டப

St. Pathrick wanst was passin' by O'Ryan's little houldin',

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 I cook for you
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,

SONG OF THE ICHTHYOSAURUS.

[This curious specimen of German scientific humor refers to the close of the Jurassic (or Liassic) period and the beginning of the Cretaceous, and describes the sad forebodings of a venerable Saurian, who sees in the degeneracy of the times a sign of the coming cataclysm.

The translator says. "Among the many extraordinary liberties which we have felt obliged to take with the letter of the original, in order to preserve as far as possible its spirit and its flowing movement, the most violent is the substitution in the last stanza but one, of an entirely new (and poor) joke for the very neat, but untranslatable jen of the German. The last two lines of the stanza are: Sie kamen zu tief in die Kreide; Da war es natürlich vorbei.'

The literal meaning is, They got too deep in the chalk, and it was, of course, all up with them.' The allusion is to the score chalked up by a landlord against some bibulous but impecunious customer; and the notion that the Saurians ran up so large an account for drinks that the chalk required to mark their indebtedness smothered the whole race, and brought on the Cretaceous or chalk period, is so absurdly funny that it is a pity to sacrifice it."]

THERE's a rustling in the rushes,

There's a flashing in the sea,
There's a tearful Ichthyosaurus
Swims hither mournfully!

TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL.

A GEOLOGICAL ADDRESS.

["A human skull has been found in California, in the pliocene formation. This skull is the remnant, not only of the earliest pioneer of this State, but the oldest known human being. . . . . The skull was found in a shaft one hundred and fifty feet deep, two miles from Angel's, in Calaveras County, by a miner named James Matson, who gave it to Mr. Scribner, a merchant, and he gave it to Dr. Jones, who sent it to the State Geological Survey. . . . . The pub lished volume of the State Survey on the Geology of California states that man existed contemporaneously with the mastodon, but this fossil proves that he was here before the mastodon was known to exist."- Daily Paper.]

"SPEAK, Oman, less recent! Fragmentary fossil! Primal pioneer of pliocene formation,

Hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum

Of Volcanic tufa!

Older than the beasts, the oldest Palæotherium;
Older than the trees, the oldest Cryptogamia;
Older than the hills, those infant eruptions
Of earth's epidermis !

Eo-Mio- Plio-whatsoe'er the "cene" was That those vacant sockets filled with awe and wonder,

Whether shores Devonian or Silurian beaches,
Tell us thy strange story!

Or has the Professor slightly antedated
By some thousand years thy advent on this planet,
Giving thee an air that 's somewhat better fitted
For cold-blooded creatures?

Wert thou true spectator of that mighty forest When above thy head the stately Sigillaria Reared its columned trunks in that remote and distant

Carboniferous epoch?

Tell us of that scene, - the dim and watery wood

land,

Songless, silent, hushed, with never bird or insect,
Veiled with spreading fronds and screened with
tall club-mosses,
Lycopodiacea

When beside thee walked the solemn Plesiosaurus, And around thee crept the festive Ichthyosaurus, While from time to time above thee flew and circled Cheerful Pterodactyls.

Tell us of thy food, -those half-marine refections, Crinoids on the shell, and Brachipods au naturel,— Cuttle-fish to which the pieuvre of Victor Hugo Seems a periwinkle.

Speak, thou awful vestige of the earth's creation,
Solitary fragment of remains organic!
Tell the wondrous secrets of thy past existence,
Speak! thou oldest primate!"

Even as I gazed, a thrill of the maxilla

And a lateral movement of the condyloid process, With post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication, Ground the teeth together.

And from that imperfect dental exhibition, Stained with expressed juices of the weed Nicotian, Came those hollow accents, blent with softer.

murmurs

Of expectoration:

"Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was

busted

Falling down a shaft, in Calaveras County,
But I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces
Home to old Missouri !"
FRANCIS BRET HARTE.

THE JOVIAL BEGGAR.
THERE was a jovial beggar,
He had a wooden leg;
Lame from his cradle,
And forced for to beg.
And a-begging we will go,
Will go, will go,
And a-begging we will go.

A bag for his oatmeal,
Another for his salt,

And a long pair of crutches,
To show that he can halt.

And a-begging we will go, etc.

A bag for his wheat,
Another for his rye,

And a little bottle by his side,
To drink when he 's a-dry.

And a-begging we will go, etc.

But, sure, I think that I can drink

With any that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care;
I am nothing a-cold,

I stuff my skin so full within
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare;

Both foot and hand go cold;

But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old !

I love no roast but a nut-brown toast,
And a crab laid in the fire;

A little bread shall do me stead, -
Much bread I not desire.

No frost nor snow, nor wind, I trow,
Can hurt me if I wold,

I am so wrapt, and thorowly lapt
Of jolly good ale and old.
Back and side go bare, go bare, etc.
And Tyb, my wife, that as her life

Loveth well good ale to seek,
Full oft drinks she, till you may see
The tears run down her cheek;
Then doth she trowl to me the bowl,
Even as a malt-worm should;

And saith, Sweetheart, I took my part

Of this jolly good ale and old."

Back and side go bare, go bare, etc.

Now let them drink till they nod and wink,
Even as good fellows should do;
They shall not miss to have the bliss

Good ale doth bring men to;

And all poor souls that have scoured bowls, Or have them lustily trowled,

God save the lives of them and their wives, Whether they be young or old!

Back and side go bare, go bare;

Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old!

FROM

GLUGGITY GLUG.

JOHN STILL.

A JOLLY fat friar loved liquor good store,

And he had drunk stoutly at supper; He mounted his horse in the night at the door, And sat with his face to the crupper: "Some rogue," quoth the friar, "quite dead to

remorse,

Some thief, whom a halter will throttle, Some scoundrel has cut off the head of my horse, While I was engaged at the bottle,

Which went gluggity, gluggity-glug - glug―glug."

Consigns a wretch To Master Ketch, Having no grudge;

No reason clear can be assigned,
Only, like you, he has not dined.
So far from wishing your allowance shorter,
I wish, for all your sakes,

You may never want beefsteaks
And porter,

And for your merits

A dram of British spirits.

And so I leave you with a fable
Designed, without a sneer,
To exhilarate your table

And give a relish to your beer.

I beg my compliments to all your ladies
The revieweresses-

Hark !!!

And, if you please take warning,
My fable is concerning

A cuckoo and a lark.

If I had said a nightingale,

You would have cried -
You could not fail,
That it was pride,

And naught beside,

That made me think of such a tale. Upon a tree as they were sitting They fell into a warm dispute,

Warmer than was fitting,

Which of them was the better flute.

After much prating

And debating,

Not worth relating,

Things came to such a pass,

They both agree

To take an ass

For referee :

"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul);

And only ten of the Nancy's men

Said 'Here' to the muster-roll.

"There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig,

And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a hungry we did feel,

So we drawed a lot, and, accordin', shot
The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,

And a delicate dish he made;

FROM "THE BAB BALLADS."

"T WAS on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span,

That I found alone, on a piece of stone,
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he;

And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"O, I am a cook and a captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair
Till I really felt afraid,

For I could n't help thinking the man had been drinking,

And so I simply said:

"O elderly man, it's little I know

Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand How you can possibly be

"At once a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig,

We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose,
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me ;

But we'd both be blowed if we 'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see.

"I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom.
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be.

I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he : 'Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,

For don't you see that you can't cook me,
While I can - and will cook you?'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,
And some sage and parsley too.