33.

The goose, on finding him so obstinate,
Stretch'd out his leg, and opening wide his paw,
Again dash'd Dan at his accustom'd rate
Down through the air. The goose above him saw
His body splash within the waves, and strait
A whirling eddy oped its ravening maw:
But all Dan suffer'd from his evil luck
In upper air, was nothing to this duck.

34.

He felt the waters compass him about,

Ring in his ears, and gurgle in his throat;
And every wave would dash the luckless lout
Bump on a rock, or some long founder'd boat.
He flung his arms around him, sinewy, stout,
And to the surface oft essay'd to float:
While every monster of the deep, with grim
And fiery eyes, gaped awfully at him.

35.

At one time he was thrown upon the mud,
But the next wave upraised him in a dash;
He saw upon his arms the streaming blood,
Where fishes bit;-and now another splash
Would fling him back again to where he stood
But just before; when suddenly a crash
Of thunder bursts above; a known salute
Deafens his ear, -" Take that, and that, you brute.

36.

"You do not care how you desert your door,
You dirty, drunken, beastly-looking sot!
Oh! woe's the day I ever met you, sure,
And when I wed you, 'twas a bitter lot:-
Get up there, from that filthy, dabbled floor;

If served aright, you should rest there to rot."
Dan rubb'd his eyes, leap'd up, and, with a scream
Sung out, "Where am I, arrah? 'TWAS A DREAM.

37.

The fact was, Mistress Rourke and Mistress Blake,
Who were as constant cronies as their mates,
And often at their cabins met to take

A cup of tea, when granted by the Fates,
This evening met; and having vowed to wreak
Their vengeance on their guilty husbands' pates,
Furnish'd with washing-tub, or pail quite crazy,
Follow'd our heroes to the MOUNTAIN DAISY.

38.

There, having fill'd their vessels to the brim,

Stout Mistress Blake, upon poor Daniel's head
Pour'd the contents, in which a man might swim,
And straight, to fill it for her husband sped;
But Dan, arous'd, leap'd up, with mug quite grim,
And at the monster (as he thought) he fled;

For he knew not the object of his fear,
His fuddled brain as yet not being clear.

دو

VOL. X.

3 I 39.

But when he saw 'twas neither shark nor whale,
But Judy his own wife, in act to cast..
Right on his dripping pate a second pail,
A bumper just as brimful as the last,
He brush'd aside, light as a mountain gale,

And 'scaped the waterspout, which by him past; "Leave off," says he, " and better manners learn : O Judy, Judy, why art thou so stern?"- *

40.

"How can you ask?" quoth she, " you drunken dog, Who never come beneath this wicked roof,

Keep aloof

That you can move away, but like a log,
Lie quite knock'd up, and helpless.
From Mountain daisies that you shall, you hog,
Next time I catch you this way, hand and hoof
I'll have you pinion'd smartly, I engage:
You know not yet what 'tis to rouse my rage.

41.

e."

"Och! peace!" says Dan; "I promise on my word,
Never to drink as I have done to-night;
But 'twas no joke-or rather 'twas absurd,
To souse me so with water: such a fright
I got as made me dream that things occurr'd
Queerer than ever chanced to mortal wight:
So don't be angry any more, but come,
Come home, my heart, and do not look so grum."-

42.

This said he stagger'd forward, caught his wife Full in his arms, and smack'd her with a kiss; (The plan most excellent, upon my life,

Of stopping women's angry mouths is this,)
When Mrs Blake return'd, for mischief rife,

Her hands of water full, of fire her phiz:
But Judy, who had grown quite soft and loving,
Begg'd off poor Paddy in a style most moving.

43

What points she urged-how Mrs Mulshenan
Vapour'd about the honour of her house-
How Mrs Blake's well practised clapper ran,
Reviling men addicted to carouse-
How she at last was pacified-how Dan

Begg'd (but in vain) permission from his spouse
To take for fear of cold, but one more glass-
Being in haste I here beg leave to pass.

44.

In fine, they routed Blake, who stretch'd along

The hearth was dreaming, but more pleasantly, And sallying out, moved off the staggering throng, (For, entre nous, the girls had spiced their tea.) But, spite of vows, next night, believe my song, The friends attack'd the grog, and gallantly

Got drunk again-the which I do attest:
I have it from authority the best.

MORAL OF THE WHOLE POEM.

ΑΡΙΣΤΟΝ ΜΕΝ ΥΔΩΡ.

PINDAR.

MANKIND! ye learn from this with truth, that slaughter

Of brandy can't be cured by pails of water.

See Milman's Samor, the Lord of the Bright City.

"O duty, duty, why art thou so stern!"

Somewhat similar. I prefer my own.

Explícit.

Daniel O'Rourke is at length concluded.

The composition of this poem has beguiled many a weary moment, and, I trust, purified by the sweet sentimentalities of poetry many an hour which might else have been devoted to subjects less sacred. That it can make a deep and lasting impression on the morals of my country, is my wish, though my modesty forbids me to say my expectation: but if one reader rises from its perusal with a heart better adapted for the reception of the sublime and devotional-if one spirit has been refreshed by the inspiration of holy musings while reading it if one better citizen, one better man, has been made by the work I have just finished, I shall not look upon my labour to have been in vain. F. O'FOGARTY.

SONNET.

FOGARTY! FRIEND AND PARTNER OF MY HEART,
GLORY OF BLARNEY'S CASTELLATED TOWN;

NOW THAT THY POEM, WORK OF HIGH RENOWN,
EQUALLY DEAR TO NATURE AS TO ART,

TO BYRON AS TO BOWLES, HAS FOUND AN END,
I HAIL THEE IN THIS SONNET, BARD DIVINE!

IN VERSE PERHAPS NOT DELICATE OR FINE,
BUT HONEST, SUCH AS FRIEND SHOULD WRITE TO FRIEND!
HIGH ABOVE EARTH, THY FAME SHALL MOUNT, AS HIGH
AS O'ER THE BOTTLE SHOOTS THE ASPIRING CORK,

WHEN GAS CARBONIC MAKES IT FORTH TO FLY

FROM THE CLOSE FLASK WHERE STREAMS OF SODA WORK,
LEAVING THE FIZZING FUME BEHIND, SO THOU
SHALT O'ER THE MURMURING CROWD TO ETHER PLOUGH.

Quoth THOS. JENNINGS,

Founder of the Soda-Water School of Poetry.

[In addition to the Sonnet presented to us by the great Bard of Soda, we have been favoured with the following lines from the able pen of a favourite Correspondent. We trust our friend Mr Fogarty's notorious and national modesty will not be put to the blush by the well-deserved encomiums contained in them.-C. N.]

TO FOGARTY O'FOGARTY, ESQ. OF BLARNEY.

BARD of the West! thy lay shall still be read
Long as a mountain-daisy rears its head;
Long as the moon shall gild the glowing scene;
Long as her man shall o'er her surface reign;
Long as an eagle dwells near Bantry Bay;
Long as towards heaven he wings his airy way;
Long as a goose a cackling cry shall give,
(That is at least while Wood and Waithman live ;)
Long as a wife shall chide her drunken lord,
When in an alehouse she beholds him floor'd.

While England's tongue survives-or, what's the same,
While NORTH's great Work keeps flourishing in fame,
So long shalt thou, my Fogarty, impart
Ecstatic pleasure to the feeling heart.
And ages yet unborn, and lands unknown,
Shall chaunt thy verses in melifluous tone;
And pilgrims shall from far Kentucky roam,
Or from still farther Australasia come,
Or Melville Island, in the icy foam,
That they, with thirsty reverent eye, may see
The scenes immortalized by Fogarty!

Quoth D. Dick, Of the C. F. and ..

BRIEF ABSTRACT OF MR O'FOGARTY'S JOURNAL

On looking over my journal I find it so barren of incident, that I do not think it worth my while to send it entire. Take then this short abstract. On the 5th ult. I rose after nearly four months' confinement to bed. I had experienced a sad randling during that time. My skin like a lady's loose gown hung about me-my jaws were drawn in-my face hatchety-my eyes sunk and hollow-and my clothes invested my once goodly person with as little congruity as a flour-bag would act the part of waistcoat to a spit. The entries for a week in my diary, consist chiefly of notes of squabbles with my doctors-who one and all seemed leagued in a conspiracy to starve me. I was firm, however, and succeeded in unkennelling them; from which day I got visibly better. I was soon able to despatch my commons with my usual activity. My person acquired its wonted amplitude-and my eye resumed its old fire. I could give a halloo with ancient fortitude of lungs, and in fact was completely re-established. On the 14th, while I was in the act of polishing the wheel of my salmon-rod, my old friend, the Earl of ******** called on me en passant. The good-natured, blackwhiskered," (to speak regally, for it was by this title, you know, the King addressed him on the pier at Howth,) was delighted to see me pulling up, and congratulated me on my recovery. He told me all the Dublin chit-chat about his Majesty, who, he said, was quite pleased at meeting him, and shook his hand with the utmost cordiality. I had many an anecdote from him which escaped the knowledge of the mere mob. The king's private parties were quite au fait-and he captivated those who had the honour of being admitted to his own immediate circle, as effectually as in public he by his demeanour won the hearts of the rest of the population. Our conversation then turned upon my poem, of which he, like every body else, spoke in terms of the highest commendation-but modesty forbids me to detail what he said on this point. But who the devil, says his Lordship, is North? I told him he

was a gentleman of good family resi-
ding in the Old Town of Edinburgh,
where his wealth, talents, and general
virtues, render him the life of society,
and the idol of Auld Reekie. He
amuses himself, I continued, by con-
ducting the greatest literary work of
modern times-by which he makes
about six thousand a-year,* (was I
right?) which, as well as his private
property, (a very considerable one,) he
spends in such a bounteous hospitality,
that he is in general suspected to be an
Irishman. "Yes," said my noble friend,
"my son, who was, you know, of Exe-
ter, Oxon, told me he heard as much
from a friend of his, Mr Buller, of
Brazen Nose, who spent some days, a
couple of years ago, with him on a
party in the Highlands, when Lord
Fife, Prince Leopold, and other dis-
tinguished persons, were part of his
company. He had with him at that
time a pleasant, and very prime
poet, of the name of Hogg, in his
train, of whom Buller told queer sto-
ries. My son, who was a crack-
man in Oxford, had an idea of contri-
buting to North, but since he has been
returned for this ruinous county, he
he has not an hour to himself."
this way his Lordship and I beguiled
an hour, chatting about the two pro-
minent subjects of discourse in Ireland
at present, his Majesty (if indeed it
be proper to call the King a subject)
and the Magazine. He pressed me
hard to go with him to Myros, offer-
ing me his carriage, if I did not find
myself well enough to bestride my
chesnut, Donnelly, but I then declined
it. I am, however, there this moment,
and am writing this Journal in great
haste in his library, on some of his
best wire-wove. On the 15th, Father
Buzzhun, with whom I have corres-
ponded from the commencement of
my poem, wrote me from Glangariffe,
enclosing some Latin verses, narrating
the catastrophe of the poem in a dif-
ferent manner. To oblige the old gen-
tleman, I put them in my notes; they
appear to me to be as good as Frere's,
in his 3d Canto of Whistlecraft,
which, after all, is the best and most
pleasantly humorous thing in the
ottava rima. From this to the 29th, I

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spent my time in ranging the hills, glens, and bogs, to the devastation of the feathered tribes, and the demoli:tion of the dinners of my friends. I am once more stout as buck or bearFogarty's himself again, as I displayed on the 25th, (the day of Crispin Crispian, as Harry the Fifth remarks,) at a great dinner party on the rocks, where I played a knife and fork to the manifest astonishment of the native tribes. We were quite jolly, -a boat-race in the morning, right well

pulled, and a ball in the evening, flanked by a supper by no means to be sneez'd at. There was a good deal of singing,-none, however, equal to Braham's. I have a great mind to write a full account of this affair, as I think it would make a decentish article for the Star of Edina. Thorp sung, pretty well, a song of his own composition, in honour of the Coronation-day. It is well enough for one not yet hardened in the ways of poetry.

1.

"Come round me, ye lads, that I value the best,
From the mountains, the valleys, the east, and the west,
For this is the day that our monarch has been
Crown'd King of Great Britain and Erin the green.

2.

1

"Then why should not we, in a full flowing cup,
Drink a health to King George in a long choking sup?
For we are the lads can drown sorrow and spleen,
When we thus meet together to sport on the green.

3.

"This day is a glorious one, boys-let us quaff
Our primest of liquors, be merry, and laugh;
And when we have drain'd off our bottles quite clean,
We'll hop off to the girls, and we'll dance on the green.

4.

"Let Lords, Dukes, and Earls, keep feasting away-
Let the shrill trumpet sound, and the champion's horse neigh-
Let ladies in diamonds adorn the scene-

We'll have mirth here at home, and our dance on the green.

5.

"We have ladies as lovely and brilliant as they,
Though no jewels are borrow'd to make them look gay;
Their eyes are the diamonds that sparkle so keen,

When lit up by love in the dance on the green.

6.

"We have Princes in plenty among us, 'tis true-
Of good fellows, I mean, and but rivall'd by few;
The goblet's our star, and our ribbon is seen

Round the waists of our sweethearts, who dance on the green.

7.

"Then come, let us close with LONG LIFE TO OUR KING,
And then, each a champion, his glove let him fling,
To the fair one who rules o'er his heart as the queen;
And, till Sol's in the ocean, we'll dance on the GREEN."

It is superfluous to say that the even-
ing was spent quite in a genteel man-
ner, and that many gentlemen, of the
most sagacious understandings, were
highly indebted to the intellectual
faculty of their horses in their return
homeward.

On the 26th, I got the last Number by express, and a right good one it is. But what a sputter about personalities! If I were in North's place, I should not give myself a moment's uneasiness about the crying out of the whigs, who

are the most personally abusive animals of the species. They only cry now because they are hurt. I perceive rather an impertinent allusion to my poetry, by Mr Trott of London. I know that shaver. I remember one night, or morning, after coming from the eccentrics, meeting him at the Cyder Cellar, in a state of civilation; and he was so impertinent about Hireland, that, to avoid disputes, I was obliged to throw him up stairs into the street. This is the meaning of his slap at Blar