William Maginn

The Irishman

THERE was a lady lived at Leith,
A lady very stylish, man,

And yet, in spite of all her teeth,
She fell in love with an Irishman,
A nasty, ugly Irishman,

A wild, tremendous Irishman,

A tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ranting, roaring Irishman.

His face was no ways beautiful,

For with small-pox 'twas scarred across,

And the shoulders of the ugly dog

Were almost double a yard across.

Oh, the lump of an Irishman,

The whisky-devouring Irishman,

The great he-rogue, with his wonderful brogue, the fighting, rioting Irishman!

One of his eyes was bottle-green,

And the other eye was out, my dear,
And the calves of his wicked-looking legs
Were more than two feet about, my dear.

Oh, the great big Irishman,

The rattling, battling Irishman,

The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, leathering swash of an Irishman!

He took so much of Lundy-foot

That he used to snort and snuffle, oh,
And in shape and size the fellow's neck
Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo.

Oh, the horrible Irishman,

The thundering, blundering Irishman,

The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman!

His name was a terrible name indeed,

Being Timothy Thady Mulligan;

And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch,

He'd not rest till he'd filled it full again.

The boozing, bruising Irishman,

The 'toxicated Irishman,

The whisky, frisky, rummy, gummy, brandy, no-dandy Irish

man.

This was the lad the lady loved,

Like all the girls of quality;

And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith,

Just by the way of jollity.

Oh, the leathering Irishman,

The barbarous, savage Irishman!

The hearts of the maids and the gentlemen's heads were bothered, I'm sure, by this Irishman.

W. M. Praed

Rhyme and Reason

JONATHAN sees with the eye of a merchant, and Charles with that of an enthusiast; Jonathan is a man of business, and Charles is a poet. The contrast between their tempers is frequently the theme of conversation at the social meetings of the neighbourhood; and it is always found that the old and the grave shake their heads at the almost boyish enthusiasm of Charles, while the young and the imprudent indulge in severe sarcasms at the mercenary and uninspired moderation of his brother. All parties, however, concur in admiring the uninterrupted cordiality which subsists between them, and in laughing good-humouredly at the various whims and foibles of these opposite characters, who are known throughout the country by the titles of Rhyme and Reason.

We arrived at the farm as Jonathan was sitting down to his substantial breakfast. We were delighted to see our old friend, now in the decline of life, answering so exactly the description of Cowper:

"An honest man close-buttoned to the chin,
Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within."

We felt an inward satisfaction in contemplating his frieze coat, whose début we remember to have witnessed five years ago, and in speculating upon the snows which five additional winters had left upon his head since our last inter

view. It was some time before we recovered sufficiently from our reverie to inquire after the well-being of our younger companion, who had not yet made his appearance at the board. "Oh!" said Jonathan, "Charles is in his heyday years; we must indulge him for the present; we can't expect such regularity from five-and-twenty as from six-and-fifty." He had hardly done speaking when a loud halloo sounded as an avant-courier of Charles's approach, and in less than a minute he presented himself before us. "Ten thousand pardons!" he cried. "One's enough," said his brother. "I've seen the finest sunrise," said Charles. "You're wet through," said Jonathan. "I'm all over rapture," said Rhyme. "You're all over dirt," said Reason.

With some difficulty Charles was persuaded to retire for the readjustment of his dress, while the old man continued his meal with a composure which proved he was not unused to the morning excursions of his volatile yoke-fellow. By the time he had got through his beef-steak, and three columns of the Courier, Charles re-entered, and despatched the business of eating with a rapidity in which many a modern half-starved rhymer would be glad to emulate him. A walk was immediately proposed; but the one had scarcely reached an umbrella, and the other prepared his manuscript book, when a slight shower of rain prevented our design. "Provoking," said Rhyme. "Good for the crop," said Reason.

The shower, however, soon ceased, and a fine clear sun encouraged us to resume our intentions, without fear of a second disappointment. As we walked over the estate, we were struck with the improvements made by our friend, both as regarded the comfort and the value of the property; while now and then we could not suppress a smile on ob

serving the rustic arbour which Charles had designed, or the verses which he had inscribed on our favourite old oak.

It was determined that we should ascend a neighbouring hill, which was dear to us from its having been the principal scene of our boyhood's amusements. "We must make haste," said Charles, "or we shall miss the view." "We must make haste," said Jonathan, or we shall catch cold on our return." Their actions seemed always to amalgamate, though their motives were always different. We observed a tenant of our friend ploughing a small field, and stopped a short time to regard the contented appearance of the man, and the cheerful whistle with which he called to his cattle. "Happy the man who far from city marts-" quoted the poet. "A poor team, though," said his brother.

Our attention was next excited by a level meadow, whose green hue, set off by the mixture of the white fleeces of a beautiful flock of sheep, was, to the observer of nature, a more enviable sight than the most studied landscape of Gainsborough's pencil. "Lovely colours!" ejaculated Charles. "Fine mutton," observed Jonathan. "Delightful scene for a rustic hop!" cried the enthusiast. "I am thinking of planting hops," said the farmer.

We reached the summit of the hill, and remained for some moments in silent admiration of one of the most variegated prospects that ever the country presented to the contemplation of its most ardent admirer. The mellow verdure of the meadows, intermingled here and there with the sombre appearance of ploughed land, the cattle reclining in the shade, the cottage of the rustic peeping from behind the screen of a luxuriant hedge, formed a tout-ensemble which every eye must admire, but which few pens can describe. "A delightful landscape!" said Charles. "A rich soil," said Jona