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The goose, on finding him so obstinate,
Stretch'd out his leg, and opening wide his paw,
Down through the air. The goose above him saw
He felt the waters compass him about,
Ring in his ears, and gurgle in his throat;
At one time he was thrown upon the mud,
"You do not care how you desert your door,
The fact was, Mistress Rourke and Mistress Blake,
A cup of tea, when granted by the Fates,
There, having fill'd their vessels to the brim,
For he knew not the object of his fear,
But when he saw 'twas neither shark nor whale,
A bumper just as brimful as the last,
And 'scaped the waterspout, which by him past; "Leave off," says he, "and better manners learn: O Judy, Judy, why art thou so stern ?"— *
"How can you ask?" quoth she, " you drunken dog,
Lie quite knock'd up, and helpless. Keep aloof
"Och! peace!" says
This said he stagger'd forward, caught his wife Full in his arms, and smack'd her with a kiss ; (The plan most excellent, upon my life,
Of stopping women's angry mouths is this,)
Her hands of water full, of fire her phiz:
What points she urged-how Mrs Mulshenan
How she at last was pacified-how Dan
Begg'd (but in vain) permission from his spouse To take for fear of cold, but one more glass-— Being in haste I here beg leave to pass.
In fine, they routed Blake, who stretch'd along
MORAL OF THE WHOLE POEM.
MANKIND! ye learn from this with truth, that slaughter Of brandy can't be cured by pails of water.
* See Milman's Samor, the Lord of the Bright City.
"O duty, duty, why art thou so stern!"
Somewhat similar. I prefer my own.
Daniel O'Rourke is at length concluded. The composition of this poem has beguiled many a weary moment, and, I trust, purified by the sweet sentimentalities of poetry many an hour which might else have been devoted to subjects less sacred. That it can make a deep and lasting impression on the morals of my country, is my wish, though my modesty forbids me to say my expectation: but if one reader rises from its perusal with a heart better adapted for the reception of the sublime and devotional-if one spirit has been refreshed by the inspiration of holy musings while reading it-if one better citizen, one better man, has been made by the work I have just finished, I shall not look upon my labour to have been in vain. F. O'FOGARTY.
FOGARTY! FRIEND AND PARTNER OF MY HEART,
NOW THAT THY POEM, WORK OF HIGH RENOWN,
IN VERSE PERHAPS NOT DELICATE OR FINE,
FROM THE CLOSE FLASK WHERE STREAMS OF SODA WORK,
SHALT O'ER THE MURMURING CROWD TO ETHER PLOUGH.
Quoth THOS. JENNINGS,
Founder of the Soda-Water School of Poetry.
[In addition to the Sonnet presented to us by the great Bard of Soda, we have been favoured with the following lines from the able pen of a favourite Correspondent. We trust our friend Mr Fogarty's notorious and national modesty will not be put to the blush by the well-deserved encomiums contained in them.-C. N.J
TO FOGARTY O'FOGARTY, ESQ. OF BLARNEY.
(That is at least while Wood and Waithman live ;)
Long as a wife shall chide her drunken lord,
When in an alehouse she beholds him floor'd.
While England's tongue survives-or, what's the same,
Quoth D. DICK,
Of the C. E. and §. §.
BRIEF ABSTRACT OF MR O'FOGARTY'S JOURNAL
ON looking over my journal I find it so barren of incident, that I do not think it worth my while to send it entire. Take then this short abstract. On the 5th ult. I rose after nearly four months' confinement to bed. I had experienced a sad randling during that time. My skin like a lady's loose gown hung about me-my jaws were drawn in-my face hatchety-my eyes sunk and hollow-and my clothes invested my once goodly person with as little congruity as a flour-bag would act the part of waistcoat to a spit. The entries for a week in my diary, consist chiefly of notes of squabbles with my doctors-who one and all seemed leagued in a conspiracy to starve me. I was firm, however, and succeeded in unkennelling them; from which day I got visibly better. I was soon able to despatch my commons with my usual activity. My person acquired its wonted amplitude and my eye resumed its old fire. I could give a halloo with ancient fortitude of lungs, and in fact was completely re-established. On the 14th, while I was in the act of polishing the wheel of my salmon-rod, my old friend, the Earl of ******** called on me en passant. "The good-natured, blackwhiskered," (to speak regally, for it was by this title, you know, the King addressed him on the pier at Howth,) was delighted to see me pulling up, and congratulated me on my recovery. He told me all the Dublin chit-chat about his Majesty, who, he said, was quite pleased at meeting him, and shook his hand with the utmost cordiality. I had many an anecdote from him which escaped the knowledge of the mere mob. The king's private parties were quite au fuit-and he captivated those who had the honour of being admitted to his own immediate circle, as effectually as in public he by his demeanour won the hearts of the rest of the population. Our conversation then turned upon my poem, of which he, like every body else, spoke in terms of the highest commendation-but modesty forbids me to detail what he said on this point. But who the devil, says his Lordship, is North? I told him he
was a gentleman of good family resi-
* Considerably under the mark. C. N.
spent my time in ranging the hills, glens, and bogs, to the devastation of the feathered tribes, and the demolition of the dinners of my friends. I am once more stout as buck or bear Fogarty's himself again, as I displayed. on the 25th, (the day of Crispin Crispian, as Harry the Fifth remarks,) at a great dinner party on the rocks, where I played a knife and fork to the manifest astonishment of the native tribes. We were quite jolly,-a boat-race in the morning, right well
pulled, and a ball in the evening, flanked by a supper by no means to be sneez'd at. There was a good deal of singing,-none, however, equal to Braham's. I have a great mind to write a full account of this affair, as I think it would make a decentish article for the Star of Edina. Thorp sung, pretty well, a song of his own composition, in honour of the Coronation-day. It is well enough for one not yet hardened in the ways of poetry.
"Come round me, ye lads, that I value the best,
"Then why should not we, in a full flowing cup,
"This day is a glorious one, boys-let us quaff
"Let Lords, Dukes, and Earls, keep feasting away—
Let the shrill trumpet sound, and the champion's horse neigh-
We'll have mirth here at home, and our dance on the green.
"We have ladies as lovely and brilliant as they,
Though no jewels are borrow'd to make them look gay;
Their eyes are the diamonds that sparkle so keen,
When lit up by love in the dance on the green.
"We have Princes in plenty among us, 'tis true-
Round the waists of our sweethearts, who dance on the green.
"Then come, let us close with LONG LIFE TO OUR KING,
It is superfluous to say that the even-
On the 26th, I got the last Number by express, and a right good one it is. But what a sputter about personalities! If I were in North's place, I should not give myself a moment's uneasiness about the crying out of the whigs, who
are the most personally abusive animals of the species. They only cry now because they are hurt. I perceive rather an impertinent allusion to my poetry, by Mr Trott of London. I know that shaver. I remember one night, or morning, after coming from the eccentrics, meeting him at the Cyder Cellar, in a state of civilation; and he was so impertinent about Hireland, that, to avoid disputes, I was obliged to throw him up stairs into the street. This is the meaning of his slap at Blar