^ ^ K LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS NEW YORK CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM STANDARD ELOCUTIONARY BOOKS ^^X^?.lf^g'^S, RECLAMATIONS. Selected and adlpted V ^'Yo^c-e^^^^E RECITATIONS. By W..Tzn K, Fobk.. Cloth. eaS?iMheSve,?'„r''pfe"ef»'''Ti;er°e"l.''?'' "f """1'" '" «™ »'"«" of i^aterial for such a pu'^rnose wh 1^ L .? ^T °0"'l"»l"' »« lie .carcily extracts has often ma?re^diede*ej effect 't'^Xli;™;;'''^ of eloquent ^°R FS?c™HR?1i°Wrary 5(5 Pat's Dream of Heaven 58 Biddy's Troubles 01 4 CONTENTS. PA6B Make It Four, Yer Honor 62 The Post-Boy Mrs. C. J. Despard . 64 That Fire at the Nolans' Life 67 Ninety-Eight 70 Pat's Boiulsman Lilian A. Moulton . . 71 Washee, Washee Joaquin Miller ... 73 Annie's Ticket 74 O'Thello Harper^ s Magazine . . 76 Lanty Leary Samuel Lover ... 77 Katie's Answer 78 Paddy's Dream 79 L And the widow you plundered while here." " Will the widow be there? " whispered Fat with a stare, "And the pig? by my sowl, is it true? " " They will surely be there," said the judge, " I declare. And, oh Paddy ! what then will you do ? " " ]\rany thanks," answered Pat, " for you telling me that, JMaj" the blessings upon you be big! On that settlemint day, to the widow I'll say, ^ Mrs. Flannegan, here is your pig! " 50 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. PAT AND THE OYSTERS. One evening a red-headed Connaught swell, of no small aristocratic pretensions in his own eyes, sent his servant, whom he had just imported from the long-horned kingdom, in all the rough majesty of a creature fresh from the " wiids," to purchasse a hundred of oysters on the City Quay. Paddy staid so long away, that Squire Trigger got quite impatient and unhappy, lest his "body man " might have slipped into the Lrffey. However, to his infinite relief, Paddy soon made his appearance, puffing and blowing like a disabled bellows, but carrying his load seemingly in great triumph. " Well, Paf,*' cried the master, "what the devil kept you so long ? " — " Long! Ah, thin, maybe it *s what you'd have me t-o come home with half my arrant 1 ' ' says Pat. ' ' Half the oysters ? " says the master. " No ; but too much of the fish^^' says Pat. " What fish? " says he. " The oysters, to be sure," says Pat. *' What do you mean, blockhead?" says he. *' I mean," says Pat, "that there was no use in loading my- self w^ith more nor was useful." — " Will you explain your- self? " says he. " I will," says Pat, laying down his load. •*Well, then, you see, plaise your honor, as I was coming home along the quay, mighty peaceable, who should I meet but Shammus Maginus? * Good-morrow, Shamien,* sis I. * Good-morrow, kindly, Paudeen,' sis he. ' What is it you have in the sack? ' sis he. ♦ A hundred of oysters,' sis I. ' Let us look at them,' sis he. ' I will, and welcome,' sis I. * Arrah! thunder and pratees! ' sis he, opening the sack, and examinin' them, ' who sowld you these? ' — ♦ One Tom Kina- han that keeps a small ship there below,' sis I. 'Musha, then, bad luck to that same Tom that soidd the likes to you ! ' sis he. ' Arrah! why, avick ? ' sis I. * To make a holsour ov yon, an' give them to you without clanmg thim,' sis he. * An' arn't they claned, Jim, aroon ? ' sis I. — * Oh! bad luck to the one of thim,' sis he. * Musha then,' says I, ' what the dhoul will I do at all, at all? fur the master will be mad.' — ' Do! ' sis he, ' why, I'd rather do the thing for you mysel, nor you should lose your place, ' sis he. So wid that he begins to ciane them wid his knife, wr/M and well , an', afeered ov dirtying the flags, begor, ho swallowed the insides himself from beginnin' to ind, tal he had them as daeent as you see thim here," dashing down at his master's feet his bag of oyster-shells, to his master's no small amazement. IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 51 A PENITENT. Arrati, Nora, don't look like a thnnder-cloiid darlint: What harm if I did stale a kiss from yom'lips? No sinsible bee meets a smilino^ young rose, sure, But stops, the sly thafe, and a honey-drop sips. And, rose of the wurruld, spake aisy now, ain't I More sinsible far than a vagabond bee? And how could I see the swate kiss that was lying There on your red lips, as though waiting for me. And not take it, darlint? Och, Nora, give o'er! Faith, I'm awful sorry — I didn't take more. 'Twas your fault, intirely. Why did you smile at me? So great a timptation no man could resist. For your laughing blue eyes, and your cheeks wid a dimple And your dilicate mouth said, " We're here to be kissed." And could I be dreaming they didn't spake truth, dear — Sure beautiful fatures like thim never lie ; If they do you should hide them, and not be desaving Such an innocent, trusting young fellow as I. Are you fi'owning still, darlint? Och, Nora, give o'er! Don'^^t I tell you I'm sorry— / didjiH take rwore? MARaARET ETTINGB. MIKE McGAFFATY'S DOG. Michael McGaffaty — faith, what a name, Was an Irishman born, and an Irishman bred. His brogue was as broad as his brawny frame. And his hands were as thick as his carroty head. Mike had a wife who was Erin's true child. Red-headed, big-fisted, and ugly was she ; Her features were fierce, and her nature not mild. And she was as stupid as stupid could be. And INIike had a dog, a bristling young terrier. Quick at a figlit, and not slow at a bone; In the family-circle none could be merrier. But he'd howl like a dervish Avhen left all alone. 52 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. Mike iH'ed in a hovel, untidy and small, (jne room for two persons is found not too big : Two persons, I said ? Now, faitli, that's not all, t'or rue cosiest corner was kept for the pig. « i^ow, with Mike, and his wife, and the pig and the dog, Vriiile none disagreed, all was quiet and right; But a quarrel arose, 'twixt the cur and the hog, And one night they set to and indulged in a fight. Then Biddy loud stormed, and louder Mike swore. The pig squealed and grunted, the dog yelled like mad; So to make everything quiet and peaceful once more, Mike turned out the dog and then quiet was had. But the dog was unused to the cold and the snow, Did not take his ejectment quite in good part; Not a step from the'door would the ugly cur go. But sat there and howled till the hut seemed to start. Again Biddy loud stormed, and louder Mike swore, While the pig sweetly slept, quite free from all care; And Mike must get up from his slumbers once more, To stop the wronged terrier's musical air. He rushed to the doorway in anger and wrath, Ne'er stopping for clothing, as quickly he bowled; There sat the scared terrier right in his path. Awakening the echoes as loudly he howled. The door was banged to. leaving Biddy alone. The howling was hushed and stillness restored; Bolt upright sat Biddy, now Michael was gone, "While " in slumbers of midnight " the pig loudly snored. So long was he gone that his spouse was alarmed, She moved from her bed and peeped out at the door; For i-ather than have her jNIcGaffaty harmed. She'd endure this dog's howling and that of ten more. The moon glistens brightly on hillocks of snow, And there, in a deep drift, stands Mike and the cur; O'er his half-naked form the chilling winds blow. Like a statue the dog stands, not daring to stir. IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 53 In wonder she gazes on human and brnte, Such a sight never met mortal eyes, I declare; From Mike's ears and his nose long icicles stood, While a small drift of snow rises white in his hair. In the heart of foir Biddy anger is brewing, And her shrilly pitched voice of panic doth smack; "Mike! Mike! you big blackguard, what now be ye doing, Sweating there in the could wid no coat to yer back? Mike turned at the voice of his blooming young daisy, While in shivering accents he answered in haste, ■•' Whist, Biddy! my darling. noAV can't yer be aisy, Don't yer see what I'm doing? I'm frazing the baste." "'Tis frazing the baste is it? " answered fair Biddy, As into the hut she indignantly burst; "If yer stay there much longer you'll leave me a widdy. For in frazing the brute you will fraze 3^erself first." Makk Melville. JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL. AN IRISH STORY. 'TwAS in the summer of '46 that I landed at Hamilton, fresh as a new pratie just dug from the " ould sod," and wid a liji;ht heart and a heavy bundle I sot off for the township of Buford, tiding a taste of a song, as merry a young fellow as iver took the road. Well, I trudged on and on, past many a plisant place, pleasin' meself wid the thought that some day I might have a place of me own, wid a world of chickens and ducks and pigs and childer about the door ; and along in the afternoon of the sicond day I got to Buford village. A cousin of me mother's, one Dennis O'Dowd, lived about siven miles from there, and I wanted to make his pk\ce that night ; so I inquired the way at the tavern, and was lucky to find a man who was goin' part of the way, and would show me the way to find Dennis. Sure he was very kind indade, an' when I got out of his wagon, he pointed me through the wood, and tould me to go straight Bouth a mile and a half, an' the first house would be Dennis's. " An* you've no time to lose, now," said he, '* for the sun is low ; an' mind you don't get lost in the woods." " Is it lost, now," said I, " that I'd be gittm', an' me uncle as 54 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. great a navigator as iver steered a ship across the thraclt'less say ! Not a bit of it, though I'm obleeged to ye for your kind advice, and thank yiz for the ride." 'An' wid that he drove off an' left me alone. I shouldered me bundle bravely, an', whistHn' a bit of tune for company like, I pushed into the bush. Well, 1 went a long way over bogs, an' turnin' round among the bush an' trees till I began to think I must be weil-nigh to Dennis's. But, bad 'cess to it ! all of a Budden I came out of the woods at the very identical spot where I started in, which I knew by an ould crotched tree that seemed to be standin' on its head an' kickin' up its heels to make divar- sion of me. By this time it was growin' dark, and as there wag- no time to lose, 1 started in a second time, determined to keep straight south this time, and no mistake. I got on bravely foi a while ; but och hone ! och hone ! it got so dark 1 couldn't see the trees, an' I bumped me nose an' barked me shins, while the miskaties bit me hands an' face to a bhster; an' after tumblin' an' stumblin' around till I was fairly bamfoozled, 1 sat down on a log, all of a trimble, to think that 1 was lost intirely, an' that maybe a lion, or some other wild crayther, would devour me before mornin'. Just th6n I heard somebody a long way off say, " Whip poor Will ! " " Bedad ! " sez I, " I'm glad it isn't Jamie that's got to take it, though it seems it's more in sorrow than in anger they are doin' it, or why should they say * poor Will ' ? an' sm-e ^-hey can't be Injin, haythin, or naygur, for it's plain English they're afther spakin'. Maybe they might help me out o' this ;" 80 I shouted, at the top of my voice, " A lost man ! " Thin I listened. Prisently an answer came : " Who ! whoo ! Whooo ! " "Jamie Butler, the waiver!" sez I, as loud as I could roar; an* snatchin' up my bundle an' stick, 1 started in the direction cf the voice. Whin 1 thought I had got near the place, I stopped and shouted again : " A lost man ! " " Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " said a voice right over my head. " Sure," thinks I, " it's a mighty quare place for a man to be at this time of night; maybe it's some settler scrapin' sugar off a sugar-bush, for the children's breakfast in the mornin'. But Where's Will, and the rest of them ? " All this wint through me head like a flash ; and thin I answered his inquiry : " Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez 1 ; " an' if it wouldn't incon* vanience yer honor, would yiz be kind enough to step down an show me the way to the house of Ueuuis U'JJowd?" IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 55 " Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " sez he. " Dennis O'Dowd ! " sez I, civil enough ; " and a dacent maa he is, and first cousin to me own mother." " Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " sez he again. *' Me mother ! " sa5^s I ; " and as fine a woman as iver peeled a biled pratie wid her thumb-nail; and her maiden name waa Molly McFiggin." " Who ! whoo I whooo ! " " Paddy McFiggin ! bad luck to yer deaf ould head, — Paddy McFiggin, I say — do ye hear that? An' he was the tallest man in all the county Tipperary, excipt Jim Doyle, the black- smith." "Who! whoo! whooo!" "Jim Doyle, the blacksmith!" sez I, "ye good-for-nothin' blaggurd naygur, and if yiz don't come down and show me the way this min't, I'll climb up there and break ivry bone in your skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as me name is Jimmy Butler !" " Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " says he, as impident as iver. I said niver a word, but layin' down me bundle, and takin' me stick in me teeth, 1 began to climb the tree. Whin I got among the branches, I looked quietly around till I saw a pair of big eyes just forninst me. " Whist," sez I, " an' I'll let him have a taste of an Irish stick ; " an' wid that I let drive an' lost me balance an' came tumblin' to the ground, nearly breakin' me neck wid the fall. Whin I came to me sinsis I had a very sore head, wid a lump on it like a goose-egg, and half of me Sunday coat-tail torn ofi" intirely. 1 spoke to the chap in the tree, but could git niver an answer at all, at all. " Sure," thinks I, " he must have gone home to row! up his head, for, by the powers, I didn't throw me stick for nothin'." Well, by this time the moon was up, an' I could see a little, an' I detarmined to make one more effort to reach Dennis's. I wint on cautiously for a while, an* thin I heard a bell. *' Sure," sez I, " I'm comin' to a settlement now, for I hear the church-bell." I kept on toward the sound till I came to an ould cow wid a bell on. She started to run ; but I was too quick for her, an' got her by the tail an' hung on, thinkin' that maybe she would take me out of the woods. On we wint, like an ould- country steeple-chase, till, sure enough, we came out t'* a clearin' an' a house in sight wid a light in it. So, leavin* the ould cow puffin' an' blowia' in a shed, I wint to the 56 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. house, an*, as luck would have it, whose should it be but Dennis's? He gave me a raal Irish welcome, an' introduced me to bia two daughters — as purty a pair of girls as iver ye clapped an eye on. But Avhin 1 tould him me adventure in the woods, an' about the fellow who made fun of me, they all laughed an' roared, an* Dennis said it was an owl. " An ould what ? " sez I. " Why, an owl, a bird," sez he. "Do ye tell me now.^" sez L " Sure, it's a quare country and a quare bird." An' thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed meself that hearty like, an' dropped right into a chair between the two purty girls ; an' the ould chap winked at me, an' roared again. Dennis is me father-in-law now, an' he often yet delights to tell our childer about their daddy's adventure wid the owl. Anonymous TIPPERARY. These lines are said to have been addressed to a Dr. Fitzgerald, on reading the followiug couplet in his apostrophe to his native village : — " And thou ! dear village, loveliest of the clime, Fain would I name thee, but I'm scant in rhyme.'* A BARD there was in sad quandary, To find a rhyme for Tipperary. Long labored he through January, Yet found no rhyme for Tipperary ; Toiled every day in February, But toiled in vain for Tipperary ; Searched Hebrew text and commentary, But searched in vain for Tipperary ; Bored all his friends at Inverary, To find a rhyme for Tipperary; Implored the aid of " Paddy Carey," Yet still no rhyme for Tipperary; He next besought his mother Mary, To tell him rhyme for Tipperai'y; IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 57 But she, good woman, was no fairy, Nor witch — though born in Tipperaryj Knew every thing about her dairy. But not the rhyme for Tipperary ; The stubborn Muse he could not vary, For still the lines would run contrary, Whene'er he thought on Tipperary; And though of time he was not chary, 'Twas thrown a\Yay on Tipperary ; Till, of his wild-goose chase most weary. He vowed to leave out Tipperary ; But, no : the theme he might not vary, His longing was not temporary, To find meet rhyme for Tipperary; He sought among the gay and airy, He pestered all the military, Committed many a strange vagary. Bewitched, it seemed, by Tipperary. He wrote post-haste to Darby Leary, Besought with tears his Auntie Sairie, But sought he far, or sought he near, he Ne'er found a rhyme for Tipperary. He travelled sad through Cork and Kerry, He drove " like mad " through sweet Dunbary, Kicked up a precious tantar-ara, But found no rhyme for Tipperary; Lived fourteen weeks at Straw-ar-ara, Was well-nigh lost in Glenegary, Then started " slick " for Demerara, In search of rhyme for Tipperary. Through " Yankee-land," sick, solitary, He roamed by forest, lake, and prairie — He went per ierrem et per mare — But found no rhyme for Tipperary. Through orient climes on dromedary, On camel's back through great Sahara— His travels were extraordinary — In search of rhyme for Tipperary. Fierce as a gorgon or chimasra, Fierce as Alecto or Megsera, Fiercer than e'er a love-sick bear, he Raged through "the londe" of Tipperary; His cheeks grew thin, and wondrous hairy, 58 IRISH BfALECT RECITATIONS. His visage long, his aspect " eerie," His tout ensemble, faith ! 'twould scare ye, Amidst the wilds of Tipperary. Becoming hypochon-dri-ary, He sent for his apothecary, Who ordered " bahii " and saponary, — Herbs rare to find in Tipperary. In his potations ever wary, His choicest drink was " home gooseberry." On swipes, skim-milk, and smallest beer, he i Scanted rhyme for his Tipperary. Had he imbibed good old ^ladeira, Drank " pottle-deep " of golden sherry, Of Falstaff sack, or ripe canary, iNo rhyme had lacked for Tipperary. Or had his tastes been literary. He might have found extemporary, "Without the aid of dictionary. Some fitting rhyme for Tipperary. Or had he been an antiquary. Burnt midnight oil in his library. Or been of temper less " camsteary," Rhymes had not lacked for Tipperary. He paced about his aviary. Blew up sky-high his secretary, And then in truth and anger sware he, There was no rhyme for Tipperary. 1 PAT'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. I DHREAMED I wint to hivin one night. And knocked at the big white gate, And the good St. Peter he opened it, But he towld me I'd have to wait While he looked for me name in the howly book; And whin he had found it there, He bade me come in, though lie towld me plain That miu comiu* that way was rai'e. IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 59 I axed him how was business now; And he twirled the golden kay, And answered he had very little to do, So few ever came that way. So I shtopped a bit to chat wid him, And I axed could I took around : He said, " Oh, yes ! as ye've once got in, Yer free to the whole uv the ground. " Free to walk by the river uv life, To rist in the mansions of light, To shtand in the timple not made by hands, Wid the sunbhurst uv glory bright." I seen the apostles a-inindin' their nets, And I axed what need uv um now ; And the howliest light shone round about Each howly apostle's brow As they answered, " Our nets must be strong indeed, To draw min's souls away From the bogs of doubt they are clingia' in. To the light uv perfect day." I saw the martyrs of olden time, The saints and angels fair, And millions and millions uv young spalpeens ' All playing together there ; And jNIary the Mother wid love in her eyes Looked down on each little child ; And the blessed Teacher was teachin' them, So gentle and undefiled. But away in a corner I heard a noise : I thought 'twas a bit uv a row ; So I loosed my shillelah. " Begorra ! " says I, "If it's fightin' I'll jest show um how." But whin I dhrew nearer I heard them shpakc. And they was a-tellin' aloud The story of Joseph the carpenter, To a listeniu' bit of a crowd. Now, Joseph, it seems, was a good-natured sowl, And what he was towld he believed ; And many's the frind, on his recommind, By Peter had been received. 60 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. But Peter at last found this wouldn't do : So he towld to the ciu'penter Joe That no more f rinds in his recomniiud Inside the gate should go. Then what does Joseph the carpenter do, But, bein' so deft at his trade, He wint to work wid hammer and plane, And a long, shtrong ladder he made; And thrusting it out of window high, 'Fore theyknowed what he was about, He was snakin' his frinds by the dozens in, And that was what made the rout. And Paul the preacher, the earnest heart, Had found out what was goin' on ; And he was tell in' the story strange To Matthew, Mark, and John. And Peter the doorkaper left his place. And drew near and listened too ; And he waxed very wroth. " Now, Joseph," says he, " I've had too much trouble wid you. " Let me hear no more of these wicked pranks, Or we'll have a council of war. And see if there's no makin' you Abide by the common law. We will have you cast out as an inemy, — The dhragon was long ago, — And then you must wander a thousand years In darkness and death, you know." Now, Joseph the carpenter bowed, and said, " Is it turnin' me out, ye mane ? Shure I'll go at once, if you think it best, And niver a word I'll complain ; But a man has a right to his family." Here he winked his eye and shmiled. " And 'twould break up your whole institution, shure, If I took my wife and her Child." IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 61 And all the apostles took up their nets, And silently walked away ; And Peter moved off scratchin' his ear Wid the end uv the golden kay ; And Joseph the carpenter whistled a tune. I thought 'twas a bit of a joke, But 1 feared to laugh, so I made up my mind 'Twas all a dhrame — and I woke. BIDDY'S TROUBLES. *' It's thru for me, Katy, that I never seed the like of this people afore. It's a sorry time I've been having since com- ing to this house, twelve months agone this week Thursday. Yer knew, honey, that my fourth coosin, Ann ]\Iacarthy, reconnnended me to jNIrs. Whaler, and told the lady that I knew about ginteel housework and the likes; while at the same time I had niver seed inter an American lady's kitchen. So she engaged me, and my heart was jist ready to biu'st wid grief for the story that Ann had told, for Mrs. Whaler was a swate-spoken lady, and never looked cross- like in her life; that I knew by her smooth kind face. Well, jist the first thing she told me to do, after I dressed the chil- dren, was to dress the ducks for dinner. I stood looking at the lady for a couple of minutes, before I could make out any meaning at all to her words. Thin I went searching after clothes for the ducks; and such a time as I had to be sure. High and low I went, till at last my mistress axed me for what I was looking; and I told her the clothes for the ducks, to be sure. Och, how she scramed and laughed, till my face was as rid as the sun wid shame, and she showed me in her kind swate way w^hat her meaning was. Thin she told me how to air the beds; and it was a day for me, indade. when I could go up chamber alone and clare up the rooms. One day ]\Irs. Whaler said to me, — " 'Biddy, an' ye may give the baby an airin', if yees will.' " What should I do — and it's thru w^hat I am saying this blessed minute — but go up stairs wid the child, and shake 62 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, it, and then howld it out of the winder. Such a screaming and kicking- as the baby gave — but I hild on the harder. Everybody thin in the strate looked up at me; at last mis- thress came up to see what for was so much noise. " ' I am thrying to air the baby,' I said, ' but it kicks and scrames dridfuUy.' " There was company down below; and whin Mrs. Wha- ler told them what I had been after doing, I thought they would scare the folks in the strate wid scraming. " And then I was told I must do up Mr. Whaler's sharts one day when my mistress was out shopping. She told me repeatedly to do them up nice, for master was going RM^ay; so I takes the sharts and did them all up in some paper that I was after bringing from the ould counthry wid me, and tied some nice pink ribbon around the bundle. "'Where are the sharts, Biddy?' axed Mrs. Whaler, when she comed home. " ' I have been doing them up in a quair nice way,' I said, bringing her the bundle. " ' Will you iver be done wid your graneness? ' she axed me with a loud scrame. " I can't for the life of me be tellin' what their talkin* manes. At home we call the likes of this fine work starch- ing; and a deal of it I have done, too. Och! and may the blessed vargin pity me, for I uever'll be cured of my grane- ness!'* ''MAKE IT FOUR, YER HONOR." Was ye iver in coort av a mornin', When the shiverin' sinners come, Like bastes from their iron cages, To be tould their guilt and doom? Some av thim bould and brazen, Some av thim broke wid care, Some av thim wild and wapin'. Or sullen wid black despair. Oh ! it's a sight inthirely To take the heart away, — The pitiful little children, The ould ones dirthy and gray; IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 63 Crouchin* along the benches, Tuckin' their rags about, To hide the sorrow that's in thim, And kape the coulduess out. There is the Judge above thim, The coort's own officers ; Police, wid their long shillelahs, Nate in their coats and stars. Witnesses, too, a plinty; Shysters to worry and bite, And, hangin' about the railin', The divil's own crew for fight. Nine av the clock is sthrikin' When the dark begins to read. An' prisintly his Honor Says to the coort, " Proceed." Thin up they call ould Mary, And thrimblin' there she stands : The comb's forgotten that's felt her hair, An' the soap that's seen her hands. Larry, ray boy, where are ye, That came fram ould Gal way. An' brought in yer arms a darlin', The swatest that crossed the say ? Could you see her now, all faded. In her rags and sin and shame, Yer heart it would break wid sorrow That iver she bore yer name. Then up spakes the Judge ; an' says he, " Mary, I've seen ye here. How many times, can ye tell me, Since it M'as the last new year ? Ye're scarcely quit av the prisin, And hei-e ye are the-day, *For sthaling,' says the witness : Now, what have ye to say ? " Shakin' her gray hairs backward Out of her eyes and face : *' It's thrue that ye say, yer Honor, And it's thrue it's my disgrace. 64 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, But it wasn't the coat I cared for t It's shtarvin' I was to eat ; And I want a Christian shilter Out av a Christless street. ** Sind me back to prisin ; For the winter it is cold, And there isn't a lieart that's warmin' Por the likes of me that's old. There isn't a heart that's warmin', Xor a hand that takes me in : If I shtale to keep from shtarvin', May God forgive the sin ! " Thin kindly spakes his Honor : " Well, Mary, will it do If I sind you to the prisin For jist a month or two ? " " The jail's a friend," says Mary; " 1 fear the winther more ; If ye pity me, yer Honor, Ye'll plaze to make it four.'* Anon, THE POST-BOY. " Come over the bridge, IQtty Clooney, an* up by the Black Rock way. I'm going to meet the post-boy, — he's makin' his rounds to- day, — An' I'll hold ye anything, Kitty, he'll bring me a bit of a note, For my heart is singin' an' dancin' an' pumpin' up in my throat. " Make haste, dear, an' throw on yer shoulders yer little red- hooded cloak. For the sky hangin' over the hill-tops is heavy with clouds like smoke. 'Twill be only a shower I'm thinkin', for, back of the mist, the sun 'Tis waitin' to laugh at the mountains for thinkin' the day was done. IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 65 " Sure, 'tis well we're two hearty colleens, not hurt by a sprinklin' o' rain. If 'twas ladies was in it, Kitty, how quick they'd turn back again, An' miss all the soft sweet mornin', the stretch o' the climbin' road, An' the blackbird that sings in the hedges, so thick with the hawthorn sowed. "The water was coolin' and fresh, then, an' curled 'round our feet when they stepped From one big black stone to the next ^ith a gurglin' splash; an' we've kept Our mantles tidy and dry, or they'd tell on us over to home. ^ So we'll sit here an' rest for a minute : 'tis this way the post will come. "Ah, Kitty, what do you think now? Will he bring me a word this day. From my Patrick, ma houcJial deelish, my lad that went over the say To the terrible wars an' the fightin' in the great big sorrow- ful land, Where agin' one another in battle own brothers are liftin* the hand V *' Sure he wrote me the whole dark story, an' how from the very first He went to the fight full hearted to stand by the bitter worst. I'll read ye the letter, Kitty, for I keep it still in my breast : I'd no more lave it out than the linnet would push her young from the nest. **■ ' Not 'list ! is it, Mary? he's sayin'— * Ah ! 'twasn't yourself that spoke, For your sweet lips would scorn the message, tho' the tender heart of you broke. You'd rather grow white with the grievin' than blush at the coward's name That 'ud follow me like a shadow If I sold my soul into shame. QQ IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. " ' To the shame on the son of Erin who'd turn in her grief and need, From the land that has welcome kind, without favor of clime or creed, For the millions that come in crowds from the grudgin* old mother soil To the country free-hearted an' flowin' with plenty for honest toil.' " 'Tis true, Kitty dear, 'twas fightin* for what there's no room for here, — The struggle for right and for freedom, that's costin' the big world dear. Sure the sweet Holy Mother laned smilin', and heard ev'ry prayer that I said. An' never let baynet or bullet touch one hair of his darlin' head. "Och, Kitty! I Lear the post-boy! my heart with terror faints 1 If he hasn't a letter, Kitty ! Run up while I pray to the saints ; An' I'll shut my eyes till ye bring me the hope or the heart- break down, — The word that'll call me to meet him, or the silence that laves me alone." " Look up then, Mary Alanna ! " called Kitty, as down out of breath She ran, where the waiting colleen sat quiet and pale as death. " It is not a letter, agra ! but " — " Your Patrick's own self, in troth. That the post has brought ye to-day, Mary, — myself an' the letter both ! "Aye, cry with the joy, acusJda, 'twill ease your flutterin' heart, ^ATiile I tell you over and over, we never again need part : While I press you tight to my breast, darliu', tlie breast that kept strong an' true; For the saints in the thick of the fight, dear, were shieldiu' me safe for you 1 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 67 " Come up the road now : the post-boy is waitin' the news to hear. 'Tis seldom he brings a letter that spakes out its mind so clear, Or one that the givin' up of will lighten so much the load Of that broth of a post-boy that travels along the Killarney road." Mrs. C. J. Despard. THAT FIRE AT THE NOLANS'. Tt would have been evident to even the most careless and unobservant passer-by, that something had happened at the Tvolans'. Not that there was any thing the matter with the house, for it bore no trace of disaster ; but thei-e were many signs which in Shantytown betoken either a fight, a funeral, or a fire. The Nolan mansion was the only building with- in six blocks that was built on the level of the street; it was, moreover, constructed of brick, and three stories liigh ; decorated paper shades adorned its windows, and its door was emblazoned with a silver plate on which were the words, *' Terence O'C Nolan." On the particular morning in question, all the occupants of the surrounding white- washed, patched, and propped-up shanties were gathered on the sidewalk m front of it. From the centre window in the second stor}', Thoinas-i-I>ecket Nolan, aged four years, with his. nose flattened against the glass, peered down at the excited groups below. Now and then he would breathe ou the pane, and then draw strange characters over its misty surface with his small finger. He was the unconscious object of many remarks. Old i\Irs. Murphy, the centre of an interested knot of neigh- bors, was listened to with great respect because she had just come from within the house. ^lichael Coogan, presuming on the fact that he had married a sister of Dennis O'Connor, who was ]\Irs. Nolan's great-uncle, ascended the steps, and rang the bell. " Stip in, Mr. Coogan," said Mrs. Nolan. " Good marnin' to yer. I suppose it's askin' afther Tirry ye are, an' the foire. Jist walk this way an' contimplate the destrooction." "The dtbree ain't so much as removed from the flure," she explained as she held open the parlor door and allowed Mr. Coogan to survey the wreck inside the room. Every- thing iu the apartment was broken, and soaked with water; 68 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. but strangely enough there were no stains of smoke or any other trace of fire to be seen. Pictures and ornaments were all completely demolished, and broken glass covered every- thing. " Howly saints ! " ejaculated Mr. Coogan, " phat an ixpin- sive catashtrophe, Mrs. Nolan ! It's a tirrible dimonstration yez must have had." " Ah, that it wuz," she replied, sinking into a damp and mutilated rocking-chair. " Ter think of that bee-utiful Axminister carpet, an' those impoorted Daggystan roogs, an' our new Frinch mantel clock that had the gooldfish globe over it — all soppin' wet, an' shmashed to shmithereens. It 'ud be a treniingious calamity for anybody." " Tremingious ! " echoed Mr. Coogan in an awe-struck tone, " that it wud. An' how did the occui-ince evintuate, Mrs. Nolan?" " It wuz all along av the new domistic an' those divilish greeners," began Mrs. Xolan in a somewhat agitated man- ner, shaking her head sadly. " Lasht wake, Katy, our ould gurrel that had bin wid us fer noine years, married a long- shoreman, an' so I ingaged a domistic be the name af Mary Ann Reilly. She had lost two fingers aff av her lift hand, an' wuz rid-hidded an' pock-marked, but she wuz will ricom- mended, an' so I tuk her at oncet. Tirry didn't loike the looks af her, at all, at all ' Bridget,' sez he, ' her eyes are not shtraight,' sez he. ' I don't like google-eyed paple in the house,' sez he. ' Look out, or slie'U be afther lookin' at ye or at Tummy, an' bewitcliin' ye wid her ayvil eye,' sez he. But wud ye belave me, Mr. Coogan, she only looked crucked whin she wuz narvous or excoited, and glneralhj her eyes wuz as shtraight as yer own in yer hid. She hadn't bin in the house over two days, d'ye moind, whin I dropped the fiat-oiron on me fut, scalded me hand, an' broke two chiney dishes in wan mornin', and that same day Tommy got inter the kitchen an' eat up three pounds of raishons, an' wuz shriekin' wid epleptic conwulsions all noight ; so I began ter put some faith in her bewitchment mesilf." "Roight for ye," said Mr. Coogan, nodding approvingly at Mrs. Nolan. " That wuz bad loock enough, so it was." *' Will, that wuz only the beginnin'," continued Mrs. Nolan. " The nixt thing wuz yisterday mornin' whin Tirry cum home wid a bashkit full o' little, round, green bottles. *Phat'a thim?' sez I. 'Is it Christmas-tree toys, or is it IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 69 patent midicine ? ' — ' Nayther,' sez Tiny ; ' it's a family foire departmint,' sez he. ' Since we have no tilegraft in the house,' sez he, ' an' insoorance is so expinsible, I've bin afther buyin' some han' greenades ter put out foires wid.' — 'Is it limonade is in 'em, did yer say?' sez I. 'No,' sez he. ' They're greenades, Bridget. The bottles is green, an' they aid ye ter put out a foire,' sez he. So Tirry hung up wan dozen bottles in the parlor near the dure (where that woire rack is, Mr. Coogan), an' instroocted Mary Ann how to ix- tinguish foires wid thim, by trowin' thim at the flames." " Is it base-ball that it is? " inquired Mr. Coogan. " No, loike stonin' goats, more," said Mrs. Nolan, and then she resumed her narrative. " Lasht avenin', the lamp wuz lit on the table. Tummy wuz playin' by the winder, an' me husband wuz takin' his convanience in his ari'um-chair, wid his back to the dure. 1 wuz sittin' near the table a-readin' the mornin' Hurruld, an' Tummy all av a suddent lit the winder-shade run up near the top. ' M udder,' sez he, ' the b'yes have made a big bonfoire in the lot opposite,' sez lie. An' from where I sat I could see the reflixion av a blazin' tar-barrel in the loockin'-glass over the mantelpace. Jist thin, the dure opined behind me, and iNIary Ann come in. She saw the reflixion too, an' yelled, ^ Foire!' loike bloody murder. I turns round to look at her, and she wuz trimblin' wid oscoitemint, an' as google-eyed as a crab. * Foire ! ' yells she, an' wid that she grabs a bottle of greenade, an' lets it fly. Smash ! goes the bottle, an' doon come our twinty- dollar ingraving av St. Patrick drivin' the shnakes out of Ireland. Crash ! goes another, and over comes the clock. ' Hullup ! ' shouts Tirry, an' got out of his chair, but whang, wan of the greeners hits him in the hid an' busts all over him. Wid that he fell spacheless on the flure, an' I thought he wuz kilt entoirely. Tunnny crawled under the sofa, an' I scrouched doon behind the table. All this toime that cross-eyed Mary Ann wuz screeching * Foire .' foire !' .?tn' plooggin' them bottles av greenade round the room. Bang! wan hits the vase full av wax fruit, that Tirry got at the fair. Slain ! another puts out the loight, an' clears the lamp off the table, an' she foired the rist af the dozen bottles, roight an' lift, ichang ! smash ! round in the dark. The glass wuz crashin', and the greenade stoof was splatteriu' an' splashin' an' tricklin' all over the wall an' furnitoor." "Mother o' Moses!" interrupted Mr. Coogan. "It's 70 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. bnshels of glass there is iverywhere. How did it ind, Mrs. Kolan ? " " The b'j^es over in the lot heard the scraychin' an* crash- in', and they smothered their foire, an' come and bust in the front dure, ter see the foight they thought it wuz. Tirry is in bid, wid a poultice on his liid ; an' Mary Ann is a-sittin' in the kitchen, paceable as a lamb, lookin' at the ind av her nose fer occypation. She can pack up an' lave this viry day. As fer that young sphalpeen av a Tummy, he ought ter be licked fer littin' up the winder-shade. Take my advoice, Mr. Coogan, an' trust to the foiremin or an ould-fashioned pail av water, an' don't be afther buyin' flasks av cologny- perfume to put out foires wid." " Ye're roight, Mrs. Nolan," replied Mr. Coogan. " That's sinsible informatiou ; an' I'll uiver be google-eyed, nayther.'* Life. NINETY-EIGHT. Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight ? Who blushes at the name? When cowards mock the patriot's fate, AVho hangs his head for shame ? He's all a knave, or half a slave, Who slights his country thus ; But a true man, like you, man, Will fill your glass with us ! We drink the memory of the brave, The faithful and the few : Some lie far off beyond the wave, Some sleep in Ireland too; All, all are gone ; but still lives on The fame of those who died ; All true men, like you, men, Remember them with pride 1 Some on the shores of distant lands Their weary hearts have laid. And by the stranger's heedless hands Their lonely graves were made j IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 71 But though their clay be far away Beyond the Atlantic foam, In true men, like you, men, Their spirit's still at home. The dust of some is Irish earth ; Among their own they rest, And the same land that gave them birth Has caught them to her breast. And we will pray that from their clay Full many a race may start Of true men, like you, men, To act as brave a part 1 They rose in dark and evil days, To right their native land ; They kindled here a living blaze That nothing shall withstand. Alas that might should vanquish right I They fell and passed away ; But true men, like you, men, Are plenty here to-day. Then here's their memory ! may it be For us a guiding light, To cheer our strife for liberty, And teach us to unite. Through good and ill, be Ireland's still, Though sad as theirs your fate; And true men be you, men. Like those of Ninety-Eight I PAT'S BONDSMAN. 'The top av the morning to ye. Father Ray, Ye sees it's meself as is sober the day It's jist getting out of a schrape that I be. And Mike, that's my b'y, he went bondsman for me. ' Shure I was in court jist a fortni2:ht ago — 'Twas when I was over in Flannigan's Row ; 72 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, And I had a fight with a neighbor or two — They said it was murther that I was up to. *' But shiire it was only a bit av a row, And ashamed I am when I think av it now; But one of the spalpeens fell over the stair, And they said 'twas meself as had helped him down there. *' So they brought me in court, to his honor, Jedge Shaw, He's a mighty hard one to come down with the law; And the heart in my bussom could hardly kape still When he read, ' Patrick Flynn, for attempting to kill.' " And I trembled all over when he says to me : * Have ye g6t any friends'll go bondsman for ye ? * ' Nary one, plaze yer honor,' sez I ; then he said, In a voice that, I reckon, would most raise the dead : •• * Prisoner at the bar, as ye can't get no bail, I am owthorized now to commit ye to jail.' And then, Howly Virgin ! what else should T see But Mike walking straight to the jedge, and sez he, ** As he took off his hat, what was torn in the rim : * Av ye plaze, Mister Jedge, Fll be bondsman for him. I ain't got no money, but I'll go his bail. And av he runs away you can put me to jail, *' ' I ain't got no mother, she died long ago. And left me to take care of father, ye know; And what wud she say if ye put him in jail 'Cus he hadn't got no one but me for his bail ? ** * He's good as can be when he's not drank a drop. And maybe if somebody asked him, he'd stop; He didn't push Bill ; I was there, and I see ; Av ye plaze, Mister Jedge, let me father go free.' ** Saints bless the cliild forever! The jedge sez, sez he: ' My b'y, I 'quit your f:itli(;r, and botli av ye are free The bail is all-sufficient; it satisfies the law.' * Hurrali ! ' spoke out the people; * three cheers for Justice Shaw!' IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 73 ' And the jedofe had some tears in his eyes, T allow, "When he walked np to me, and sez \u\ with a bow: ' I've let 3-e off aisy this time, Patrick Flynn; For the sake av that youngster, don't come here agin.' ' So I've taken the pledge now, yer Kiverence Ray, On account of the b'y, and I'm sober the day ; It was a bad schrape, and I'd niver got free, Only for Mike going bondsman for me." Lilian A. Moulton, in Youth's Companion. WASHEE, WASHEE. Brown John, he bends above his tub In cellar, alley, anywhere Where dirt is found, why John is there; And rub and rub and rub and rub. The hoodlum hisses in his ear ; *' Get out of 'ere, you yeller scrub! " He is at work, he cannot hear; He smiles that smile that knows no fear; And rub and rub and rub and rub, He calmly keeps on washing. The politicians bawl and crow To every idle chiv. and blood, And hurl their two hands full of m *' The dirty Chinaman must go! " But John still bends above his tub. And rub and rub and rub and rub ; He wrestles in his snowy suds These dirty politicians' duds ; And rub and rub and rub and rub. He calmly keeps on washing. ** Git out o' here! yehaythin, git! Me Frinch ancisthers fought and blid For this same freedom, so they did, An' I'll presarve it, ye can bit! Phwat honest man can boss a town ? Or burn anither Pittsburg down ? Or beg .P Or strike ? Or labor shirk 74 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. Phile yez are here an' want to work ? Git out, I say! ye haythin, git I " And Silver Jimmy shied a brick That should have made that heathen sick; But John, he kept on washmg. Then mighty Congress shook with fear At this queer, silent little man. And cried, as Congi-ess only can : *' Stop washing and get out of here! " The small brown man, he ceased to rub, And raised his little shaven head Above the steaming, sudsy tub. And unto this great Congress said. Straightforward, business-like and truet "Two bittee dozen washee you! " Then calmly went on washing. Oh ! honest, faithful little John, If you will lay aside your duds, And take a sea of soap and suds And wash out dirty Washington ; If you will be the Hercules To cleanse our stables clean of these That all such follies fatten on. There's fifty million souls to-day To bid you welcome, bid you stay And calmly keep on washing. JoAQum Miller. ANNIE'S TICKET. Plaze, sir, I have brought you the ticket You gave her a short wake ago ; My own little girl I am manin', The one wid the fair hair, ye know, And the blue eyes so gentle and tendher, And swate as the angels above ; God help me, she's one of thim now, sir, And I've nothin' at all left to love. IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 75 It has come on me suddin, ye see, sir j She was niver an ailin' child, Though her face was as white as a lily, And her ways just that quiet and mild. The others was always a throuble, And botherin', too, ivery way, But the first tears as iver she cost me Are thim that I'm sheddin' to-day. Twas on Tuesday night that she sickened, She had been as blithe as a bird All day, wid the ticket you gave her ; The like of it niver was heard : " Oh, mammie, just think of the music ; " And, " Mammie, they'll give us ice crame ; We can roll on the turf and pick posies ; Oh, mammie, it's just like a drama ! " And so, when the fever kim on her. It seemed the one thought in her brain ; Twould have melted the heart in your breast, sir. To hear her, again and again, Beggin' : " Mammie, oh, plaze get me ready — The boat will be gone off, I say ; I hear the bell ring — where's my ticket ? Oh ! won't we be happy to-day ? " Three days, sir, she raved with the fever, Wid her face and hands like a flame ; But on Friday, at noon, she grew quiet, And knew me, and called me by name. My heart gave a lape when I heard it ; But, oh ! sir, it turned me to stone — The look round the mouth, pinched and drawn lik^ I knew God had sent for his own. And she knew it, too, sir, the crathur, And said, when I told her the day, In her wake little voice : " Mammie darlint, Don't cry 'cause I'm goin' away. To-morrow they'll go to the picnic ; They'll have beautiful times, I know ; But heaven is Kke it, and betther, And so I am ready to go. 76 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. ** And, mammie, I ain't a bit frightened, There's many a little girl died — And it seems like the dear, lovin' Saviour Was standin' right here by my side. Take my ticket, dear mammie, and ask If some other child, poor and sad, That hasn't got heaven and Jesus, May go in my place and be glad." And thin, " Wish good-by, mammie darlint,** She drew my lips down to her own, Thin the One she had felt close beside her Bent, too, and I sat there — alone. And so I have brought you the ticket, Though my heart seems ready to break, To ask you to make some poor crathur Feel glad for my dear dai'lint's sake. O'THELLO. O'thello was a sojer boiild, Though black he was be nature ; To Disdemony he was wed — An innocent young crayture. Wid her he lived in payee an' quiet, For she was no vyrago. Till on a cursed night he met A villin called lago. Sez he, '• Yer wife's a peijured jade; Och! she's a faithless lassie — oh! She doesn't care two pins for you, But she'd give her two eyes out for Casshio! ** Wid him she galivants about All in her hours of laysure ; To him she gave her handkerchief All for to wipe his rayshure! " IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 77 Wid that he fell into a rage, An' riz a wondhrons riot. An' swore he'd miirdther her that nighfc, Whin everything was quiet. But not wid dagger, nor with dirk, For that would raise a foul sthir, But he'd take an' blow the candle out. An' smother her wid the boulsther. Harper's Magazine. LANTY LEARY. Lanty was in love, you see, With lovely, lively Rosie Carey, But her father can't agree To give the girl to Lanty Leary. *' Up to fun, away we'll run," Says she, " my father 's so conthrairy, Won't you follow me ? won't you follow me?" '' Faith, 1 will ! " says Lanty Leary. But her father died one day (I hear 'twas not from dhrinking wather); House and land and cash, they say, He left by will to Rose, his daughther ; House and land and cash to seize, Away she cut so light and airy : " Won't you follow me ? won't you follow me ? " " Faith, I will ! " says Lanty Leary. Rose herself was taken bad, The fayver worse each day was growin*. " Lanty dear," says she, " 'tis sad, To th' other world I'm surely goin' j You can't survive my loss, I know, Nor long remain in Tipperary : Won't you follow me? won't you follow me?" " Faith, I won't ! " says Lanty Leary. Samuel Lev Eft. 78 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. KATIE'S ANSWER. OCH, Katie's a rog-ne, it is thrue. But her eyes, like the sky, are so blue. An' lier dimples so swate, An' her ankles so nate, She dazed, an' she bothered me, too. Till one mornin' we wint for a ride. Whin,' demure as a bride, by my side The darlint, she sat, Wid the wickedest hat Neath purty girl's chin iver tied. An' my heart, arrah, thin how it bate! For my Kate looked so temptin' an' swate, Wid cheeks like the roses. An' all the red posies That grow in her garden so nate. But I sat just as mute as the dead. Till she said wid a toss of her head, " If I'd known that to-day Ye'd have nothing to say, I'd have gone wid my cousin, instead." Thin I felt myself gi'ow very bowld For I knew she'd not scold if I towld Uv the love in my heart. That would never depart, Though I lived to be wrinkled and old. An' I said • " If I dared to do so, I'd lit go uv the baste, and I'd throw Both arms round her waist. An' be stalin' a taste Uv them lips that are coaxin' me so." Thin she blushed a more illegent red As she said, without raisin'^her head, An' lun" eyes lookin down Neath her lashes so brown, •♦ Would ye like me to diive, Misther Ted? ** IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 79 PADDY'S DREAM. I HAVE often laughed at the way an Irish help we had at Barnstable once fished me for a glass of whiskey. One morning he says to me, " Oh, yer lionor," says he, "I had a great drame last night intirely ! I dramed I was in Rome, tho' how I got there is more than I can tell : but there I was, sure enough ; and as in duty bound, wliat does I do but go and see the Pope. Well, it was a long journey, and it was late when I got there — too late for tlie likes of me ; and when I got to the palace I saw priests and bishops and cardinals, and all the great dignitaries of the Church, a-coming out; and sais one of them to me, 'How are ye, I'at Moloney?' sais he; 'and that spalpeen yer father, bad luck to him ! how is he ? ' It startlea me to hear me own name so suddent, that it came mighty nigh waking me up, it did. Sais I, *Your riverence, how in the world did ye know that Pat Moloney was me name, let alone tliat of nie father? ' — ' AVhy, ye blackguard ! ' sais he, ' I knew ye since ye was knee-high to a goose, and I knew yer rnotlier afore ye was born.' — 'It's good right yer honor has then to know me,' sais I. — * Bad manners to ye ! ' sais he ; ' what is it ye are af ther doing here at this time o'night?' — 'To see his Holiness, the Pope,' sais I. 'That's right,' sais he; 'pass on, but leave yer im- pudence with yer hat and shoes at the door.' Well, I was shown into a mighty fine room where his Holiness was, and down I went on me knees. 'Rise up, Pat I\Ioloney,' sais his Holiness; 'ye're a broth of a boy to come all tlie way from Ireland to do yer duty to me; and it's dntiful children ye are, every mother's son of ye. AVhat will ye have to drink, Pat? ' (The greater a man is, the more of a rael gintleman he is, yer honor, and the more condescending.) ' What will ye have to drink, Pat? ' sais he. ' A glass of whiskey, yer Holiness,' sais I, ' if it's all the same to ye.' — 'Shall it be hot, or cold ?' sais he. 'Hot,' sais I, 'if it's all the same, and gives ye no trouble.' — 'Hot it shall be,' sais he; 'but as I have dismissed all me servants for the night, I'll just step down below for the tay-kettle;' and wid that he left the room, and was gone for a long time ; and jist as he came to the door again he knocked so loud the noise woke me up, and, be jabers ! I missed me whiskey entirely ! Bedad, if I had only had the sense to say ' Nate, yer Holiness,' I'd a 80 IRISH DfALECT RECITATIONS. had me whiskey sure enough, and never known it warn't all true, instead of a drame." I knew what he wanted, so I poured him out a glass. " Won't it do as well now, Pat?" said I. " Indeed it will, yer honor," says he, " and me drame will come true, after all. I thought it would ; for it was mighty nateral at the time, all but the whiskey." Anonymous. LESSONS IN COOKERY. Miss Cicely Joxes is just home from boarding-school, and engaged to be married; and, as she knows nothing about cooking or housework, is going to take a few lessons in culi- nary art to fit her for the new station in life which she is expected to adorn with housewifely grace. She certainly makes a charming picture as she stands in the kitchen-door, draped in a chintz apron prettily trimmed with bows of rib- bon, her bangs hidden under a Dolly- Varden cap, old kid gloves, while she sways to and fro on her dainty French-kid heels, like some graceful wind-blown flower. "Mamma," she lisped prettily, "please introduce me to your assistant." Whereupon, mamma says, " Bridget, this is your young lady, JNIiss Cicely, who wants to learn the name and use of every thing in the kitchen, and how to make cocoanut rusks and angels' food, before she goes to housekeeping for her- self." Bridget gives a snort of disfavor ; but, as she looks at the young lady, relents, and says, " I'll throy." " And now, Bridget dear," says JNIiss Cicely, when they were alone, " tell me every thing You see, I don't know any thing, except what they did at school ; and isn't this old kitchen lovely ? What makes this ceiling such a beautiful bronze color, Bridget ? " " Shmoke," answers Bridget shortly ; " and me ould eyes are put out with that same." " Shmoke — I must remember that ; and, Bridget, what are those shiny things on the wall ? " " Kivers? — tin kivers for pots and kittles." "Kivers? — oh, yes; I must look for the derivation of that word. Bridget, what are those round things in the basket?" "Praties! (For the Lord's sak» where hez ye lived uiver IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 81 to hear of praties?) ^^Tiy, them's the principal mate of Ire- land, where I kirn from." " Oh ! but we have corrupted the name into potatoes ; such a shame not to keep the idiom of a language ! Bridget — • do you mind if I call you Biddie? It is more euphonious, and modernizes the old classic appellation. What is this liquid in the pan here ? " "Och, murder! AVhere wuz ye raised? That's millick, fresh from the cow." " Millick ? That is the vernacular, I suppose, of milk; and that thick, yellow coating?" " Is crame. (Lord, such ignorance ! ) " " Crame ! Now, Biddie, dear, I must get to work. I'm going to make a cake all out of my own head for Henry — he's my lover, Biddie — to eat when he comes to-night." Bridget [aside'] : " It's dead he is, sure, if he ates it ! " " I've got it all down here, Biddie, on my tablet : A i^ound of butter, twenty eggs, two j)o^^i^ds of sugar, salt to your taste. No, that's a mistake. Oh, here it is ! Now, Biddie, the eggs first. It says to beat them well ; but won't that break the shells ? " " Well, I'd break thim this time if I were you, IMiss Cicely ; they might not set well on Mister Henry's stummack if ye didn't," said Bridget pleasantly. " Oh ! I suppose the shells are used separately. There ! I've broken all the eggs into the flour. I don't think I'll use the shells, Biddie; give them to some poor people. Now, what next? Oh, I'm so tired! Isn't housework dreadful hard? But I'm glad I've learned to make cake. Now, what shall I do next, Biddie ? " "Excuse me, Miss Cicely, but jow might give it to the pigs. It's meself can't see any other use for it," said Bridget, very crustily. " Pigs ! O Biddie ! you don't mean to say that you have some dear, cunning little white pigs ! Oh, do bring the little darlings in and let me feed them ! I'm just dying to have one for a pet ! I saw some canton-flannel ones once at a fair, and they were too awfully sweet for any thing." flust then the bell rang, and Bridget returned to announce ]\[r. Henry ; and Cicely told Bridget she would take another lesson the next day : and then she went up-stairs in her chintz apron and mob-cap, with a little dab of flour on her tip-lifted nose, and told Henry she was learning to cook j and he told 82 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. her she must not be overheated, or worried out, for he didn't care whether she could cook or not : he should never want to eat when he could talk to her, and it was only sordid souls that cared for cooking. And, meanwhile, poor Bridget was just slamming things in the kitchen, and talking to herself in her own sweet idiom about " idgits tui'ning things upside down for her incon- vaniencing." Detroit Free Press, THE IRISH TRAVELLER. An Irishman travelling, though not for delight, Arrived in a city one cold winter's night ; Found the landlord and servants in bed at the inn, While standing without, he was drenched to the skin. He groped for the knocker, no knocker was found ; Then turning his head accidentally round, He saw, as he thought, by the lamp's feeble ray, The object he searched for right over the way. The knocker he grasped, and so loud was the roar It seemed like a sledge breaking open the door. The street, far and wide, was awoke by the clang. And sounded aloud with the Irishman's bang. The wife screamed aloud, and the husband appears At the window, his shoulders shrugged up to his ears. " So ho, honest friend, pray what is the matter. That at this time of night you should make such a clatter? ' " Go to bed, go to bed ! " says Pat, " my dear honey, I am not a robber to ask for your money ; I borrowed your knocker before it was day, To waken the landlord rigid over the way.'^ TEDDY'S SIX BULLS. A MKRRY evening party in an English country town were bantering poor Teddy O'Toole, the Irishman, about his countrymen being so famous for bulls. IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 83 "By my faith," said Teddy, "you needn't talk about that same in this place : you're as fond of bulls as any people in all the world, so you are." " Nonsense ! " some of the party replied ; " how do you make that out ? " '< Why, sure, it's very aisy, it is ; for in this paltry bit of a town you've got more public houses nor I ever seen wid the sign of the bull over the doors, so you have," said Teddy. " Nay, Teddy, very few of those ; but there's some of 'em, you know, in every town." " Yes," said Teddy, obstinately sticking to his text, for he had laid a trap for his friends ; " but you've more nor your share, barring that you're so fond of bulls, as I say. I'm sure I can count half a dozen of 'em.' " Pooh, nonsense ! " cried the party : " that will never do. What'U you bet on that, Teddy ? You're out there, my boy^ depend upon it : we know the town as well as you ; and what will you bet ? " *' Indeed, my brave boys, I'll not bet at all. I'm no better, I assure ye : I should be worse, if I wur." This sally tickled his companions, and he proceeded. " But I'll be bound to name and count the six." " Well, do, do," said several voices. *' Now, let me see ; there's the Black Bull." "Yes, that's one." • " Then, there's the Red Bull." « That's two." " And the White Bull.'* *' Come, that's three." " And the Pied Bull." *' So there is ; you'll not go much farther.'* *' And then there's — there's — there's the Golden Bull, in — what's it street ? " " W^ell done, Teddy ; there's five, sure enough ; but you're short yet." " Ay," said the little letter-carrier, who sat smirking in the corner, " and he will be short ; for there isn't one more, I know." " And then, remember," continued Teddy, carefully pur- suing his enumeration, " there's the Dun Cow." At this a burst of laughter fairly shook the room, and busy hands kept the tables and glasses rattling, amidst bois- terous cries of, — 84 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. « A bull ! a bull 1 " Looking serious at all around, Teddy deliberately asked, • " Do you call that a bull ? " ' ' To be sure, it's a bull," exclaimed several voices once. " Then," said Teddy, " that's the sixth." A MIRACLE. An Irish priest on miracles a sermon one day preached ; And on his way home from the church, before his home he reached, Was overtaken by a man whose name was Patrick Kent, Who wished a miracle explained : he didn't know what one meant. " A miracle, is it? " said the priest. " You want me to ex- plain. So when I say a miracle, you'll know just what I mane? Well, thin, walk on foniinst me now : come, hurry and be quick." The man walked on : the priest walked up, and gave Pat quite a kick. " Och ! " roared the sufferer, feeling sore, " an' sure phy did ye that ? " "An' did ye fale it?" asked the priest. "Begor I did,'* said Pat. " Ah, ha ! ye felt it then, ye did, — ye felt the kick ye got? Well, sir, 'twould been a miracle if ye had felt it not." Charles H. Webber. PAT AND MISS SKITTY. Arrah! you're a throublesome creatliur, Miss Skitty, and that is quite true : To think I should come from old Ireland, To be bit by a varmint like you ! IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 85 Och, now, then be off with your whispers ! Sure, you have no manners at all. Miss Skitty, indade ! I won't miss ye, But lave ye jist flat on the wall. Bedad, she has slipped through my fingers I As clean as a whistle she's gone ; And jist as I got right f orninst her, And wanted to pinch her back-bone I Be aisy, now, Patrick ; keep civil : She's a fairy, maybe, in disguise ; For, light as the seed of a thistle, Out of sight she entirely flies. Miss Skitty, Miss Skitty, my darlint, Come, whisper a word in ray ear. Be aisy, now, Patrick, be aisy ; The bloodthirsty villain is near ! Take that, now ! Indade, I have caught her, And laid her out flat for her wake. Bedad, my own cheek I've been thumping 1 Bad luck ! She has made her escape ! Faith, then, my own Skitty, my honey, 'Tis you that are nimble of wing ; 'Tis you has the sweetest of voices ; Come, teach me the tunes that ye sing. Whist I All unbeknownst I'll steal on her ; She's settled hersel' on the pane. Confess all your sins, now. Miss Skitty : You'll ne'er say a prayer again. Och, now, what has happened the winder ? By my soul, the fairy's slipped through ! An' what shall I say to the missus ? For she's left a hole in it, too I Bedad, I have cut my own knuckles ! But sorra a bit would I care, If only I hurted the torment As much as the loss of a hair. 86 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. Faith, she's an ill-mannered creathur, A stain on the land of the free, — That the likes of her should be spilling The best blood on this side the sea ! I wisht I was back in old Ireland ; Or else that Saint Pat lived below, To banish the vile Miss Skitties, As he banished the snakes long ago. Bessie Bendy. AT THE RISING OF THE MOON. *'0n, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Tell me why you hurry so? " "Hush, ma bouchal, hush and listen;" And his cheeks were all aglow. "I bear ordhers from the captain: Get you ready, quick and soon ; For the pikes must be together At the risin' of the moon." "Oh, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Where the gatherin' is to be ? " "In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me. One word more — for signal token, Whistle up the marchin' tune, With your pike upon your shoulder By the risin' of the moon." Out from many a mud-wall cabin, Eyes were watching through that night: Many a manly chest was throbbing For the blessed warning light. Murmurs passed along the valley, Like the banshee's lonely croon. And a thousand blades were flashing, At the risin' of the moon. IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 87 There beside the singing river That dark jnass of men was seen, Far above the shining weapons Hung their own beloved green. *' Death to every foe and traitor! Forward, strike the marchin' tnne, And hurrah, my boys, for freedom ! 'Tis the risin' of the moon." Well, they fought for poor old Ireland, And full bitter was their fate. (Oh ! what glorious pride and sorrow Fill the name of Ninety-eight ! ) Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating Hearts in manhood's burning noon, Who would follow in their footsteps At the risin' of the moon 1 Leo Casey. THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. Old Teddy O'Rourke kept a nice little school at a place called Ciarina, in the South of Ireland. He hadn't map.y scholars, because the folks in those parts were tor the most part too poor to send their children to school, and they picked up their learning as pig's do their meat; still Teddy had some pupils, though they were a roguish lot, in spite of their having to pay a penny a week extra to be taught man- ners. Teddy's schoolroom was a bit of a shed : and the boys couldn't complain of bad ventilation, seeing that there was a hole in the roof which left it o^ien to the blue sky, and the rain too ; for in those parts, when the rain does pour, it comes down mightily. ^ Well, one morning, says Ted, " I^Iy boys, since all of you are here, I'll just call over your names to see that none of you are missing. Gerald McShaa?" — "I'm here, sir." " Paddy O'Shaughnessy? " — " Here, but my brother Barney ain't." "Where is j'our brother Barney, thenV" — "He's dead, sir, and they are going to wake him." "Are they? well, 5^ou go and sit down by the fire, and lam your task, and don't be falling asleep, or I'll be waking you. — Paddy MacShane, my darling, come here, and bring your ugly face 88 IRISH DIALECT Ri.CITAT IONS. wid Ton, and spell me Constantinople." — "I can't, «?!>.*' — " Can't von ? then bv the j)Owei-s I'll teach yon : first of all, vou see, there's C." — "C." "0." — "O." "N." — "N." "Con." — " Con." " That's the Con." — " That's the Con." *' S." — «S." "T." — "T." "A." — "A." "N." — "N." "Stan.- — "Stan." "That's the Stan."— " That's the Stan." " And the Constan." — " And the Constan." " T." — " T." «I."— "I." "Ti." — "Ti." "That's the Ti." — "That's the Ti." "And the Stanti." — " And the Stanti." "And the Constant!." — "And the Constant!." " N." — " N." "O." — " O." " No." — " No." " That's the No." — " That's the No." "And the Tino." — " And the Tino." " And the Stan- tino." — "And the Stantino." "And the Constantino." — "And the Constantino." "P."_"P." "L." — "L." "fi." — "E." "Pie." — "Pull." "That's the Pie." — " That's the Pull." " And the Nople." — " And the Nopull." " And the Tinople." — *' And the Tinopull." "And the Stantino- ple." — " And the Stantinopnll." " And the Constantinople." — " And the Constantinopnll." " Now," said Teddy to Felix O'Brian, " before you go doKm^ come up and say your letters. What is the name of the first letter in the alphabet ? " — " X, sir. " — " No, sir. What does your father give the donkey to eat, sir? " — "Nothing, sir. " — " And what else, sir V " — " Hay, sir. " — " Aye, that's a good boy; and what's next to A?" — "Don't know, sir." — " What is the name of that great bird that flies about the garden, and stings the people ? " — "A wasp, sir." — " No, sir. What is it that makes all the honey ? " — " Bee, sir." — " B — that's right; B a good boy, and mind what I say, and you'll be a beautiful scholar. Now, the next letter to B, what is it? " — "I don't know, sir." — " Wliat do I do when I turn up my eyes ? " — " You squint, sir." — " And what else, sir? ' y^ " You see." — " C — that's riglit : now what's»Tiext to C ? * — " W, sir." — " AVhat is your grandmother's name? " — " Judee, sir." — " Arrah, can't you say I) without the Ju?" — ** Yes, sir, D and no Jew."— " Well,"sir? " — " E, F."— " Well, what do you stop for?" — " Because 1 can't go no further." — " What do the wagoners say when they want their horses to go faster?" — "Gee ho, dobbin." — "G, and no ho dobbin." — " II."—" AVell, that's right ; and what follows H ? " — » Don't know." — "AVhat has your mother got by the side of her nose?" — "A pimple, sir." — "A pimple!" — "Yes, sir, and one eye." — "I — that's a good boy : you're my head scholar, IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 89 and will soon he a man. Well, go on." — "J." — "What's next to J V " — " I'm sure I don't know." — " "What does your mother open the door with?" — "A poker, sir." — "And what besides?" — "A string, sir." — "And what else? " — "A kay, sir." — "K — that's right, to be sure, — she opens the door with a key. Now, wdiat's next to K ? " — " L."— " ^Vell, and what's next? " — " Don't know, sir." — ■" What does your mother do with her nightcaps when she makes them?" — "She pawns them, sir." — "Stoopid booby ! how does she make them ? " — " She cuts them out, and hems them." — " Can't you say ^1 and no cut out? " — "M and no cut out." — "I'll cut out your jacket. — What's next? " — " Don't know, sir." — " How does your mother get her eggs? " — "■ She buys 'em, sir." — " Doesn't the hen lay them ? " — " Father sold the hen to buy whiskey." — "Och the ungrateful young scamp of an informer! take that! " — "Oh! " — " O— right at last. I thought I'd make you say O. Goon." — " J can't, sir." — " What does Biddy feed the pigs with?" — " Pays, sir, and praties." — " Say pay and no praties." — " Pay and no praties." — " And it's no praties you shall have to-day, for you'll go and stand in the corner. Send up the next boy." HOW DENNIS TOOK THE PLEDGE. A T^niEKiCK Irishman named Dennis, addicted to strongs drink, was often nrged by his friends to sign tlie pledge, but with no avail, until one day they rend to him from a newspaper an account of a man who liad become so thor- oughly saturated with alcohol, that, on attempting to blow out a candle, his breath ignited, and he was instantly blown to atoms. Dennis's face showed mingled horror and con- trition, and his friends thought that the long-desired moment of repentance was at hand. "Bring me the book, boys, bring me the book! Troth, his breath took foir, did it? Sure, I'll niver die that death, onvhow," said Dennis, with the most solemn countenance imnuinable. "Hear me now, b'ys, hear me now. I.Den- nis P'innegan, knowin' my great wakeness, deeply sinsible of juv past sins, nn' the great danger I've been in, hereby taki' me solemn oath, that, so long as I live, under no pro- vocation whativer, will I — blow out a candil ayin! ^* 90 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. V^^HEN McGUE PUTS THE BABY TO SLEEP. We have a foine tinement, close be the bridge, Wid three pairs of stairs and a farm. The farm's on the roof, but it's ilegaut just For to kape the small childer from harm. The railiii' is hig'h. Shiire it's tired they get From playin' "puss corner" an' ''peep," An' 'twould do your heart good in the twilight to see Ould iMcGue put the baby to sleep. McGue is my man, an' a daisy he is, For after the gas-house shuts down He comes wid his pail (faith, the coal on his face Gives the shake to the boys of the town). Then he sits down wid me, an' his poipe, an' his chair, Comfortable, cosey, an' deep, Wid the kid in his arms ; it would break you to see Ould McGue put the baby to sleep. He sings him the chune of " The Old Phwiskey Jug,** An' juggles him up on his knee As light as the mist from ould Erin's green turf That floats from the bog to the sea. Then the gossoon lies back like a king on his couch. An' the shadows across his eyes creep; I'll lay you a bet, it's a beautiful sight, When McGue puts the baby to sleep. Then the ould man says " Phwist ! " as the first darling snore He hears from the swate, sleeping child; An' he steps to the cradle, as aisy as mud. An' the drop of a pin makes him wild. *' The Virgin take care of that baby ! " his prayer Comes out of the heart low and deep; It would kill the ould man if the kid should refuse John JNlcGue for to put him to sleep. I IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 91 THE CONFESSION. Paddy McCabe was dying one day, And Father Molloy he came to confess him ; Paddy prayM hard he would make no delay But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless hira. " First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy, " For I'm thinking youVe not been a very good boy." *'Oh," says Paddy, "so late in the evenin' I fear 'Twould throuble you such a long story to hear. For youVe ten long miles o'er the mountain to go. While the road Foe to travel's much longer, you know: So give us your blessin' and get in the saddle, To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle; And the docthor gave ordhers to keep me so quiet — 'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd thry it, And your Reverence has towld us, unless we tell all, 'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all : So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy. And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy." " Well, I'll read from a book," says Father ^loUoy, "The manifold sins that humanity's heir to; And when you hear those tii.it your conscience annoy, .You'll just squeeze my hand, as acknowledging thereto.*' Then the Father began the dark roll of iniquity. And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety. And he gave such a squeeze that the priest gave a roar — " Oh, murdher! " says Paddy, "don't read any more, For, if you keep readin', by all that is thrue. Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and blue ; Besides, to be throubled my conscience begins. That your Reverence should have any hand in my sins ; So you'd betther suppose I committed them all. For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small. Or if they're a dozen, or if tliey're four-score, 'Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve them, asthore : So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy. And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy," " W(;ll," says Father IMolloy, " if your sins T forgive, So you must forgive all your enemies truly ; 92 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. And promise me also that, if you should live. You'll leave oil" your old tricks, and begin to live newly.*' " I forgive ev'rybody," snvs Pat, with a groan, " Except that big vagabone Micky Malone ; And him I will murdher if ever I can — " "Tut, Tilt! '' sa3^s the priest, " you're a very bad man; For without your forgiveness, and also repentance, You'll ne'er go to Heaven, and that is my sentence." " Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard case, With your Reverence and Heaven I'm content to make pace, But with Heaven and your Reverence I Avondher — Och hone^ You would think of comparin' that blackguard Malone — But since I'm hard press'd and that I must forgive, I forgive — if I die — but as sure as I live That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy! — So, 7iowiov your blessin', sweet Father Molloy!" LOVEB. FATHER PHIL'S COLLECTION. Father Blake was more familiarly known by the name of Father Phil. By either title, or in whatever capacity, the worthy Father had great influence over his parish ; and there was a free-and-easy way with him, even in doing the most solemn duties, which agreed wonderfully with the devil-may- care spirit of Paddy. Stiff and starched formality in any way is repugnant to the very nature of Irishmen. There are forms, it is true, and many, in the Romish Church ; but they are not cold forms, but attractive rather to a sensitive people. Besides, I believe those very forms, when observed the least formally, are the most influential on the Irish. With all his intrinsic worth, Father Phil was, at the same time, a strange man in exterior manners; for, with an abun- dance of real piety, he had an abruptness of delivery, and a strange way of mixing up an occasional remark to his con- gregation in the midst of the celebration of the mass, which might well startle a stranger. But this very want of for- mality made him beloved by the people, and they would do ten times as much for Father Phil as for the severe Father Dominick. On tlie Sunday in question. Father Phil intended deliver- ing an address to his flock from the altar, urging them to IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 93 the necessity of bestirring themselves in the repairs of the chapel, which was in a very dilapidated condition, and at one end let in the rain through its worn-out thatch. A sub- scription was necessary; and to raise this among a very impoverished people was no easy matter. The weather hap- pened to be unfavorable, which was most favorable to Father Phil's purpose ; for the rain dropped its arguments through the roof upon the kneeling people below, in the most con- vincing manner ; and, as they endeavored to get out of the wet, they pressed round the altar as much as they could, for which they were reproved very smartly by his Reverence, in the very midst of the mass. These interruptions occurred sometimes in the most serious places, producing a ludicrous effect, of which the worthy Father was quite unconscious, in his great anxiety to make the people repair the chapel. A big woman was elbowing her way towards the rails of the altar; and Father Phil, casting a sidelong glance at her, sent her to the right-about, while he interrupted his appeal to Heaven to address her thus : — ^^^ Agnus Del' — You'd betther jump over the rails of the althar, I think. Go along out o' that. There's plenty o' room in the chapel below there." Then he would turn to the altar, and proceed with the service, till, turning again to the congregation, he perceived some fresh offender. ',' ' Orate fratres." — Will you mind what I say to you, and go along out o' that? There's room below there. Thrue for you, Mrs. Finn, it's a shame for him to be thramplin' on you. Go along. Darby Casy, down there, and kneel in the rain. It's a pity you haven't a decent woman's cloak under you, indeed ! ' Orate fratres ! ' " Then would the service proceed again, till the shuffling of feet edging out of the rain would disturb him ; and, casting a backward glance, he would say, — " I hear you there ! Can't you be quiet, and not be dis- turbin' my mass, you haythens ? " Again he proceeded, till the crying of a child interrupted him. He looked around quickly. " You'd betther kill the child, I think, thramplin' on him, Lavery. Go out o' that. Your conduct is scandalous. — • ' Dominus vobiscum ! ' " Again he turned to pray ; and, after some time, he made Lui interval in the service to address his congregation on the 94 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. subject of the repairs, and produced a paper containing the names of subscribers to that pious work who liad already contributed, by way of example to those who had not. " Here it is," said Father Phil, " here it is, and no denying it, down in black and white. But if they who give are down in black, how much blacker are those who have not given at all ! But I hope they will be ashamed of themselves when I howld up those to honor who have contributed to the uphowlding of the house of God. And isn't it asliamed o' yourselves you ought to be, to lave his house in such a condition? And doesn't it rain a'most every Sunday, as ii he wished to remind you of your duty ? Aren't you wet tQ the skin a'most every Sunday ? Oh, God is good to you, to put you in mind of your duty, giving you such bitther cowlds that you are coughing and sneezin' every Sunday to that degree that you can't hear the blessed mass for a com- fort and a benefit to you ! And so you'll go on sneezin' until you put a good thatch on the place, and prevent the appear- ance of the evidence from Heaven against you every Sun- day, which is condemning you before your faces, and behind your backs, too ; for don't I see, this minute, a strame o' wather that might turn a mill, running down Micky Macka- voy's back, between the collar of his coat and his shirt? " Here a laugh ensued at the expense of Micky ^lackavoy, who certainly ivas under a very heavy drip from the imper- fect roof. " And is it laughin' you are, you haythens ? " said Father Phil, reproving the merriment which he himself had pur- posely created that he might reprove it. " Laughin' is it you are at your backslidings and insensibility to the honor of God, — laughin', because wiien you come here to be saved, you are lost entirely with the wet? And how, I ask you, are my words of comfort to enter your hearts, when the rain is pouring down your backs at the same time? Sure, I have no chance of turning your hearts, while you are undher rain that might turn a mill. But once put a good roof on the house, and I will inundate you with piety. Maybe it's Father Dominick you would like to have coming among you, who would grind your hearts to powdher with his heavy words. [Here a low murmur of dissent ran through the throng.] Ha, ha! so you wouldn't like it, I see. Very well, vei"y well. Take care, then; for if I find you insen- sible to my moderate reproofs, you iiard-hearted haythens, IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 95 you malefacthors and cruel persecuthors, that won't put your hands in your pockets because your mild and quiet poor fool of a pasthor has no tongue in his head ! I say, your mild, quiet, poor fool of a pasthor (for I know my own faults partly, God forgive me). And I can't spake to you as you deserve, you hard-living vagabonds, that are as insen- sible to your duties as you are to the weather. I wish it was sugar or salt that you were made of ; and then the rain might melt you, if / couldn't. But no. Them naked rafthers grins in your face to no purpose. You chate the house of God. But take care; maybe you won't chate the Divil so aisy. [Here there was a sensation.] Ha, ha! that makes you open your ears, does it ? More shame for you. You ought to despise that dirty enemy of man, and depend on something better. But I see I must call you to a sense of your situation, with the bottomless pit undher you, and no roof over you. Oh, dear, dear, dear ! I'm ashamed of you ! Throth, if I had time and sthraw enough, I'd rather thatch the place myself, than lose my time talking to you. Sure, the place is more like a stable than a chapel. Oh, think of that ! — the house of God to be like a stable! For though our Redeemer was born in a stable, that is no reason why you are to keep his house always like one. "And now I will read you the^ist of subscribers; and it will make you ashamed when 3^ou near the names of several good and worthy Protestants in the parish, and out of it, too, who have given more than the Catholics." He then proceeded to read the following list, which he interlarded copiously with observations of his own, making vioa voce marginal notes, as it were, upon the subscribers, which were not unfrequently answered by the persons so noticed from the body of the chapel ; and laughter was often the consequence of these rejoinders, which Father Phil never permitted to pass without a retort. Nor must all this be considered in the least irreverent. A certain period is allowed between two particular portions of the mass, when the priest may address his congregation on any public mat- ter, — an approaching pattern or fair or the like, in which exhortations to propriety of conduct, or warnings against faction, fights, etc., are his themes. Then they only listen in reverence. But. when a subscription for such an object as that already mentioned is under discussion, the flock con sider themselves entitled to "put in a word" in case of 96 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. necessity. This preliminary hint is given to the reader that he may better enter into the spuit of Father Phil's SUBSCRIPTION LIST FOR THE REPAIRS AND ENLARGEMENT OF BALLYSLOUGH- GUTTHERY CHAPEL. Philip Blake, P.P. "'Mick Hickey, £0. 75. M.* He might as well have made it ten shillings. But half a loaf is betther than no bread." "Plaze, your Reverence," says Mick, from the body of the chapel, " sure seven and sixpence is more than the half of ten shillings." (A laugh.) " Oh, how witty you are ! Faith, if you knew your pray- ers as well as your arithmetic, it would be betther for you, Micky." Here the Father turned the laugh against Mick. " ' Billy Riley, £0. Zs. 4c?.' Of course he means to sub- scribe again ! '"John Dwyer, £0. 15^. Od* That's something like. I'll be bound he's only keeping back the odd five shillings for a brush full o' paint for the althar. It's as black as a crow, instead o' being as a dove." He then hurried over rapidly some small subscribers as follows : — " ' Peter Hefferman, £0. Is. M. "'James Murphy, £0. 2:.-. 6J. " ' Mat Donovan, £0. Is. Zd. " ' Luke Dannely, £0. Ss. Of/. "'Jack Quigly, £0. 2^. Id. " ' Pat Finnegan, £0. 2s. 2d. "'Edward O'Connor, Esq., £2. Os. Of/.' There's for you! Edward O'Connor, Esq., — a Protestant in the jyarish, — two pounds ! " " Long life to him ! " cried a voice in the chapel. "Amen!" said Father Phil. "I'm not ashamed to be clerk to so good a pi'ayer. " ' Nicholas Fagan, £0. 2s. 6(/. "'Young Nicholas Fagan, £0. 5s. Of/.' Young Nick is betther than owld Nick, you see. TRTSH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 97 «'Tim Doyle, £0. 7s. M. " ' Owny Doyle, £1. Os. Oc?.* Well done, Owny na Coppal ! You deserve to prosper, for you make good use of your thrivings. " ' Simon Leary, £0. 25. Qd. Bridget Murphy, £0. 10.«f. Or/.' You ought to be ashamed o' yourself, Simon ! A lone widow- woman gives more than you." Simon answered, " I have a large family, sir ; and she has no childher." " That's not her fault," said the priest. " And maybe she'll mend o' that yet." This excited much merriment ; for the widow was buxom, and had recently buried an old husband, and, hj all accounts, was cocking her cap at a handsome young fellow in the parish. '"Jude Moylan, £0. 5s. Or/.' Very good, Judy. The women are behaving like gentlemen. They'll have their reward in the next world. " 'Pat Finnerty, £0. 8s. 4(/-.' I'm not sure if it is 8s. 4cf. or 3s. 4(/., for the figure is blotted; but I believe it is 8s. 4t/." " It was three and fourpince I gave, your Reverence," said Pat from the crowd. " Well, Pat, as I said eight and fourpence, you must not let me go back o' my word : so bring me five shillings next week." " Sure, you wouldn't have me pay for a blot, sir?" " Yis, I would : that's the rule of backgammon, you know, Pat, — when I hit the mark, you pay for it." Here his Reverence turned around, as if looking for some one, and called out, " Raffert}^, Rafferty, Rafferty ! Where are you, Rafferty? " An old gray-headed man appeared, bearing a large plate ; and Father Phil continued, — " There, now, be active. I'm sending him among you, good people ; and such as cannot give as much as you would like to be read before your neighbors, give what little you can towards the repairs ; and I will continue to read out the names, by way of encouragement to you, — and the next name I see is that of Squire Egan. Long life to him! "'Squire Egan, £5. Os. Of/.' Squire Egan, five pounds! Listen to that! A Protestant in the parish, five pounds! Faith, the Protestants will make you ashamed of yourselves, if you don't take care ! 98 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. " * Mrs. Flanagan, £2. Os. M. ' Not her own parish, either. A fine lady. "'James Milligan of Roundtown, £1 Os. Orf.' And here I must remark that the people of Roundtown have not been backward in coming forward on this occasion. I have a long list from Roundtown, — I will read it separate " He then proceeded at a great pace, jumbling the town and the pounds and the people in the most extraordinary manner: " 'James Milligan of Roundtown, one pound ; Darby Daly of Round- town, one pound; Sam Finnegan of Roundtowni, one pound; James Casey of Roundpound, one town; Kit Dwyer of Townpound, one round — pound, I mane; Pat Roundpound — Pounden, I mane — Pat Pounden, a pound, of Pound- town also.' There's an example for you ! "But what are you about, Rafferty? I don't like the sound of that plate of yours. You are not a good gleaner. Go up first into the gallery there, where I see so many good- looking bonnets. I suppose they will give something to keep their bonnets out of the rain ; for the wet will be into the gallery next Sunday, if they don't. I think that is Kitty Crow I see, getting her bit of silver ready. Them ribbons of yours cost a thrifle, Kitty. — Well, good Chris- tians, here is more of the subscription for you : — "'Matthew Lavery, £0 2s. 6d.' He doesn't belong to Roundtown. Roundtown will be renowaied in future ages for the support of the Church. Mark my words, Round- town will prosper from this day out, Roundtown will be a rising place. " ' Mark Hennessy, £0 2.^. Gd. ; Luke Clancy, £0. 25. 6d. ; John Doolin, £0. 2s. 6c/.' One would think they had all agreed only to give two and sixpence apiece ; and they com- fortable men, too! And look at their names, — ^latthew, Mark, Luke, and John, — the names of the blessed Evan- gelists ; and only ten shillings among them ! Oh, they are apostles not worthy the name! We'll call them the poor apostles from this out. [Here a low laugh ran through the chapel.] Do you hear that, Matthew, INIark, Luke, and John? Faith, I can tell you that name will stick to you." (Here the laugh was louder.) A voice, when tlie laugh subsided, exclaimed, " I'll make it ten shillin's, your Reverence." " Who's that?" said Father Phil. "Ilenuessy, your Reverence." IRISH DTALECT RECITATIONS. 99 " Very well, Mark. I suppose Matthew, Luke, and John will follow your example." " We will, your Reverence." "Ha! I thought you made a mistake. AVe'll call you now the faithful apostles, and I think the change in your name is better than seven and sixpence apiece to you. " I see you in the gallery there, Rafferty. What do you pass that well-dressed woman for? Thry back. Ha! see that. She had her money ready, if you only asked her for it. Don't go by that other woman there. Oh, ho ! So you won't give any thing, ma'am! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. There is a woman with an elegant sthraw boimet, and she won't give a farthing. Well now, afther that, re- member — I give it from the althar — that, from this day out, sthraw bonnets pay fi'penny pieces. "'Thomas Durfy, Esq., £1. Os. Oc/.' It's not his parish, and he's a brave gentleman. "'Miss Fanny Dawson, £1. Os. 0rauks that she'd not done before, Aud Pat found that his sow was a terrible boar (bore). IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 121 She first went at a gallop, then she was slow, Every step she took forwards, she backwards did go ; She would then give a jump, a grunt, and a squall, Capsized an old woman and her apple-stall. " Arrah ! you're off, thin, to market," Mike Fagan did say. "Hush!" cried Pat, "if she hears you, she'll not go that way." rJust as if she had heard every word that did drop, She set off at a gallop that Pat could not stop ; And, to add to poor Paddy's pleasures and joys. They were hooted and pelted by a whole trooj^ of boys. " Och ! she's going down the wrong street, now. Och ! " cried Pat, "I'm no dunce. She'll go up all manner of streets, faith, at once." AjSfONYMOUS. TEDDY MeGUIRE AND PADDY O'FLYNN. TEDDY TO PADDY. Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! Are yez at it agin ? Drink-drinking away wid the lame and the lazy? Sure, it's small wit yez had, At yer soberest, lad ; So what can it be whin yer head has gone crazy Wid whiskey and gin ? Foolish Paddy O'Flynn ! Och, Paddy O'Flynn, See the pickle yer in ! Bare elbows and toes, dhirt and raggedness, Paddy. Saint Patrick would shame To be spakin' yer name ; Wouldn't own yez a son of ould Ireland, me laddy. But the divils would grin To see Paddy O'Flynn ! Och, Paddy O'Flynn, While yer spendin' for gin, Or whiskey, gossoon, what yer uadiu' for dinner, 122 IRISn DIALECT RECITATIONS. Yer mither half dead For praties and bread, Sits cryiii' her eyes out, ye graceless young sinner! Not worth a bent pin, Drunken Paddy O'Flynn ! Och, Paddy O'Flynn, Sich a wurrld as "we're in ! Topsy-turvey wid soitow, how can yez be makin* More trouble and care, More grafe and despair, More wapin' and wailin' and bitter heart-brakln*, More vileness and sin. Wicked Paddy O'Flynn? Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! Aich tumbler of gin Is an ocean too dape for a sowl, — it betrays ye. Whin once yez go down, Ye're certain to drown. If yez float, the say-sarpeut is likely to saze ye ; And where are yez thin, Wretched Paddy O'Flynn? Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! Stand up, and begin To look like a crature half-dacent and human ! Fath ! ril give yez me hand Wid a bit of me land; And I'll lind yez a shpade, and I'll kape the ould woman Till yer crops ye get in, Neighbor Paddy O'Flynn ! Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! There's a heaven to win. Hooray ! smash the glass ! shpill the shtufF, so defilin' 1 How the divils will howl Whin they see yer poor sowl Makiu' tracks up the sky wid the angels all smilin' To welcome yez in, Happy Paddy O'Flynn 1 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 123 PADDY TO TEDDY. Och, Teddy McGuire ! Me heart's batin' higher To be gratin' yez here on American sile. 'Tis tin years, be dad, Since I saw yez, me lad, On that sorrowful day whin I left the Grane Isle. A friend ye had been To poor Paddy O'Flynn : Ye had loved him, and lifted him out of the mire ; And me mither died blessin' yez, Teddy McGuire. Och, Teddy McGuire ! I can spake like the squire ; But the ould tongue is best, when I mate an ould friend. Here's a watch in me vest, Like a birrd in its nest, — I've praties in plenty, and money to spend. Come home wid me, thin, And see Mistress O'Flynn ; And she'll trate yez to somethin' ye're sure to desire : It's a bountiful counthry, dear Teddy McGuire. Och, Teddy McGuire ! No nade to inquire If I've been at the whiskey-jug. Here is my hand, As dacent and clane As the hand of a quane. And sthrong at the grip. Not a man in the land Could brag of more muscle, Or bate in a tussle Wid Paddy O'Flynn ; and, troth, ye'll admire The good clothes I'm wearin' now, Teddy McGuire ! Och, Teddy McGuire ! If ye sthay in the fire. There's no help at all, but ye're sure to be roastin'. Lord love yez to-day That yez dragged me away, And cliated the divil in spite of his boastin'. Let him rage if he plaze ; ril not barter me aise. Nor burn up me soul for the thavish ould liar: I've done wid the whiskey-shops^ Teddj McGuire. 124 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. Look, Teddy McGuire ! There's a church wid a shpire, And beyant, a white house wid a terrace below ; Bay-wmdows complate, — Now, isn't it nate '? Wid roses all round it beginnin' to blow ; AVid a lawn in the sun Where the childer can run, An orchard behind it, a barn, and a byre, — And that is me residence, Teddy McGuire ! Och, Teddy McGuire, Make haste and come nigher ! There's me wife in the portico watching for me. A swate Yankee girl, Wid a heart like a pearl, And a will of her own, as ye're likely to see. Her father was mad Whin 1 courted her, lad : He'd give her no money, he swore in his ire ; But she loved me, and married me, Teddy McGuire. Thin, Teddy INIcGuire, I was workin' for hire, AVid a beautiful farm and a dairy to tend ; But the ould man relinted, And left us, continted, A snug little fortung to kape us, me friend. See the childer come oat AYid a rush and a shout, — The swate little cratures ! — to welcome their sire Wid laughter and kisses, dear Teddy McGuirs. Och, Teddy McGuire ! Me blood is on fire. Me heart it is batin' like waves of the say. So great is me bliss To be spakin' like this. And bringin' yez home to me darlin's this day, Sure, I think whin yez die. All the angels will cry, — " Here's the man that saved Paddy O'Flynn inountin' higher Make room for the swate soul of Teddy McGuire." Amanda T. Jones. IRISH DIALECT recitations: 125 PAUDEEN O'RAFFERTY'S SAY- VOYAGE. Sure now, ladies and gintlemen, if ye plase, I'll relate the great mistake I made when I came hare to Naples — stop ! aisy, Paudeen, and don't decaive the ladies and gintlemen; for, bedad ! I didn't come at all, — they brought me in a ship, a. grate big ship, with two big sticks standing out of it. Masts they call thim, bad luck to it and the day I saw it ! If I had been an ignorant fellow, and didn't know joggraphy and the likes, I'd be safe enough at home now, so I would, in my own cellar on the Coal-Quay in Dublin. But I must be making a man of myself, showing my learnin', me knowl- edge of similitude and the likes. You see, I wint over to England on a bit of an agricultural speculation — hay-makin' and harvist-rapin' — and, the saison bein' good, I realized a fortune, so I did, — a matter of thirty shillings or so.. So, says I to myself, says I, " Now I have got an indipin- dent competence, I'll go back to Ireland; I'll buy it out, and make meself imperor of it." So I axed one of the boys which was my nearest way to Bristol to go be the say. So, says one of thim (be the same token he was a cousin of mine — one Terry O'Rafterty — as dacint a boy as you could wish to meet, and as handy with a shillaly. Why, I've seen him clear a tint at Donnybrook fair in less than two minutes, with nivir a won to help except his bit of a stick; and you know that's no aisy job). " Weil,'' says Terry to me, says he, " go down to the quay," says he, *' and you'll find out all about it while a cat'd be lickin' her ear." Well, I wint to a man that was standin' be the dure of a public-house. It was the sign of — the sign — "What the plague is this the sign was? — you see, I like to be sarcum- spectius in me joggraphy. It was the sign of the blind cow kicking the dead man's eyes out, or the dead man's cow kick- ing the blind — no — well, it was something that way, any- how. So says I to the man, " Sir," says I, " I want a ship." " There you are," says he. " AVhere ? " sa^^s T. " There," says he. " Thank you," says I. "Which of thim's for Ireland? " "Oh ! you're an ould counti-yman," says he. 126 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. " How did you find that out ? " says I. " I know it," says he. " Who tould you? " says I. " No matther," says he. *' Come," says he. "I will," says I. Well, we wint in and we had half a pint of whiskey. Oh, bedad ! it'd have done your heart good to see the bade rise on the top of it. Maybe my heart didn't warm to him, and his to me — ow, murther ! " Erin go bragh ! " says he. " Ceadh mille failthe ! " says I. And there we wor like two sons of an Irish king in less than a minute. Thin we got to discoorsing about Dublin and Naples, and other furrin parts that we wor acquainted with ; and he began talking about how like the Bay of Naples was to the Bay of Dublin, — for, you see, he was an ould soger, d'ye mind ? an' thim old sogers are always mighty 'cute chaps. He was a grate big chap that was off in the wars among the Frinch and Spaniards and the Rushers and other barbarians. So we got talking of similitude an' joggraphy an' the likes, an' mixin' Naples an' wather and Dublin an' whiskey ; and, be me sowl, purty punch we made of it. I was in the middle o' me glory, whin in walks the cap- tain o' the ship. " Any one here to go aboord ? " says he. " Here I am," says I. And be the same token, me head was quite soft with the whiskey, and talkin' about Dublin an' Naples, an' Naples an' whiskey, and wather an' Dublin, Dublin an' Naples, Naples an' Dublin, — bad 'cess to me! but I said the one place instead of the other when they axed me where I was going, d'ye mind ? Well, they brought me aboord the ship as dhrunk as a lord, and threw me down in the cellar, — the hould, they called it; and the divil's own hould it was, — wid sacks, pigs, praties, an' other passengers, an' there they left me in laveudher, like Paddy Ward's pig. I fell asleep the first week. AVhin T woke up didn't I heave ahead in me sthomatics enough to make me backbone and me ribs strike fire? " Arrah ! " says I to mesclf, says I, "are they ever going to take me home ? " IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 127 Just thin I h'ard a voice sing out, — " There's the bay." That was enough for me. I scrambled up-stairs till I got on the roof — the deck, they call it — as fast as my legs could carry me. " Land ho ! " says one of the chaps, " Where? " says I. " There it is," says he. " For the love of glory, show me where," says I. " There, over the cat's-head," says he. I looked around, but the niver the cat's head or dog's tail aither I could see. The blaggard stared at me as if I was a banshee or a fairy. I gev another look, and there was tlie bay, sure enough, afore me. " Arrah, good luck to you!" said I, "but you warm the cockles of me heart. But what's come over the Hill of Howth ? " says I. " It used to be a civil, paiceable soort of a mountain, but now it's splutthering an' smokin' away like a grate big lime-kiln. Sure the boys must have lit a big bone-fire on top of it to welcome me." With that, a vagabone that was listenin' to me cries out, in a horse-laugh, — " Hill of Howth ! " says he. " You're a Grecian — that's not the Hill of Howth." " Not the Hill of Howth ? " says I. " No," says he ; " that's Mount Vesuvius." " Aisy, aisy," says I. "Isn't Mount Yesulpherous in Italy?" " Yis," says he. " An' isn't Italy in France ? " says I. " Of coorse," says he. " An' isn't France in Gibberalther ? " says I. *' To be sure," says he. " An' isn't Gibberalther in Russia?" says I. " Maybe so," says he, "but we're in Italy, anyhow. This is the Bay of Naples, and that is Mount Vesuvius." " Are you sure ? " says I. "I am," saj^s he. And, be me sowl, it was thrue for him. The ship made a big hlundher in takin' me to Naples whin I wanted to go to Dublin, d'ye mind. 128 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. IRISH ASTRONOMY. A veritalsle myth, touching the constellation of O'Ryan, ignorantly and falsely spelled Orion. O'Ryan was a man of might Whin Ireland was a nation ; But poachin' was his heart's delight, And constant occupation. He had an ould militia gun, And sartin sure his aim was : He gave the keepers many a run, And wouldn't mind the oame laws. St. Path rick wanst was passin' by O'Ryan's little hoiddin', And as the saint felt wake and dhry, He thought he'd enther bould in. *' O'Ryan," says the saint, "avick! To praich at Thurles I'm goin' ; So let me have a rasher, quick. And a dhrop of Innishowen." " No rasher will T cook for yon While betther is to spare, sir; But here's a jug of mountain dew. And there's a rattlin' hare, sir." St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet, And says he, " Good luck attind you ! And when you're in your windin'-sheet, It's up to heaven I'll sind you." O'Ryan gave his pipe a whiff — " Them tidin's is thrans]iortin', But may I ax your saintship if There's any kind of sportin' ? " St. Pathrick said, " A Li(jn's tliere. Two Bears, a Bull, and Cancer" — "Bedad," says IMick, " th^' huutin's rare! St. Pathrick, I'm your man, .sir!" IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 129 So, to conclude my song aright, For fear I'd tire your patience, You'll see O'Ryan any night Amid the constellations. And Venus follows in his track, Till Mars grows jealous raally; But, faith, he fears the Irish knack Of handling his shillaly. Chakles G. Halpine. PADDY MeGRATH'S INTRODUCTION TO MR. BRUIN. An Irish Story. Not long since, 1 was walkin' with Jimmy Butler through a thick wood on me w^ay to Judy O'Flinn's, to pay me bist addrissis to her, whin Jimmy very suddintly cried out, *' Be jabersi but there's Mr. Bruin ! " and with that he runs off like a shot, lavin' me alone jist forniust the ould giu- tleman. " Mr. Bruin, are ye ? " says I. " How do you do, Mr. Bruin? Happy to know yer worship, and hope yer honor's well. Happy o' yer acquaintance," says I. A grunt was the only answer I resaved. "Och, sure!" thinks I, "yer a quare ould chap at iny rate; " and thin I axed him how Mrs. Bruin and all the young spalpeen Bruins prospered. He only gev me another grunt. " Bad luck to yer eddication ! " says I. *' Where did ye hev yer bringin' up? Me name's Paddy McGrath, of Tipperary County, ould Ireland, at yer sarvice," says I agin, thinkin' to hev some conversation ^A'id him. He only showed me his big grinders, and gev me another grunt, bi'.t he still stood lookin' at me. " Bedad ! but he's niver been taught his letthers, and cannot understhand me, or his eyes must be mighty wake and bad. The top o' the mornin' to yez ! Do yez always wear yer coat with the wool on tlie outside V " says I agin. This sanied to touch a tinder pint wid him, and he kem towards me. Iloldin' out me hand, I wint to mate him. 130 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. " Excuse the complimint," says I, "but you've a iniglity oogly moog, so ye hev." He grinned mighty plazed like, and held out his arrums to embrace me. Jist as I kem widin rache of his long arrums, he gev me a cuff aside me hid, ^vhich sint me flyin'. jNIe sinsis lift me mighty quick afther he sthruck me ; and whin they kem back, I found mesel' a-roUin' down a shtape hill, wid no chance to sthop. Prisintly, howiver, I sthruck a big stoomp, and suddintly shtopped. Whin I got on me fate agin, 1 saw Mr. Bruin corain' afther me on his hands and knase, and grinnin' as much as to say, " I beg yer pardin, but I didn't mane to tip yez so hard." "Och, I furgive yez," saj's I: "come to me arrums, Mr. Bruin. Paddy McGrath is not the filler to hould a groodge agin a frind. Yer as welcome to me embrace as me own Judy." This samed to filaze the ould gint mightily, for he shtood on his fate, and agin held out his arrums : I rushed to his embrace widout another word. " Och, murdher ! nuu'dher ! " I scramed ; " yer a practised hugger, ye are ! ye've been in the business afore ! How I pity Mrs. Bruin if ye sarve her this way often ! Och, murdher! " I cried agin ; " I don't like such tight squazin' I'll be satisfied wid the little ye've gev me if ye'U loosen yer hould, and gev me a rist." He gev me a harder squaze than iver, and opened his big, oogly jaws, and tried to bite me nose off. "Bedad! are ye a haythen cannibal," saj^s I, "that ye'd take a filler's hid off to show yer love for him ? " He gev me another hug, and fastened his big taath onto me lift shouhler. " Bad cess to ye ! " says I, " but yer afther makin' too fra wid me on short acquaintince ; but I'll be aven wid yez; " so sayin', I twisted me arrum from his grasp, and, thrustin' me shillaly into liis mouth, gev it a twist with sucli mighty force that I broke his under jaw. The ould gint samed to think he had been too lovin' wid me; so givin' a grunt, he let go me shoulder, takin' a pound of me tuider flish wid him, which he ate with a big relish. "Bedad, Paddy! if yez don't outdo yer new friend, lie'll lave but little of yez for yer Judy," thinks I; and widout more ado I gvv him a blow between his eyes. He gev a quick jerk buck, and I si)rang from his embrace — but, och! deary me ! he took the whole of me fine coat, weskit, and shirt but the shlaves, and started off wid 'cm. " Och ! yo IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 131 thavin', murdlierin' nager," says I, " bring back me close, or I can't pay me addrissis to me Judy darlint." He niver paid me a bit o' notice, but rooshed off. 1 shtarted afther the haythenish baste. He climbed up a big tra mighty quick, takin' me close wid him. I axed him, very perlite like, to throw down me wearin' apparel ; but he only blinked his bloody eyes at me. I was jist goin' to throw me shillaly at him, when I heard a gun go off; and Mr. Bruin gev a tei'rible squail, dhropped me close, and kera toomblin' to the ground. I looked around in astonishment, and saw Jimmy Butler and siveral others comin' down the hill towards me. Whin Jimmy saw me alive, he cried like a spalpeen, and rushed into me arrums. "When he let me go, I axed him what he mint by shootin' Mr. Bruin in that way. He told me he was a bear and would hev kilt me. " A bear ! did ye sayV" says I: "why didn't yez tell me afore, so that I could hev kipt ye company in yer runnin' away from him? A bear! " says I agin, beginnin' to trimble for fear the ould gint might not be quite dead: "give him another shot, Jimmy, to be sure ye've kilt him intirely." He was dead sure enough, and we lift him alone quite gory. Jimmy got me some new close, and we wint home. Whin I told Judy of the squazin' I got, she blushed, and put her arrums around me nick, and gev me so soft a squaze, that for a time I forgot me introduction to Mr. Bruin. LARRIE O'DEE. Now, the Widow McGee And Larrie O'Dee Had two little cottages out on the green, With just enough room for two pig- pens between. The widow was j^oung, and the widow was fair, With the brightest of eyes, and the brownest of hair : And it frequently chanced, when she came in the morn With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn ; And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand, In the pen of the widow were certain to land. 132 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. One morning said he, " Och ! Misthress McGee, It's a waste of good lumber, this runnin' two rigs, Wid a fancy partition between our two pigs ! " " Indade, sure it is ! " answered Widow McGee, With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O'Dee. " And thin it looks kind o' hard-hearted and mane Kapin' two frindly pigs so exsadingly near That whine ver one grunts, thin the other can hear, And yit keep a croel partition betwane." "■ Shwate Widow McGee ! " Answered Larrie O'Dee, *' If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs, Ain't we mane to ourselves to be running two rigs ? Och! It made my heart ache when I paped through the cracks Of me shanty, lasht ]\larch, at yez shwingin' yer axe, An' a-bobbin' yer head, an' a-shtompin' yer fate, Wid yer purty white hands jusht as red as a bate, A-sphlittin' yer kindlin'-wood out in the shtorm. Whin one little shtove it would kape us both warm ! " " Now, piggy," said she, " Larrie's courtin' me, Wid his delicate, tinder allusions to you ; §o now yez musht tell me jusht what I must do. For, if I'm to say yes, shtir the shwill wid yer shnoufc, But if I'm to say no, yez musht kape yer nose out. "Now, Larrie, for shame ! to be bribin' a pig Sy a-tossin' a handful of corn in its shwig ! " '' Me darling, the piggy says yes," answered he ; And that was the courtship of Larrie O'Dee. W. W. Fink. IRISH COQUETRY. Says Patrick to Biddy, " Good-mornin', me dear I It's a bit av a sacrit I've got for yer ear : It's yoursel' that is lukin' so charmin' the day, That the heart in me breast is fast slippin* away." " 'Tis you that kin flatther," Miss Biddy replies, And throws him a glance from her merry blue eyes. IRISn DTALECT RECITATIONS. 133 " Arrah, thin," cries Patrick, " 'tis thinkin' av you That's makin' me heart-sick, nie darlint, that's thnie! Shure I've waited a long while to tell ye this same, And Biddy Maloney will be such a foine name ! " Cries Biddy, " Have done wid yer talkin', I pray ; Shure me heart's not me own for this many a day ! " I gave it away to a good-lookin' boy, Who thinks there is no one like Biddy Malloy ; So don't bother me, Pat ; jist be aisy," says she. " Indade, if ye'll let me, I will that ! " says he. It's a bit of a flirt that ye are, on the sly : I'll not trouble ye more, but I'll bid ye good-by." " Arrah, Patrick ! '* cries Biddy, " an' where are ye goin' ? Shure it isn't the best of good manners ye're showin' To lave me so suddint! " — " Och, Biddy," says Pat, " You have knocked the cock-feathers jist out av me hat." " Come back, Pat ! " says she. " What fur, thin ? " says he. " Bekase I meant you all the time, sir ! " says she. MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS. Edited by GEORGE M. BAKER. BOARDS 50 CENTS PAPER 30 CENTS. LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. CONTENTS. PAGE Hans Breitmann's Party . . . Charles G. Leland .... 5 The Deutsch Maud Muller . . Carl Pretzel 6 The Dutchman's Serenade 7 Dyin' Vords of Isaac .... Anon 9 Lookout Mountain, 1863 — Beu- telsbach, 1880 Geoi^fje L. Call in .... 10 Der Shoemaker's Poy 12 Der Drummer Charles F. Adams .... 13 The Yankee and the Dutchman's Dog 14 Setting a Hen 16 "What's the Matter with that Nose?" Our Fat Contributor ... 17 Keepin' the De'il oot .... Mrs. Findley Braden ... 19 The Puzzled Census-Taker . . Jolin G. Saxe 23 Dutch Security 23 The Frenchman and the Rats 24 Heinz von Stein Charles G. Leland, from the German 26 The Solemn Book-Agent . . . Detroit Free Press .... 27 The Mother-in-Law Charles Fallen Adams . . 28 Schneider's Tomatoes .... Charles F. Adams .... 29 Dutch Humor 30 Squire Houston's Marriage Cere- mony 31 Dot Delephone 31 The United Order of Half-Shells 33 Why no Scotchmen go to Heaven 35 Yawcob Strauss C. F. Adams 36 Leedle Yawcob Strauss — what he says Arthur Dakin 37 Isaac Rosenthal on the Chinese Question Scribner's Monthly ... 38 " Der Dog und der Lobster " . . Saul Sertreio 39 ** Der Wreck of der Hezberus" 41 Signs and Omens 43 A Dutchman's Answer 44 The Vay Rube Koffenstein sells 45 A Dutch Recruiting Officer 46 Dot Baby off Mine 47 Dot Leetle Tog under der Vagou 49 Schnitzerl's Velocipede . . . Hans Breitmann .... 59 The Latest Barbario Frietchiu il 4 MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS. PAGE Mr. Hoffenstein's Bugle 52 Fritz aiul his Betsy I'all out . . Georrje M. Warren .... 54 Cut, Cut Behind ...... Charles B'ollen Adunis . . 57 Tickled all Oafer 58 An Error o' Judgment 59 Sockery Kadahcut's Kat , 61 I vash so Glad I vash Here ! (53 Dot Silly Leedle Raskel .64: A Jew's Trouble Hurwood 65 Der Mule shtood on der Steatn- boad Deck Anon 06 Teaching him the Business 67 Der Good-lookin Shnow 69 How Jake Schneider went Blind 71 The Dutchman and the Raven 72 The Dutchman who gave Mrs. Scudder the Small-Pox 74 Ellen McJones Aberdeen . . . W. S. Gilbert TG A Dutch Sermon 78 Shacob's Lament 79 Mr. Schmidt's Mistake .... Charles F. Adams .... 81 John and Tibbie Davison's Dis- pute Robert Leighlon .... .82 Fritz und I Charles F. Adams .... 84 A Tussle with Immigrants . . Philip Doiujlass S6 A Doketor's Drubbles .... Georcfe M. Warren . . . 86 Charlie Machree William J. Hoppin .... 90 A Dutchman's Dolly Varden . . Anon 91 The Frenchmen and the Flea- Powder 92 The Frenchman and the Slieej)'s Trotters 94 I vant to Fly , 96 The P^renchman's Mistake 98 "TwoTollar?" Detroit Free Press. . , .100 A Frenchman on Macbeth . . Anon 101 Like Mother used to Make . . James Whitcomb Riley, in New-York Mercury . . . 101 John Chinaman's Protest 102 The Whistler 104 Mother's Doughnuts Charles Follen Adams . . 105 Over the Left W. C Doniin 106 A Jollv Fat Friar 107 The Enoch of Calaveras . . . F. Bret Harte 107 Curly-Head ........ B. S. Brooks 109 Warning to Woman Ill An Exciting Contest 112 A Laughing Philosopher 114 In der Sh weed Long Ago . . . Oof ty Goof t 117 Dot Stup|X)rn P(3ny Harry Woodson 118 SiKuipeudyke opening Oysters . iStardey Ilaiitl'y .... 119 To a Friend studying German . Charles Godfrey Leland . . 122 Tammy's Prize 124 The Scotchman at the Play 128 An Irish Love-Letter .... Goo. M. Baker 133 NEGRO DIALECT RECITATIONS. Edited by GEORGE M. BAKER. BOARDS 50 CENTS PAJPEIt 30 CENTS. LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. CONTENTS. PAGE De 'Sperience of de Reb'rend Quako Strong 5 Tobe's Monument Elizabeth Kilham . . 7 Greatest Walk on Record 14 The New Dixie 15 A Short Sermon 16 The " Ole Marster's " Christmas . . Atlanta Constitution . 18 A Sermon for the Sisters Irwin Bussell ... 19 The Learned Negro 20 Art Matters in Indiana 21 Virginny S. JS^. Cook .... 24 Uncle Reuben's Baptism 26 How Persimmons Took Car' ob der Baby Lizzie W. Champney . 29 ** Business " in Mississippi 33 The Flood and the Ark 34 Brudder Johnson on " 'Leetricity " 38 Reviving de Sinners 39 Daddy Worthless Lizzie W. Champney . 41 Uncle Remus' Revival Hymn 43 A New Version of the Parable of the Virgins . 44 Uncle Mellick Dines with His Master 45 No Color Line in Heaven 47 Goin' to Eliza's T. N. Cook .... 48 Counting Eggs Texas Siftinr/s ... 49 The Housetop Saint . Mrs. J. D. Chaplin . 51 Casablanca (Colored) 56 A Modern Sermon 57 Plantation Proverbs J. Russell Fisher . . 60 A Colored Debating Society 61 The Wonderful Tar-baby Story . . Harris 63 Blind Ned Inoin Russell . . . (j4 On the Shores of Tennessee . . . . E. L. Beers , . . . 6(i Suckers on de Corn 69 A Colored Sermon 70 A Blessing on the Dance 73 Brer Rabbit and the Butter .... Ilarris 74 3 NEGRO DIALECT RECITATIONS. " Tread water Jim " '' Old Si" 77 My Little Ned is Dead Modern Argo . . . 79 The Ship of Faith 80 The Mississippi Miracle Irwin Russell ... 81 De Pint wid Ole Pete 83 He wasn't Ready 84 Kyarlina Jim 85 Old Daddy Turner 8(3 The Lime-Kiln Cluh M. Quad «8 Nebuchadnezzar i)l Dem Codicils l"2 Uncle Ned's Defence 93 Sambo's Dilemma 94 The First Banjo 95 Brother Gardner on Liars 97 The Cotton-field Hand 98 Old Sambo Puzzled 99 Uncle Pete and Marse George 100 Petah 103 Meriky's Conversion 104 Chicken on the Brain , 107 ♦' Whar's de Kerridge ? " 108 Go-Morrow, or Lot's Wife Ill Darkej^'s Counsel to the Newly Mar- ried Edmund Kirke . . . 113 Bashful 114 Brother Anderson's Sermon .... Thomas K. Beecher . 115 Uncle Dan'l's Prayer Mark Twain .... 118 The Darkey Bootblack 121 Miss M'lindy's Courtship Detroit Free Press . .124 George Washington 120 A Fruitful Discourse 127 THE READINf^ CLUB AND ITANrY FTrAIIT:!:. Being Seiec tions in Proee and Poetry, Serious, Humorous, Pattietic, Patriotic, and Dramatic, for Readings and Recitations. Edited by George M. Baker. Paper cover, fifteen cents each imrt. CONTENTS OF READING-CLUB NO. 1. At the Soldiers' Graves. Battle-Hymn. '•Boofer Lady," The. Bricklayers, The. Bumpkin's Courtship. The. Charles Sumner. " Curfew must not ring To-night." Closet Scene, The. (" Hamlet.") Defiance of Harold the Dauntless. Der Drummer. Deutsch Maud Muller, The. Doorstep, The. Factory -girl's Diary, The. Parmer Bent's Sheep-washing. Godiva. " Good and Better." Happiest Couple, The. (From the " School for Scandal.") Happy Life, The. Hans Breitmann's Party. Hour of Prayer, The. ' How Terry saved his Bacon. How He saved St. Michael's. In the Tunnel. Jakie on Watermelon-pickle. Jester's Sermon, The. " Jones." Mahmoud. Mistletoe-Bough, The. Mr. Caudle and his Second Wife. Mr. O'Gallagher's Three Roads to Learning. Nobody There. Old Age. Old Farmer Gray gets Photographed. Old Methodist's Testimony, The. Overthrow of Belshazzar. Puzzled Census-Taker, The. Popping the Question. Red Jacket, The. Rob Roy MacGregor. Samson. Senator's Pledge, The. Showman's Courtship, The. Squire's Story, The. Story of the Bad Little Boy whe didn't come to Grief, The. Story of the Faithful Soul, The. Stranger in the pew, A. Tauler. Voices at the Throne, The. Whistler, The. Yankee and the Dutchman's Dog, The. Contents of Reading-Club No. 2. AcJdress of Spottycus. B*jy Atlas. Baty's Soliloquy, A. Beuuty of Youth, The. Biddy's Troubles. Bobolink, The. Broken Pitcher, The. By the Alma River. Calling a Boy in the Morning. Cooking and Courting. Curing a Cold. Double Sacrifice, The. Farm-yard Song. Portune-IIunter, The. Goin' Home To-day. Harry and I. I 1 the Bottom Drawer. I list Hide, The. Lcaiiiea Xegio, The. Little Puzzler, The. Man with a Cold in his Head, The. Merchant of Venice, Trial Scene. Modest ('ousin, The. MLlUtia General, A. ••fr~'— r n^v God. to Thee." Old Ways and the New, The. Opening of the Piano, The. Our Visitor, and What He came for. Over the River. Paddock Elms, The. Pickwickians on Ice, The. Picture, A, Press On. I'ossession. Quaker Meeting, The. Queen Mab. Rescue, The. Shadow on the Wall, The. Short Sermon, A. Sisters, The. Sunday Morning. There i.^ no T")eath. Tobe's Monument. Toothache. Tragical Tale of the Tropics, A. "l-raveller's Evening Song, A. Two Anchors, The. Two Irish Idyls. What's the Matter with that NOOT? Workers and Thinkers. Contents of Reading-Club No. 3. Appeal in Behalf of American Lib- erty. Ambition. Auction Mad. Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man. Ballad of the Oysterman, The. Bob Cratchit's Christmas-Dinner. Bone and Sinew and Brain. Bunker Hill. Burial of the Dane, The. Church of the Best Licks, The. Countess and the Serf, The. Deck-Hand and the Mule, The. Evils of Ignorance, The. First Snow-fall, The. Flower-mission, Junior, The. For Love. Fra Giacomo. How Persimmons took Cah ob der Baby. Jouesville Singin' Quire, The. Last Tilt, The. Lay of Real Life, A. Law of Kindness, The. Losses. Mad Luce. Minute-men of '75, Tlie. Mosquitoes. Mr. Stiver's Horse. Ode. Old Fogy Man, The. Pat and the Oysters. Recantation of Galileo, The. Roast Pig. A Bit of Lamb. Roman Soldier, The. Riding down. Schneider's Tomatoes. School of Reform, Scenes from tke. Similia Similibus. Singer, The. Solemn Book-Agent, The. Sons of jSTew England, The. Speech of the Hon. Perverse Peabodf on the Acquisition of Cuba. Temperance. Twilight. Two Loves and a Life. Two Births. Uncle Reuben's Baptism, Victories of Peace, The. Wedding-Fee, The. Wolves, The. What the Old Man eakL Contents of Reading-Club No. 4, Battle Flag of Sigurd, The. *' Business " in Mississippi. Bell of Atri, The. Cane-bottomed Chair, Th«. Cobbler's Secret, The. Cuddle Doon. Custer's Last Charge. Daddy Worthless. Decoration, Dignity of Labor, The. Elder Sniffle's Courtship. Goin' Somewhere. Grandfather. He Giveth His Beloved Sleep. Hot Roasted Chestnut, The. House-top Saint, The. "Hunchback," Scene from tha Indian's Claim, The. Joan of Arc. Leedle Yawcob Strauss. Little Black-eyed Rebel, The. Little Hero, The. Little Shoe, A. Lost Cats, The. ^Iftry Moloney's Philosopliy. Minot's Ledge. Mother's Fool. Mr. O'Hoolahan's Mistake. Mr. Watkius celebrates. My Neighbor's Baby. Palmetto and the Pine, The. Pip's Fight. Post-Boy, The. Pride of Battery B, The. " Palace o' the King, The." Paper don't Say, The. Penny ye meant to gi'e, Tbt. Question, A. Robert of Lincoln. Song of the Dying, The. St. John the Aged. Tramp, The. Tom. Two Portraits. Village Sewing Society, The. Way Astors are Made, The. What is a Minority? Widder Green's Last Wordflo William Tell. Zencbia's Defenee. 5cTnm.:T'3 dF Reading-Club No. 5. k Bleseing on the Dance. A Charge with Prince Rupert. A Mysterious Disappearance. Axt-Matters in Indiana. A Rhine Legend. A Watch that " Wanted Cleaning." An Exciting Contest. An Indignation-Meeting. An Irish Wake. Ballad of a Baker. Ballad of Constance. Ballad of Ronald Clare. Between the Lines. Burdock's Goat. Butterwick's WeakneBS. Dot Baby off Mine. Edith helps Things along. Failed. Faithful Little Peter. Five. From the Sublime to the Ridiculous. Good-By. " If We Knew." Last Redoubt. hiollie, or Sadie? Noble Revenge. Not Dead, but Risen. " One of the Boys." Scene from " Loudon Assuranoa.** Scene from " The Marble Heart." Sideways. Somebody's Mother. Something Spilt. Taci and Talent. The Amateur Spelling-Match. The Blue and Gray. The Biidge. The Canteen. The Dead Doll. The Flood and the Ark. The Honest Deacon. The Kaiser's Feast. The Little Shoes did it. The Scotchman at the Play. The Seven Ages. The Two Glasses. Tired Mothers. Uncle Remus's Revival Hymn. Whistling in Heaven. Why Biddy and Pat got Married. CoNTEi/TS OF Reading-Club No. 6. A Disturbance in Church. A Disturbed Parent. A Christmas Carol. A Miracle. ♦' A Sweeter Revenge." An Irish Love-Letter. Behind Time. Blind Ned. Cavalry Charge, The. Clerical Wit. " Conquered at Last." Count Eberhard's Last Fo.-ay. Deaf and Dumb. Der Shoemaker's Poy. Down with the Heathen Chinee! Fight at Lookout. Fireman's Prayer. Greeley's Ride. Great Future. Immortality. Joe's Bespeak. John Chinaman's Protest. Jim Lane's Tiast Message. Mr. Coville ii.-oves Mathematics. VaikiaaUty. One Touch of Nature. Paddy O'Rafther. Putty and Varnish. Reserved Power. Ship-Boy's Letter. Sweet Singer of Michigan. Tacking Ship off Shore. Tammy's Prize. Talk about Shooting. Ten Years after. The Benediction. The Changed Cross. The Fan Drill. The Farmer's Story. The Fountain of Youth. The King's Kiss. The Palmer's Vision. The Sergeant of the Fiftieth. The Well-Digger. *' Them Yankee Blankits." They Met. Virgiiiins to the Roman Array. Warning to Woman. AVeaving the Wob. Widow Stebbius on Hoin8 at Random. San Bt nito. St. Leo I's Toast. That Car. The Ca-t^enter's Wooing^ akd the Sequel TheDeac Student. The Ladie». The Pin. The Retor' The Singei ' Alms. This Side aud That. Two Fishers. Uncle Mellick dines with his Mastar. Contents of Reading-Clup Me 8. A i?rick. • A Colored Debating Society. Along the Line. A New Version of the Parable of the Virgins. An Evangel. Annie's Ticket. Apples — A Comedy. A Sermon for the Sisters. A Thirsty Boy. Aunt Phillis's Guest. Ballad of the Bell-Tower. •' Christianos ad Leones ! " City Man and Setting Hen. Daisy's Faith. De 'Sperience ob Reb'rend Quacko Strong. Defence of Lucknow. Dutch Security. Fast Mail. Father William. From One Standpoint. Girl of the Crisis. Grave of the Greyhound. Indian Warrior's Defence. Labor is Worship. Lanty Leary. Last of the Sarpints. Legend of the White "Hand. London Zoological Gardens. Masked Batteries. Miss Edith's Modest Re» 'st. Mrs. Brown at the Play. Old Grimes. People will laugh. Peril of the Mines. Parody on " Father William." Patter of the Shingle. Paul Clifford's Defence. Shiftless Neighbor Ball. Song of the Mystic. The Baron's Last Banquet. The Captive. The Dilemma. The Divorce Feast. The Farmer and the Barrister. The Man with a Bear. The Story of the Tiles. The Outlaw's Yarn. The Rich Man and the Poor Mot Two Dreams. Yankee Courtship. Contents of Reading-Club No. 9. Afltolnette. Antony to Cleopatra. Awfully Lovely Fhilosopliy. Calif, The. Cheek. Claribel's Prayer. Cleopatra Dying. Dagger Scene from ♦* The Wife," The. Dandy Fifth, The. Don Squixet's Ghost. Gingerbread. Hannah. " He and She." Hero Woman, The. Holly Branch, The. Jan Steeuer's Ride. Johnny oa Snakes. King's Bell, The. Legend of Saint Barbara, The. Legend of the Organ-Builder. Life in Death. Little Girl's Song, The. Lookout Mountain. Loves of Lucinda. Man Wich didn't drink Wetter, The. Make the Best of Every Thing. Marked Grave, The. Marriage of Santa Claus, The. Mice at Play. No Color Line in Heaven. Night Watch. Old Man's Dreams, An. One-legged Goose, The, Owl Critic, The. " Papa says so too." Poetry of Iron, The. Right must win. The. Reviving de Sinners. Selling the Farm. Setting a Hen. She would be a Mason. Similar Case, A. Sleep, Tlie. Song of the North, The. Spinning-wheel, The. Time. Tomato, The. Tramp of Shiloh, The. Very Naughty Little Girl's YWim. Widow of Nain, The. Contents of Reading-Club No. 10. Autumn Leaves. Autumn Thoughts. Baffled Book-Agent, The. Banker and the Cobbler, The. Brudder Johnson ®n 'Lectricity. Building and Being. Carcassonne. Chain of Gold, The. Charge of the Heavy Brigade. Christmas Elegy, A. Clown's Baby7 The. Confession, The. Conversion of Col. Quagg. Court Lady, A. Cruise of the " Monitor," The. Death of the Old Wife. Death of Steerforth. Garfield. Hark! How the Colonel took It. Intensely Utter. Jackdaw of Rheims, The. Mate of the " Betsy Jane," The. Nebuchadnezzah. M* Tin^ like the Old Time. No Yearning for the Beautiful. *' Ole Marster's " Christmas. Our Baby. Parting Lovers, The. Penitent, A. Purpose, A. Round of Life, The. Ramon. Rather Embarrassing. Ravenswood's Oath. Robert Emmett's Last Speech. Saving Mother. Scene from " Mary Stuart." Serenade, The. Sharpshooter's Miss, The. Sooner or Later. Story of a Stowawaj', The. Squire Houston's ^[arriageCeremo«|i The Way Rube rioffensiein sellfl. This means You, Girls. Tickled All (^afer. ITnioii of Blue and Gray. AVidow to Her Son, The. Wild Weather Outsld*. Young GriuitM. Contents of Reading-Club No. 11. Abraham Lincoln and the Poor Woman. Big Ben Bolton. Bivouac of the Dead, The. Captain's Tale, The. Cataract of Lodore, The. Charge at Valley Maloy, The. Child's Evening Prayer, The. Clear Bargain, A. Closing Scene, The. Convent Robbing. Countersign was "Mary," The. Crutch in the Corner. Drifted Out to Sea. "Fall In." For Life and Death. Glimpse of Death, A. Going towards Sundown. Garibaldi and His Companions. Kelly's Ferry. Last upon the Roll. Leedle Yawcob Strauss: What He says. Magnificent Poverty. Mr. Murphy explains His Son's Con- duct. Mysterious Rappings. Nearer Home. No Precedent. Old Man goes to Town, The. O'thello. " Mebbe," Joe's True Feesh Story. Paddy's Metamorphosis, Pat's Bondsman. Pericles to the People. "Picciola." Red O'Neil, The. Reiiections on the NeedJe. Roland Gray. Second Review of the Grand Army: Silver Cup, The. Snow-storm, The. Speculation. Suckers on de Corn. " Treadwater Jim." Unforgotten Foe, Tke. Variegated Dogs. Virginuy. Washee, Washee. What saved the Union. Wonderful Tar Baby Story, Theo Wreck of the White Ship. Yawcob StrausB. Contents of Reading-Club No. 12. Esthetic Housekeeper, The. Asking the Gov'nor. Asleep at the Switch. Awkward. Bad Mix, A. Boys Who Never got Home, The. Concurrent Testimony. Cruise of the " Nancy Jane," The. Discontented Pendulum, The. Doctor's Wedding, The. Enoch of Calaveras, The. Fire! Fire! Fire-Worshippers, The. Funny Small Boy, The. Good-by, Proud World. How Dennis took the Pledge. How He Made It. How Tim's Prayer was answered. House that Jack built. The. Ideal of Woman, An. T have drank mv Last Glass, Boys. Jack at All Trades, A. Judge Pitman's Watch. Katie's xVnswer. 1 ittle Presbyterian Maid, Thei OtUe Socket's Chrietmius. Lucille's Mistake. Making Love in the Choir. MemorJ^ Money Musk. Mike McGaffaty'e Dog. Nancy Sykes. New Church Doctrine, The. Night after Christmas, The. " Nerval." Old Knight's Treasure, The. Only a Crippled Soldier. Pat and the Pig. Pegging Away. Penn's Monument. Policeman's Story, The. Postilion of Nagold, The. Public Grindstone, The. Scene from " Leah the Forsakeu,* Soldiers' Monument, The. Signing the Pledge. Sun-Biirst. The Three Little Chairs. Two Ways of Telling a Story. Veterans, The. War with Alcohol, TkCc Contents of Reading-Club No. 13. Apele for Are to the Sextant, A. Art is Pitiless. •* Assorted " Declamation, An. Auction Extraordinary. Bob. Candor. Chicken Talk. Choosing a Cow. Christmas Ballad, A. Cold Water. Colored Sermon, A. Death of Mogg Megone, The. Death of the Dominie, The. Death of Thomas Becket, The. Drinking a Tear. Eaglet and the Child, The. Goiu' to Liza's. G-ridiron, The. How Vera Cruz was won. "Jesus, Lover of My Soul.'* Lady Yeardley's Guest. Little Elfin's Plea. '♦ Little Potter's " Story. " Make It Four, Yer Honor." Middlerib's Rheumatic Cure. Mount of the Holy Cross, The. Mr. CoUins's Croquet-Set. Old Maid's Prayer, The. Old Twine String, The. " O'Meara Consolidated," TlM. Orphan Boy, The. " Peace, Be Still." Piece of Bunting, A. Planchette. Political Outfit, A. Popping Corn. Railroad-Crossing, The. Ram for Ould Oireland, A. Ruined Man, The. Sacred Relics of the Past. Sequel to the Old Maid's Prayv. Statue Scene, The. Story of the Swords, The. Sunset Prophecy, A. Ticket o' Leave. Tom's Dead!" Vengeance, A. " Willie." Wisdom of AJi, Tke, Contents of Reading-Club No. 14. Advanced Thought. African Chief, The. American Flag, The. Bad Boy at Breakfast, The. Ballad of Cassandra Brown, The. Catastrophe, A. Caught by the Tide. Charge by the Ford, The. Charity : A Problem. Clouds, The. Confession, The. Curfew Heroine, The. Deacon's Prayer, The. Dot Delephone. Drift. Good Wife, The. How He Won Her. In the Floods. Irish Philosopher, The. Judge's Search for a Waterfall, The. King and the Snake, The. Knife-Grindev, The. Like Mother UHcd to make. Little Jesse James. "Lord's Plate," The. New-stj'le Poem, A. Nine Suitors, The. Not to be Won that Way, O'Bi-anigan's Drill. O'Connell as an Orator. Old Daddy Turner. Old Puritan Divines, The. Oratory of Wendell Philb'ps. Paddy's Excelsior. Pat's Dream of Heaven. Plantation Proverbs. Prospective. Regulus to the Roman Senate. Rolla's Address to the Peruviaas, RoU-Call. Scene from " Sweethearts." Scene from " The Iron CheBt,** Serious Jar, A. Sheridan's Ride. 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