HOW FATHER O'SHEE LAID IN HIS CHRISTMAS COALS
Reading edition
Young Patsy Molloy was as purty a boy As was ever of widdy the pride and the joy; And as for his ass, sorra crather could pass That beautiful baste, but for one fault, alas! When she felt she'd a load, you might kick and might goad, But divil a fut would she move on the road, Till you'd tickle her bones wid a handful of stones— And that hint she'd take, the desateful ould toad! The Widdy, half dead with could, looked in the shed, But sorra the peat could she find; so she said, "Sure I'm clane out of few'l, and the could is that crew'l; Take the baste for a load of Wallsends, Pat, my jew'l!"
Pat went, filled his cart, and for home made a start, But the baste wid her tantrums well-nigh bruk his heart For never a stip would she move, the ould rip! But she stood like a pig wid her legs wide apart. "Ochone! wirra-'sthrue! Arrah, what will I do?" Cried Pat, as he sat in a terrible stew.
Then he called on the Saints, and he called on the d—— (I won't say the word—sure it wouldn't be civil!) When, as good luck would be, by strowls Father Shee, And he says, "My son Patsy! my son Pat!" says he, '"Sich language is really shocking to me. Sure, what is the matther?" "The matther!" says Pat "Now, saving your prisence, by this and by that! The murthering brute will not budge—not a fut." Says the Priest, "Why not bate her?" Oh wasn't he cute! "Is it batin'?" says Pat. "By the Saint in my hat! 'Tisn't batin' she cares for—bad luck to the slut! Ochone and ochone! if I'd only a stone——!" "A stone!" says the Priest—ah thin, wasn't he artful?— "A stone! Why, ye omadhaun, look at yer cartfull!"
"Thrue for you!" Pat sings out; "them's the jockeys'll do," And clutching two handsful with joyous "Hurroo," He let fly in haste at the back of his baste, That not likin' the taste, started off as if chased By the ould one himself, for a good rood or two. But Pat knew the thrick, and whenever she'd kick, Or stop in her canther, the coals would fall thick On her ribs and her back, till the road was asthrew Wid best Wallsends, and Patsy's poor baste black and blue!
Ten minutes, and cute Father Shee you'd have seen, Wid his shovel and crate, and his purty colleen. And he says, "Colleen dhas, sure 'tis wicked to pass The good things that's sent, though they're brought by an ass.
D'ye see them black diamonds? It's elegant coal— Shovel up every lump, if you vally your soul!"
As for Pat and the widdy—I will not be guessing What he got—but I'll go bail 't wasn't a blessing!
Inductive.—Officer. "How's this, Murphy? The sergeant complains that you called him names!" Private Murphy. "Plaze, surr, I niver called him anny names at all. All I said was, 'Sergeant,' says I, 'some of us ought to be in a menagerie!!'"
From one Point of View.—Scene—British Jury Room. All agreed on their verdict except Irish juryman (who holds out). "Ah, thin, iliv'n more obstinit' men I nivir met in all me loife!!"
An Irish Intro-duc-tion.—Village Dame (addressing a brood of young ducks which she has just thrown into the pond for a first swim). "Ther' now, you be landed!"
Our Military Manœuvres.—Irish Drill-Sergeant (to squad of militiamen). "Pr's'nt 'rrms!"—(Astonishing result.)—"Hiv'ns! what a 'prisint'! Jist stip out here now, an' look at yersilves!!"
Irish Assurance.—The O'Mullygan (who has been assuring his life). "Hah! Another word, gintlemen! Oi hear a good deal about mercantile frauds and financial irrigularities, an' I've only this to say: if moy ixicutors have any bother in getting this paid, 'faith Oi'll ixterpate int-hirely the thin sitting board!—actuiry, sicretary, and ivery man jack iv ye! Make your mimorandum o' that, an' good day t'ye!!"
An Irish "Sequitur."—Traveller (they had already walked a mile from the station). "Hi, I say, porter, do you call this 'no way at all?' I thought Donnybrook Lodge was near the terminus." Pat. "Faix, I cannt say, sor, I was a follerin' o' you gintlemen!!"
The Wind to Please the Pigs.—Sow-sow west.
The Root of Irish Evil.—It used to be said that the Irish people were unwise on relying on the potato. Their reliance on 'taturs was foolish enough, but still more foolish is their faith in agitators.
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.