FLAMING O'FLANAGANS.-Continued.

The tazing, the cursing, the shouting, the shooting,
The clattering of glasses-the breaking of skuils—
The dancing would sure be upon the best footing,

Wid Irish Miss Murphys and English Miss Bulls.
The neat little party you'd like to see revel,

The loves and the whisky, and the devil knows what; And the dances that we whacked black and blue like the devil, And the spalpeens we floored at the very first shot.

O'Brien he went through the world without lying,

And he beat the Danes, a whole score of them flat;
And faix, after that, the old Danes beat O'Brien,
And he died victorious, more glory for Pat.
Ever since that, the brave flaming O'Flanagans
Have fought in each battle, all the way round;
From Kilrush to Kilkenny, and all the way back again,
The blood of O'Flanagans covers the ground.

Do you see how I'm laughed at by all those queer vagabones,
Shouting and screaming twice as loud as they can?
Paddy Flynn, I go bail, I'll give you a sore bag of bones
If you'll only come here and turn out like a man.
Do ye's think I'll stop here until morning, diverting ye's
While me nate jug of punch is cooling outside?
Good night, boys, you know I'm sorry from parting ye's,
But the love of the whisky was always me pride.

MOLLY MULDOON.

SWEET jewel, my heart has gone out of my keepin',

An' I am wantin' it back wid a slice of your own; For I drame through the night, when I ought to be sleepin' Ov the purtiest girl in the country of Tyrone.

'Tis yourself, an' you know it, more shame you won't show it, But I'll list by my faith for a dashing dragoon,

If you don't quit your jokin', which is more than provokin',
And pity my love for you, Molly Muldoon.

There's Shusey Magee, drinks her tay out of chaney,
Her father, the drover, has money in store;
An' Kitty McKenna, that plays the pianna,

An', troth, if I liked-no, I needn't say more.
But little I care for themselves or their riches;

An' the music you'd make wid your noggin' an' spoon, Would be sweeter to me if I slept in the ditches,

An' scraped the same pot wid you. Molly Muldoon.

Och! Molly, achorra, don't kill me wid sorrow,

I'm awake on my feet wid the weight of my woes, My shouldin's neglected an' famine expected,

My plow in the meadow a roost for the crows.

An' little it matters, my poor heart in tatters,

For a corpse on the board I'll be stretched for you soon; Or wid ribbons all flyin', I'll laugh while you're cryin', Then wed where you will, cruel Molly Muldoon. I've a heart true an' tender to love you forever, Five cows an' a cowlt, an' a guinea to spare; Not to mention my faction, the soul of a ruction, Mayrone can't they scatter the fun ov a fair. But long-legged Mullen and crooked-eyed Cullen, They brag of your smiles, but I'll alter their tone; For there's murther a-brewin' an' all of your doin', I'm losin' my sowl for you, Molly Muldoon.

But I don't care a rap if I never see glory,

He's not in shoe leather who'll take you from me;
An' for all your sweet schamin' the end of the story
Will tell in my favor, a calleen machree.

For I know in your heart there's a spark for me burnin',
No sehamin' can smother, so whisper aroon;

"Tis a fortnight to Lent, an' you'll never repent,
If we're one for the ashes, sweet Molly Muldoon.

Think on old Brian, war's mighty lion,

'Neath that banner 'twas he smote the Dane; The Northman and Saxon oft turned their backs on,

Those who bore it o'er each crimsoned plain, Beal-an-atha-Buidhe beheld it

Bagenal's fiery onset curb;

Scotch Munroe would fain have felled it,
We, boys, followed him from red Beinnburb.
Charged with Eoghan for our flag of green!
flag

Shall above us be in triumph seen;

Oh! think on its glory, long shrined in story, Charged with Eoghan for our flag of green!

'Twas a cold winter's night, and the tempest was snarlin',

The snow, like a sheet, covered cabin and stye,

When Barney flew over the hills to his darlin', And tapped at the window where Katty did lie.

"Arrah! jewel," said he, "are ye sleepin' or wakin' ?

The night's bitter cold, an' my coat it is thin;

Oh! the storm 'tis a brewin', the frost it is bakin',

Oh! Katty Avourneen, you must let me in."

BILLY O'ROURKE.

FAITH! I greased my brogues and took my stick the twentieth day of May, sirs,

Then off to Dublin town I tripped to walk upon the sea, sirs;
To see if I could get employ to cut their hay and corn, sirs,
To pick up pence upon the sea the cockneys I might larn, sirs.

CHORUS.

With my phillaloo and heart so true, Arrah! Billy O'Rourke's the boy, sirs.

I gave the Captain six thirteens to carry me o'er to Porgate, But before we got half o'er the road the wind it blew at a hard rate;

The sticks that grew up through the ship they sang out like a whistle,

And the sailors all, both great and small, they swore we's going to the devil.

The ship she sang us all to sleep till they came to the place of landing,

And those that were most fatigued, the sails ere out a-handing; They looked so smart they won my heart-says I: You fools of riches,

Although you've no tails to your coats you've money in your breeches.

I met an honest gentleman a-traveling the road sirs,

Good morning, says I, pray how do you do? but he proved a mighty rogue, sirs;

For, at the corner of a lane a pistol he pulled out, sirs,

And he rammed the muzzle, arrah, what a shame, into my very mouth, sirs.

Your money, blast your Irish eyes! arrah! be merciful, cried I, sirs,

He swore my brains he would blow out if I should bawl or cry, sirs;

He leveled fair just for my sconce, three steps I did retire, sirs, His pan it flashed and his head I smashed-my shillelah don't miss fire, sir.

A widow next did me employ all for to cut and thrash, sirs,
No man like me could handle a flail, in troth, I was a dasher;
She had a maid who used me well, but I, being afraid o' the
beadle,

Bid her good morning, Madam, says I, I think you'll have use for your cradle!

PADDY MILES.

FROM the big town of Limerick lately I came,

I left Ireland solely bekase of my name;

For if anything wint wrong, or a mischief 'twas done,

Shure they'd lave all the blame on my mother's own son.

So my name now is Paddy O'Connor,

'Pon an Irishman's thrue word and honor;

Oh, misfortune my curse light upon her,

'Twas she christened me Paddy Miles.

If a windy was broke, or a house robbed of tiles,

And you'd ax who done that, shure they d say Paddy Miles; Who was it set fire to his reverence's wig?

And cut the tail off Pat Flanigan's pig?

Who was it called Mishes Muloney a scollup?

And gave Paddy McGee's cat the jallop?

Some blackguards would hit me a wallop
And say it was you, Paddy Miles.

PADDY MAGEE'S DREAM.

JOHN BULL he was an Englishman,
And went to tramp one day,
With three-pence in his pocket
To take him a long way;

He tramped along for miles and miles,
Yet no one did he see,

Till he fell in with an rishman,

Whose name was Paddy Magee.

Good morning, Pat, said John to him,
Where are you going to?

Says Paddy: I hardly know myself,
I want a job to do.

Have you got any money about you?
Said John Bull unto Pat.

Says Pat: It's the only thing I'm wanting, For I haven't got a rap.

Then they overtook a Scotchman,

Who, like them, was out of work;
To judge by his looks, he was haid up
And as hungry as a Turk.

Can you lend me a shilling, Scotty?
At last said Paddy Magee.
I'm sorry I canna, said the Scotchman,
For I ha'e na got ane baubee.

Said the Englishman, I three-pence have,
What shall we do with that?
Och! buy three-pen'orth of whisky,
It will cheer us up, said Pat.
Nay, dinna do that, said the Scotchman,
I'll tell thee the best to do;

Just buy three-pence worth of oat-meal,
I'll make some nice burgoo.

Now I think we had better buy a loaf,
The Englishman did say;
And then in yonder hay-stack

Our hunger sleep away.
We can get a drink of water

From yonder purling stream, And the loaf shall be his in the morning, Who has the greatest dream.

The Englishman dreamt by the morning,
Ten million men had been

For ten years digging a turnip up,
The largest ever seen;

At last they got the turnip up,
By working night and day;
Then it took five million horses

This turnip to pull away.

Said the Scotchman: I've been dreaming
Fifty million men had been

For fifty years making a boiler,

The largest ever seen.

What was it for? said the Englishman,
Was it made of copper or tin?

It was made of copper, said Scotty,
To boil your turnip in.

Och! said Paddy, I've been dreaming
An awful great big dream;

I dreamt I was in a hay-stack,
By the side of a purling stream,

I dreamt that you and Scotty was there,

As true as I'm an oaf;

By the powers! I dreamt I was hungry,
So I got up and eat the loaf.

PADDV MILES.-Contiuued.

I worked in the bogs and behaved, as I thought,
From my master, Mick Flynn, a character brought;
But it done me no good, and I thought that was odd,
So I made up my mind for to leave the ould sod.
For the devil a wan would employ me.
The girls there they would annoy me;
They threatened at once to destroy me,
All bekase I was called Paddy Miles.

Who cut off one of the tails of Pat Flanigan's coat?
And who broke the left horn of Ned Shaughnessy's goat?
Who through the back door to the chapel got in,

And drank all the wine, blood and ounds, what a sin!
Who half-murdered a poorhouse inspector?
And fired at a police detector;

When Miss Fagan, they tried to eject her?
Who was it, but you, Paddy Miles?

I trotted to Dublin to look for a place,

Tho' they'd ne'er saw me there, faix, they all knew my face; The jackeens kept calling meself to annoy,

There goes Paddy Miles, he's a Limerick boy!

Till I flourished my sprig of shillelah,
And smattered their gobs so genteelly;
When the blood it began to flow freely,
Said I, How do you like Paddy Miles?

In short, before long to this country I came,
And found Paddy Miles here was the same;

If my name wasn't changed I was likely to starve,
For bad luck to the master could I sarve.

So Paddy O'Connor it is made, sir,
An' if you wish to get a smart blade, sir,
Be me soul, then, you need not be afraid, sir,
For to hire me-I'm not Paddy Miles.

THE EXILES OF ERIN.

GREEN were the fields where my forefathers dwelt,
O! Erin, mavourneen, slan leat go brah!
Though our farm was small, yet comforts we felt,
O! Erin, mavouneen, slan leat go brah!
At length came the day when our lease did expire,
And fain would I live where before lived my sire;
But ah! well-a-day! I was forced to retire,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!
Though the laws I obeyed, no protection I found,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

With what grief I beheld my cot burned to the ground,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!
Forced from my home-yea, from where I was born,
To range the wide world-poor, helpless, forlorn;

I look back with regret, and my heart strings are torn,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

With principles pure, patriotic and firm,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

To my country attached, and a friend to reform,

O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

I supported old Ireland-was ready to die for it,

If her foes e'er prevailed I was ell known to sigh for it;
If her foes e'er prevailed I was well known to sigh for it;
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

But hark! I hear sounds, and my heart is strong beating,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!
Loud cries for redress, and avaunt on retreating,
O! Erin, mavourneen! slan leat go brah!

We have numbers, and numbers do constitute pow'r-
Let us will to be free-and we're free from that hour;
Of Hibernia's brave sons, oh! we feel we're the flower--
Bole yudh, mavourneen! Erin go brah!

THE GATHERING OF THE MAHONYS.

JERRY MAHONY, arrah, my jewel! come let us be off to the fair,

For the Donovans all in their glory most certainly mean to be there;

Say they, "The whole Mahony faction we'll banish 'em out clear and clean." But it never was yet in their breeches their bullaboo words to maintain.

There's Darby to head us, and Barney, as civil a man as yet spoke,

'Twould make your mouth water to see him just giving a bit of a stroke. There's Corney, the bandy-legged tailor, a boy of the true sort of stuff,

Who'd fight though the black blood was flowing like butter-milk out of his buff.

There's broken-nose Bat from the mountainlast week he burst out of jailAnd Murty the beautiful Tory, who'd scorn in a row to turn tail;

Bloody Bill will be there like a darling-and Jerry-och! let him alone,

For giving his blackthorn a flourish, or lifting a lump of a stone!

And Tim, who'd served in the militia, has his bayonet stuck on a pole;

Foxy Dick has his scythe in good order-a neat sort of tool on the whole;

A cudgel I see is your weapon, and never I knew it to fail;

But I think that a man is more handy who fights, as I do, with a flail.

We muster a hundred shellelahs, all handled by ilegant men,

Who battered the Donovans often, and now will go do it again;

To-day we will teach them some manners, and show that, in spite of their talk,

We still, like our fathers before us, are surely the cocks of the walk.

LANIGAN'S BALL.-Continued.

Myself, of course, got free invitations

For all the nice boys and girls I'd ask, And in less than a minute the friends and relations

Were dancing away like bees round a cask. Miss O'Hara, the nice little milliner,

Tipped me the wink to give her a call, And soon I arrived with Timothy Glenniher Just in time for Lanigan's ball.

There was lashins of punch and wine for the ladies,

Potatoes and cakes and bacon and tay, The Nolans and Doolans and all the O'Gradys Were courtin' the girls and dancin' away. Songs there were as plenty as water,

From "The Harp that once thro' Tara's ould Hall,"

To "Sweet Nelly Gray and "The Ratcatcher's Daughter,"

All singing together at Lanigan's ball.

They were startin' all sorts of nonsensical dances.

Turning around in a nate whirligig;

But Julia and I soon scatthered their fancies, And tipped them the twist of a rale Irish jig.

Och mavrone! 'twas she that as glad o' me; We danced till we thought the ceilin' would fall

(For I spent three weeks in Burke's Academy Learning a step for Lanigan's ball).

The boys were all merry, the girls were all hearty,

Dancin' away in couples and groups, When an accident happened-young Terence McCarty

He put his right foot through Miss Halloran's hoops.

The creature she fainted, and cried "Millia murther!"

She called all her friends and gathered them all.

Ned Carmody swore he'd not stir a step further,

But have satisfaction at Lanigan's ball.

In the midst of the row Miss Kerrigan

fainted

Her cheeks all the while were as red as the

rose

Some of the ladies declared she was painted, She took a small drop of potheen, I suppose. Her lover, Ned Morgan, so pow'rful and able, When he saw his dear colleen stretched out by the wall,

He tore the left leg from under the table And smashed all the china at Lanigan's ball.

Oh, boys, there was the ructions

Myself got a lick trom big Phelim McHugh, But I soon replied to his kind introductions, And kicked up a terrible hullabaloo.

Old Shamus the piper had like to be strangled,

They squeezed up his pipes, bellows, chanters and all;

The girls in their ribbons they all got entangled,

And that put an end to Lanigan's ball.