THE IRISHMAN'S SHANTY.-Continued. He has three rooms in one-kitchen, bedroom,

and hall,

And his chist it is three wooden pegs in the wall;

Two suits of ould clothes makes his wardrobe

complete,

One for wear in the shanty, the same in the street.

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

There is one who partakes of his sorrows and joys,

Attinds to the shanty, the girls and the boys; (The brats he thinks more of than gold that's refined),

But Biddy's the jewel that's set in his mind. Arrah, me honey! w-h-a-c-k! Paddy's the boy!

THE IRISHMAN.

THE savage loves his native shore, Though rude the soil and chill the air; Then well may Erin's sons adore

Their isle which nature formed so fair. What flood reflects a shore so sweet As Shannon sweet or pastoral Baun? Or who a friend or foe can meet So generous as an Irishman?

His hands is rash, his heart is warm,
But honesty is still his guide;

None more repents a deed of harm,

And none forgives with nobler pride; He may be duped, but won't be daredMore fit to practise than to plan; He dearly earns his poor reward, And spends it like an Irishman.

If strange or poor, for you he'll pay,

And guide to where you safe may be; If you're his guest, while e'er you stay, His cottage holds a jubilee. His inmost soul he will unlock,

And if he may your secrets scan, Your confidence he scorns to mock, For faithful is an Irishman.

By honor bound in woe or weal,

Whate'er she bids he dares to do;
Try him with bribes-they won't prevail;
Prove him in fire-you'll find him true.
He seeks not safety, let his post

Be where it ought in danger's van;
And if the field of fame be lost,
It won't be by an Irishman.

Erin, loved land, from age to age,

Be thou more great, more famed and free, May peace be thine, or shouldst thou wage Defensive war-cheap victory. May plenty bloom in every field, Which gentle breezes softly fan, And cheerful smiles serenely gild

The home of every Irishman.

RIGGED OUT.

I'm a brand from the burning, a genuine saint, Newly purged and set free from Papistical taint; Yea, I'm one of that holy, that sanctified troop Whose souls have been chastened by flannel and soup.

I'll tell how so blessed a change came about:

I always was lazy, a slouch, and a lout;

I never was willing to delve or to dig,

But I looked for support to my wife and the pig.

My spirit was never confused or perplexed
By the talk in this world about things in the next;
But I felt I'd be certain of one life of bliss,
If some one would feed me for nothing in this.

And so by a ditch near my cabin I lay,
With my front to the sun, on a hot summer day,
When the Reverend Oliver Stiggins came by,
And attracted my gaze by the white of his eye.

He spoke, and he said: "I perceive by your face,
Wretched man, that you're much unacquainted with grace."
"Very true, sir," said I, "sure I scarce know the taste
Of the broth or the flesh of a four-footed baste."

Then he bade me arise and proceed with him home,
Till he'd give me some proofs of the errors of Rome.
I went, and the clinchers that Oliver chose
Were a full and complete suit of second-nand clothes.

I felt at the moment the breeches went on
That half of my ancient religion was gone;
Much was done by a vest buttoned up to the throat,
But the grand hit of all was a rusty black coat.

The hat was convincing, as one might expect,
The necktie itself had a certain effect;
Then to pluck away error right out from the roots,
He covered my croobs with a new pair of boots.

Then he raised up his hands and his eyes, and began
To declare, through his nose, I'd "put off the Old Man,"
And he hoped to my newly-found faith I'd hold fast;
Which I said that I would-while his garments would last.

Then he bade me go talk unto Biddy, my wife,
About ribbons and cotton and Protestant life;
And to ask her, with dear Mrs. Stiggins' regards,
What stuff would convert her, and how many yards.

I hurried to Biddy-she shrieked with affright,
She laughed and she cried at the comical sight;
She called me an assal, a rogue, and a fool,
And fell combing my head with a three-legged stool.

She pitched me right out and she bolted the door,
I knocked and I shouted, I cursed, and I swore;
But soon I grew meek, and I made up my mind
I could fare very well leaving Biddy behind.

From town unto town have I traveled since then,
Giving good British Scripture to women and men,
And indulging at times in a bit of a freak,
But, sure, Stiggins himself knows the flesh is but weak.

Well, my clothes are supplied, and secure is my pay,
But my wages are settled at so much per day;
And I boldly contend that my friends have no right
To heed what a Souper may do through the night.

See where Mononia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants, "Tis they that won the glorious name and had the grand attendants!

If they were forced to bow to fate, as every mortal bows,

gets,

But as truly loves on to the close;

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he

GOOD people, all, give ear I pray,
And mark ye all to what I say,

To my misfortunes, great and small,
Come listen and I'll tell you all:
I used to lead a glorious life,
Devoid of care, devoid of strife;
Could go to bed and fall asleep-
No ugly visions around me creep-
But, oh! the toots and Cupid gods
They nearly drove me ramping mad;
They piped into a railroad mail
And carried me off to County Jail!

And when we got to the end of the route,
The turnkey turned my pockets out,

To see if I had got such stuff

As money, grub, tobacco, or snuff;
They took me in to try my size,
The color of hair, the color of eyes-

They measured me up from root to tip,
To see if I had but one top lip;
Then straightway to the yard did go
And ordered me a suit of clothes,
The kyds came out and did me hail,
"Another new cove for County Jail!"
Then one of them, with a roguish leer,

Says, "My jolly old cove, what brought you here?"

What do you think brought me out,

What brought me here but your railroad

route?

Then they gather'd 'round me lke so many fools,

And one talked about the rules,

That each newcomer should sing a song,
Or tell a tale, God knows how long-

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

Oh they'd take him down to black Jack,
From there they'd wollop him, tooth and nail,
With an old wet towel from County Jail!
As I walked out and strolled the yard,
Thinking my case was wondrous hard,
All at once I heard a din,

The deputy warden shouts, "All in."
Then lumbering down the yard we go,
Like beasts let out of a wild beast show-
Some cracked in mind and some in wind,
And others with a crack behind:

Then one by one we march around the tub
To get our county allowance of grub,
Which blew our ribs out like a sail,
With a skilly and whack from County Jail!

GRANDFATHER BRIAN.

GRANDFATHER BRIAN departed this life, it was on Saint Patrick's He started off to the next world without ever asking the way; day, Leaving me all of his riches, with a great deal of wealth, d'ye see?

With a pair of his cloth leather breeches that buttoned up down to the knee.

CHORUS.

Hurrah for my grandfather Brian! I wish he was living, och,

sure!

And every day he'd be dying to be leaving me ten times as much

more.

He left me the whole two sides of bacon, only one half was just cut away,

With a broomstick with the head of a rake on, and a field full of straw to make hay;

He left me some props and some patches, with a beautiful new smock frock,

Six beautiful hens to lay duck's eggs, only one turned out to be a cock.

He left me a well full of water, only some said it was dry, Three pitfuls of sand, lime and mortar, and a squinting Tomcat with one eye;

He left me an old dog and a kitten, his lapstone, knife and brad-awl,

With a lump of Dutch cheese that was bitten and a box full of nothing at all.

He left me a glass that was broken, with a pair of new boots without soles,

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

holes;

A knife board made out of leather, a treacle pot half full of

glue,

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

He left me a very fine clock, too, full of brass wheels made out of wood;

A key without ever a lock, too, a stool to sit down where I stood.

A blanket made out of cloth patches, a bread basket made of tinware,

A window without any sashes, and a horse collar made for a

mare.

He left me a starling, a beauty, but it turned out to be a thrush, He bid me in life do my duty, and never comb my hair with a brush;

He left me six pounds all n copper, with a splendid straight rule double bent,

And a beautiful bacca stopper with a view of Blackwater in Kent.

He left me some whisky for drinking and a beautiful stick, look at that,

And also a she bull for milking and a second-hand silk beaver hat;

He left me a shirt all in tatters among other things I must state,

And a rare stock of old broken platter and, in fact, all the family plate.

He left me the bog for a garden, one night it got covered with the flood,

And when I went out in the morning I went up to my two eyes in mud;

He left me a fine mare for breeding, it's age was over thres

score,

And when I come here next evening I will tell you ten times as much more.