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was to observe that the gentleman was of course in what Shakspeare calls "a green and yellow melancholy." Well, the day came→→

"The great, th' important day, Big with the fate of Geoffry and his pun"

-I told my story; but it so happened that I made a slight alteration, and turned the green coat into a blue one; -his impetuosity to dazzle the company was too violent to allow him to notice the mistake: out came the quotation; and we had the old joke of the leg of mutton and the "lapsus linguæ" over again. It was the first time in his life that Geoffry Goosecap ever set the table in a roar. Perhaps you have now a sufficiently accurate idea of this " impertinent." Just imagine a fellow who would stop Mr. Serjeant Pennefather, on his way to court, to ask him "why a miller wears a white hat?" Does he hear that my Lord Decies has given a guinea to some public charity, he is in ecstacy, for it enables him to observe that he should have thought his lordship would have given ten times that sum. Does an eminent divine preach, Geoffry pays the sermon no attention whatever; but he whispers in your ear when it is concluded, and hopes you will allow that it is a finished composition. Geoffry is a bit of a classical scholar, and the following anecdote, (for the truth of which I am ready to vouch on the honor of a contributor to the Dublin University Magazine,) will shew to what purposes he applies his erudition. He has a daughter named Sarah, and a maid-servant ycleped Rose, and he takes care, when he invites anybody to his house, that the young lady shall be out of the way; he then calls the maid, and bids her go in search of her mistress; the girl has

learned her part to admiration, and runs up and down calling Miss Sarah, Miss Sarah, at the top of her lungs : this appears to displease Geoffry-he desires her to desist-says it is no matter -he does not want his daughter in any great hurry :-then he turns to his visitor, and adds, with a smile of the smoothest complacency

"Mitte sectari Rosa quo locorum

Sarah moratur."

But of Geoffry Goosecap there has been now enough; I think his title to the appellation Bore has been fully established :-find a flaw in it if you can.

[Here endeth the second chapter of more than human miseries. Whether the public shall ever drop the tear of sympathy on a third, lieth not with the writer to determine. Ere another moon shall replenish her horns, he may be beyond the reach of his tormentors. This very night he may be bassooned to death; or escaping the bassoon, he may perish by an epic poem; or escaping the poet, fall by the politician or the punster; or avoiding the two latter perils, how knoweth he but the postman, with his fatal knock, may bring dispatches from the interior of New Holland; or amber supplant ebony in walking-canes; or some new and mightier branch of the flea family reinforce the warlike variety which has already drank too deep of the stream of his existence. Alas! how knoweth he in what horrid shape he may meet the grisly king, or how soon the dire rencontre may take place. Should his span be more protracted than from the multitude and fierceness of his foes he dareth to hope, his pen, the sole solace of his woes, shall not be inactive; the residue of the sorrows of Roderick Rueful shall be given to the world.]

GRANA WEAL'S GARLAND.

I.

LAMENTATION OF FIGHTING FITZGERALD'S GHOST.

Taken down from the mouth of the Apparition, which may be seen any morning before sunrise on the Fifteen Acres.

I.

Roger darling, who's for fighting?
I'm his man, Sir-here's my card.
None to answer my inviting?

Rather strange, and very hard.
Can't a man get some diversion,
Some indulgence, any how?
Sink your rascally Coercion !-
Any money for a row!

11.

Men, I think, are all turned Quakers,
Swaddlers, tailors, and what not-
Here I'm on the Fifteen Acres!

Who's to shoot me or be shot?

None to answer, none to meet me?
Can I be in Ireland now!
Monstrous shabby way to treat me→
Any money for a row!

III.

Ten pounds for a Papist's visage!
D-n O'Connell and the Pope!
Oh, boys, if you stand such usage,
Every man deserves a rope.-
Maurice! Tom! O'Gorman Mahon!
Can you tamely this allow?
Won't you box or clapperclaw one?-
Any money for a row!

IV.

Since I get such cold denial,

From these dirty dogs of Dan's,

Here goes for another trial

Ten pounds for an Orangeman's

Heretic face, and curse King William!→
Both, by Jove, are under cow:
My eyes, how these Whigs must mill'em !-
Any money for a row!

II.

MY NOSE IS AT YOUR SERVICE.

A new Song to the tune of " Betsy Baker," to be sung by all pitiful caitiffs.

I.

Since God ordains the powers that be,
And Whigs are heaven-directed;
Let black be white, as they decree,
Their will shall be respected.

I hate a man who'll frown and fume
'Gainst orders still protervous;

So get your thumb in order, Brougham,
My nose is at your service.

II.

My nose is neither large nor small,
The juste milieu of noses;
'Tis what a liberal Whig would call
A moderate proboscis :

And I'm myself a moderate man,
Exceeding old and nervous;
So get your thumb in order, Dan,
My nose is at your service.*

III.

I tell my wife my state concerns
With conjugal discretion;

Jack Priest of course each item learns
Next morning at confession :

And Jack's the boy whose palm to oil
's well known to be impervious;
So get your thumb in order, Doyle,
My nose is at your service.

IV.

Lieutenant Randolf pulled the nose
Of General Jackson gaily;
His conch required no second dose,
But mine asks tweaking daily.
So now, good Lord, from Tory thrall
In church and state, preserve us;
Rogues get your thumbs in order, all
My nose is at your service.

he, as it appears,

To Daniel sent for leave that he might cut off both his ears:
Said Daniel most politely, as you may well suppose,

My ears are at your service Sir, but first I'll pull your nose."
(Irish Song.)

III.

THE FINE OLD IRISH GENTLEMAN.

1.

I'll sing you a song by an old good fellow plann'd,
About an ancient gentleman who had a grant of land,

Which his fathers got in former times, I'm given to understand,

By keeping the Pope and Pretender from getting the upper hand,
Like a fine old Irish Protestant, one of the olden time.

II.

This honest good old soul had carved above his door

Céud mile fájlte in Irish, for all comers rich and poor :

There he kept it up with usquebagh and claret wine good store,

As Bumper Squire Jones of Moneyglass and his father had done before,
Like a fine old jovial Irishman, one of the olden time.

III.

He never bothered his company about the Russ or Turk,
Nor the march of intellect neither, once his screw was in the cork,
For this stout old cock had got a way of doing his country's work
With another guess sort of implement than either spoon or fork,
Like a fine old Irish Volunteer, one of the olden time.

IV.

When stubble land and busy flail brought round the quarter day,

And his tenants came in order due their easy rent to pay;

You'd see him with his poorest cotter's wife, leading off the dance so gay,
All the boys and girls of the country-side being welcome as the flowers of May,
Like a fine old Irish Resident, one of the olden time.

V.

Then on Sunday at the parish church, with neither sigh nor groan,
But grateful looks of love and joy more dear at heaven's throne,
Blessing the God who had made him so happy in sweet Tyrone-
For the more he had seen of foreign lands, the more he liked his own,
Like a fine old Irish Gentleman, one of the olden time.

VI.

And now I'll change my subject, though I'll stick to my old tune,
And sing you another verse or two about a scornful loon
Who cares for us poor Irish about as much as the man in the moon,
And whose highest ambition seems to be to imitate a baboon,
Like a fine young French Juste-milieu-man, one of our modern time.

VII.

And so to school at Eton or Westminster straight he goes,

And after that to Cambridge, where he enters at Brazennose,

And his father's money on gooseberry wine for white champaign bestows,
Paying a dog Jew twenty per cent on all the cash he owes,
Like a fine young dainty Home-scorner, one of our modern time.

VIII.

And now prepared by post obits to start on the grand tour,
In a chaise and pair with outriders, off rattles our young milor',
And loses a thousand Napoleons, the first week, at Rouge et noire ;
And if any of his friends but ask him what he plays such dog's tricks for,
[Like a fine young spendthrift Absentee, one of our modern time,]

IX.

He'll tell him very gravely he mistakes the juste milicu,
For that Ireland's vastly better of all the cash he drew
Into Bury street, Saint James's, and the Rue de Richelieu,

And he'll prove it by a long quotation from the Edinboro' Review;
Like a fine young Whig Economist, one of our modern time.

X.

And when his agent tells him that the country's nearly lost,
For want of estated gentry, to take a forward post,

Against the blackguard leaders of the anti-union host,

He'll write him a note of condolence, or petition against tithe at most, Like a fine young pert No-party-man, one of our modern time.

XI.

For while from his wrung tenants the last slow drop will come,
And he have means to spend his time in measuring Saint Peter's dome,
And studying how the ancients used to bake mince pies at Rome,
He doesn't care though the devil make mince pies of all at home,
Like a fine young Irish Gentleman, one of our modern time.

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