his cloth leather breeches that buttoned up down If you think there is carousing and drinking

to the knee. in heaven?"

CHORUS. “Well, well, then," says Pat, “though I cannot help thinking,

Hurrah for my grandfather Brian! I wish he was living, och, lf in heaven they can do wthout eating or sure! drinking.

And every day he'd be dying to be leaving me ten times as much ( Though I don't mean to say what you tell is a fable),

He left me the whole two sides of bacon, only one half was just "Twould be dacent, you know, to see a drop on the table."

With a broomstick with the head of a rake on, and a field full COUNTY JAIL.

of straw to make hay; Good people, all, give ear I pray,

He left me some props and some patches, with a beautiful new And mark ye all to what I say,

smock frock, To my misfortunes, great and small,

Six beautiful hens to lay duck's eggs, only one turned out to Come listen and I'll tell you all:

be a cock. I used to lead a glorious life,

He left me a well full of water, only some said it was dry, Devoid of care, devoid of strife;

Three pitfuls of sand, lime and mortar, and a squinting Tomcat Could go to bed and fall asleep

with one eye; No ugly visions around me creep

He left me an old dog and a kitten, his lapstone, knife and But, oh! the toots and Cupid gods

brad-awl, They nearly drove me ramping mad;

With a lump of Dutch cheese that was bitten and a box full of They piped into a railroad mail

nothing at all. And carried me off to County Jail! And when we got to the end of the route,

He left me a glass that was broken, with a pair of new boots

without soles, The turnkey turned my pockets out, To see if I had got such stuff

And, faith! if the truth must be spoken, a kettle with fifty-five

holes; As money, grub, tobacco, or snuff; They took me in to try my size,

A knife board made out of leather, a treacle pot half full of The color of hair, the color of eyes

glue, They measured me up from root to tip,

A down bed without ever a feather, and a fine coat nigh handy

in two. To see if I had but one top lip; Then straightway to the yard did go

He left me a very fine clock, too, full of brass wheels made out And ordered me a suit of clothes,

of wood; The kyds came out and did me hail,

A key without ever a lock, too, a stool to sit down where I “ Another new cove for County Jail!"

stood. Then one of them, with a roguish leer,

A blanket made out of cloth patches, a bread basket made of tinSays, “My jolly old cove, what brought you

ware, here?

A window without any sashes, and a horse collar made for a What do you think brought me out, What brought me

here but


He left me a starling, a beauty, but it turned out to be a thrush, route? Then they gather'd 'round me lke so many

He bid me in life do my duty, and never comb my hair with a

brush; fools,

He left me six pounds all n copper, with a splendid straight And one talked about the rules,

rule double bent, That each newcomer should sing a song,

And a beautiful bacca stopper with a view of Blackwater in Or tell a tale, God knows how long

Kent. Or they'd break his wind and give him a whack,

He left me some whisky for drinking and a beautiful stick, look Oh they'd take him down to black Jack,

at that, From there they'd wollop him, tooth and nail, And also a she bull for milking and a second-hand silk beaver With an old wet towel from County Jail! As I walked out and strolled the yard,

He left nie a shirt all in tatters among other things I must

state, Thinking my case was wondrous hard, All at once I heard a din,

And a rare stock of old broken platter and, in fact, all the The deputy warden shouts, “ All in."

family plate. Then lumbering down the yard we go, He left me the bog for a garden, one night it got covered with Like beasts let out of a wild beast show

the food, Some cracked in mind and some in wind, And when I went out in the morning I went up to my two erre And others with a crack behind;

in mud; Then one by one we march around the tub He left me a fine mare for breeding, it's age was over three To get our county allowance of grub,

score, Which blew our ribs ont like a sail,

And when I come here next evening I will tell you ten times as With a skilly and whack from County Jail!

much more.



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