Thus Peter of Russia, with a razor and brush, he

Once made a great fuss a' his subjects to shave; He smoothed their manners, like hides scraped by tanners, Wherever his banners triumphant did wave. Then at home let us try, on

Each phiz, low and high on,

The Eukeirogeneion of Olden so rare;

Catholic or Brunswicker,

By this liquor will quicker

Cease to bicker, though thicker than pigs in a fair.

An old witch seized Asmodeus, a devil most odious,
And did for his abode use a bottle so frail;

But Olympus' sweet vapours, condensed for chin-scrapers,
Olden bottles, like capers, or smart Burton ale.
Let this drug aid your rugged

Old mug, it so smug it

Will look, the maids hug it, and tug it both ways;
Then you sooty muzzled brute, ay,

In truth, I will mute eye

With wonder your beauty, when you shave but three days.

THE COURT OF CONSCIENCE IN CORK

Is copied from a newspaper-cutting in Miss Elliot's Scrap-book, entitled "Reflections occasioned by the Court of Conscience of Cork being held over the MeatMarket."

How various are the roads we mortals take

To happiness, this building a strong test is: Some dive below, to purchase a beefsteak ; Others ascend, to stake their all for justice.

In either region, with an equal hand

The scales are held, and like material put on ; For when the blood is drained, you understand The conscience of a suitor's dead as mutton.

Thus, 'twixt the market-scales and those of law,
A strong similitude exists, quite pat in
Point; for whoe'er did informations draw,
But he for make-weight slipt a bit of fat in?

Above, below, the inmates live by broils;
Their wares are equally plunged in hot water,
Or in sad pickle, after all their toils,
And 'destined finally to go to pot are.

Below hangs many a slaughtered fatted calf;
Above, their skins are pressed by lips of sinners;
By which the flesh (esteemed the better half)
Becomes mock-turtle for their worships' dinners.

THE GROVES OF BLACKPOOL.

(Descriptive of the return of the City of Cork Militia.)

Blackpool is an extensive suburb on the northern side of Cork, which has been particularly noticed in the song

at p. 169. John Wesley, in his "Journal," describes it in 1765 as a place "famous, from time immemorial, for all manner of wickedness-for riot in particular." Blackpool was, in short, as its name denotes, a sink of iniquity, which the Muse of Dr. De la Cour has thus depicted:

'Oh, the very first day that I came to Blackpool,

I stared, and I gaped, and I gazed like a fool;

For the butchers and bull-dogs were beating a bull,

On the very first day that I came to Blackpool.

-

There were tanners, and skinners, and dressers of leather,

And curriers, and combers, and dyers together:

Oh, the devil himself never saw such a school

As I did, the first day that I came to Blackpool."

"Cork, like London, Paris, and other great cities,” says Mr. Windle, "possesses a patois nearly peculiar to itself; it will be found most prevalent, and least adulterated, in Ballythomas (a locality in the immediate vicinity of Blackpool). The vernacular of this region may be regarded as the ancient cockneyism of the mixed race who held the old city-Danes, English, and Irish. It is a jargon, whose principal characteristic appears in the pronunciation of th, as exemplified in dis, dat, den, dethis, that, then, they and in the dovetailing of words, as 'kum our ish,' for ' come out of this.' There is a general attenuation or contraction in the articulation of words, accompanied by a hissing and jarring wherever s and r occur, which it would be difficult to convey any sufficient idea of. De Groves of de Pool,' is a very popular exemplar of the poetry of this dialect; and Mr. Daniel Casey may be regarded as its living laureat.

"As to the population, they are a hardy, hard working, improvident, and vivacious race; attached to old

6

usages and habits of thinking and acting. Here have ever been found the readiest and gayest actors in the mummeries of the May-day mummers.' None ever equalled them in the hearty ceremony of whipping out the herring' on Easter Saturday, or throwing bran on the new mayor. What other part of the city has ever furnished so jolly or uproarious a train of males or females, to sustain the humours of the Irish carnival-the 'going to Skellig?' The groups of Wren Boys' here muster strongest on St. Stephen's morning; and the mimic warfare of a 'batter' between the clans of rival streets, is nowhere else waged with more spirit or earnestness. But the march of intellect is even here visible; the mummeries, and batterings, and bran throwing are, of recent years, become more infrequent; and the day may not be far distant when the memory of these things shall pass away."

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The watercourse mentioned in the sixth verse, adds Mr. Windle, in his interesting notices of Cork, is “the busiest outlet of the city; the principal seat of its tanneries and distilleries. At the end of this well-frequented way the water is open; a police station adjoins, and an antique narrow bridge, impassable for horse or carriage, bearing the odd name of Tanto Bridge, leads over into the once umbrageous haunt of the Muses-the birth-place of many a militia legioneer-the classical Groves of de Pool!' But the Blackpool is now treeless; its long rows of elms and poplars have been cut down; its manufactures have ceased; its looms are silent; and its once numerous and respectable inhabitants have given place to a poor and ill-employed population. The glory of the pool is no more."

"De groves of de Pool," which was written by "honest Dick Millikin" (see p. 89), was intended to depict the return, or, as he humorously calls it, the "advance back again," of the "gallant Cork city militia," after the rebellion of 1798, and their reception in "de groves," which had sheltered the infancy of "dose Irish heroes." It is given from the recitation of Mr. John Lander, by whom the last verse is said to have been added.

Now de war, dearest Nancy, is ended,

And de peace is come over from France;

So our gallant Cork city militia

Back again to head-quarters advance.
No longer a beating dose rebels,

We'll now be a beating de bull,

And taste dose genteel recreations

Dat are found in de groves of de Pool.
Ri fol didder rol didder rol, &c.

Den out came our loving relations,
To see whether we'd be living or no;
Besides all de jolly ould neighbours,
Around us who flocked in a row.
De noggins of sweet Tommy Walker *
We lifted according to rule,

And wetted our necks wid de native

Dat is brewed in de groves of de Pool.

Ri fol, &c.

* Alias, "Bounce upon Bess."-Vide pp. 86, 171. A noggin

is the fourth of a pint.-Cocknicè, a " quartern."