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“As they stood hallooing back to back,
We, lightly as a feather,
Had pinned their coats together.
'A largess,' on the hill,
I think I hear 'em still !
“But when they found the trick, my stars !
They well knew who to blame;
And arter us they came.
Then ran as Sam came by;
I know she did not try.
Where Simon scarcely dare ;
‘By gom there's suffen ? there !
To chase me down the yard,
He hugged so woundly hard.
And round the house we flew ;
Was Simon arter Sue.
“She cared not, dark nor light, not she ;
So, near the dairy door
They'd kilt the day before.
Now Susie -- what can save ye?'
And cried 'Ah ! heve I have ye!'
“The farmers heard what Simon said,
And what a noise ! good lack !
And others clapped his back.
4 An iron hook.
“We all at once began to tell
What fun we had abroad ;
-He fell asleep and snored.
Did Fariner Crouder put
And held the candle to't.
The harmless blaze crept higher ; Till with a vengeance up he rose,
'Grace, Judie, Sue! fire, fire !' “The clock struck one--some talked of parting,
Some said it was a sin, And hitched their chairs ;- but those for starting
Now let the moonlight in. "Owd women, loitering for the nonce,
Stood praising the fine weather ; The menfolks took the hint at once
To kiss them all together.
A shanny-pated 2 crew ;
So some ketched one, some tew.
But laughing got the master ;
The farmers held the faster.
“All innocent, that I'll be sworn,
There wor’nt a bit of sorrow;
Can mend them on the morrow.
About the moonlight ground ;
Got up and gazed around.
Now with a hearty glee
And then to bed went he.
1 For the purpose.
2 Giddy, thoughtless.
“ Then off we strolled this way and that,
With merry voices ringing ;
As home we rambled singing.
And to our own doors followed.
The misty meadow hallooed.
Come, turn your wheels about ;
Just held my story out !”
The worsted from Life's ball !
- And so he'll serve us all.
RICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN. [Born in the county of Cork, 1767; died in 1815. Was an attorney in Cork, but not very zealous in his profession, having more taste for literature and for drawing. He had some reputation as an amateur artist, and was active in founding a Society for the Promotion of the Fine Arts in Cork. He published The Riverside, a blank-verse poem, in 1807. One of his compositions was the famous song, The Groves of Blarney.
THE FAIR MAID OF PASSAGE.1
O FAIR maid of Passage,
As plump as a sassage,
Those eyes in your face !
Yerrah ! pity my case,
Far softer nor silk,
And more white than new milk,
Your lips red as cherries,
And your eyes like blackberries,
Your talk is so quare,
And your sweet curly hair,
And your breath is as sweet, too,
As any potatoe,
Or orange from Seville.
When dressed in her boddice
She trips like a goddess,
One kiss from her cheek,
'Tis so soft and so sleek
So I sobs and I pine,
And I grunts like a swine,
No rest can I take,
All asleep or awake,
Your hate, then, give over,
Nor Dermuid, your lover,
Or, faith, Dermuid must die,
Like a pig in a stye,
THE TOWN OF PASSAGE.
All situated upon the sea ;
With their cotton coats on each summer's day.
The men of war, with fresh-flowing sails;
All steering for Cork in a hackney chaise.
A leaping from the mud upon the dry land ;
With a Reading-made-easy all in his hand.?
For to take on, whose heart beats high;
All pinned across it, hanging out to dry.
And tender gob-stones 3 and mussel-shells;
A comely fresh-flowing water rill. 1 I am unable to give any particulars concerning this writer. His poem is inserted in Crofton Croker's Popular Songs of Ireland, 1839: it appears to be the first form of a ballad which has been retouched by various hands, and has been popular under all.
% The figure-head of an old ship. 3 Round pebbles. 4 Hawthorn berries.
'Tis there the ladies, when break of day is,
And tender lovers, do often pelt;
All mother-naked, to enjoy their health.
Where man and horses do take a ride ;
To Carrigaloe on the other side.
With its trees so green 0 ! and fruit so red ;
The Giant's Stairs, and sweet Horse's Head.
Where often goes in one Simon Quin;
The door to open, to let him in.
With but the slates betwixt him and the sky;
Do keep him warm in where he does lie.
MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS. [Born in London in 1773, son of a West-India planter, and deputy-secretary in the War-Office; died in the Gulf of Florida, July 1818. Lewis was partly educated in Germany, which may have served to develop his peculiar taste for the horrible, supernatural, and grotesque. His first work was the once highly celebrated romance of The Monk, published in 1795: hence his ordinary nickname “Monk Lewis." Tales of Terror, Tales of Wonder, and other volumes in verse and in prose, followed : his play of The Castle Spectre was a conspicuous public success. Lewis entered parliament, but soon retired thence. He was a man of fashion, of a volatile mercurial nature, which, along with his very diminutive stature, exposed him to some ridicule. At the same time, he was truly good-hearted, and in many respects estimable : Walter Scott has termed him one of the kindest and best creatures that ever lived." He took two voyages to the West Indies, in 1815 and 1817, to look after his property there, and partly to assure himself that the slaves upon his estates received humane treatment. It was on returning from the second of these voyages that he died at sea, of a fever. At first it was rumoured that his philanthropic feelings had cost him his life: one of his slaves was said to have given him poison, in order to hasten the emancipation which, as announced by Lewis himself, would be accorded to all of them on the occurrence of his death). GRIM, KING OF THE GHOSTS; OR, THE DANCE OF DEATH.
A CHURCHYARD TALE.
“ Why, how now, old sexton ? why shake you with dread?
Why haunt you this street, where you're sure to catch cold? Full warm is your blanket, full snug is your bed ! And long since, by the steeple-chimes, twelve has been told.”
i The seat of Savage French, Esq., on the Great Island.