lyrist becomes so delighted with the performance of some young men, that he concludes by stating his determination to make his will in their favour, as follows:

"Here's to you, Mr. Casey, my Curraghmore estate;
And to you, young O'Brien, my money and my plate;
And to you, Thomas Deneby, my whip, spurs, and cap;
For you crossed the walls and ditches, never looking for a gap.”

In the manuscript Journal of a recent visit to Ireland by Lady Chatterton, which her ladyship has been so kind as to allow the Editor to peruse, he finds among numerous faithful and clever sketches from nature, the following account of an Irish peasant, who accompanied Lady Chatterton on an excursion in the neighbourhood of Limerick :

"Our companion sung us several songs; one was a humorous ballad, half in English and half in Irish, detailing the adventures of a fox, as related by himself. How he swam across the Shannon, from Tervoe to Cratloe, closely pursued by the hounds, Blossom, and Sweet-lips, and Silver-tongue, and Ponto; and in how disagreeable a situation he found himself afterwards, stuffed head-foremost into the huntsman's bag. Some of his songs," adds Lady Chatterton, "were in a wild and mournful strain, pathetic and tender enough almost to bring tears into one's eyes; and all the time he was singing, he accompanied his voice with the most expressive gesticulations of his hands and feet.”

Mozeen's verses upon Squire Adair, of Kilternan, before mentioned, are entitled "Time took by the forelock at Kilternan, the seat of John Adair, Esq., in the County of Dublin." The author, after a short introduc

tion levelled against the fashionable taste for foreign music, relates, to the tune of " Derry Down,"

"how old daddy Time took a frolic,

By the help of good claret to dissipate cares :
The spot was Kilternan, the house was Adair's.

Not used to the sight of the soberer race,

With the door in her hand, the maid laughed in his face;
For she thought, by his figure, he might be at best
Some plodding mechanic, or prig of a priest.

But soon as he said that he came for a glass,
Without further reserve she replied he might pass;
Yet mocked his bald pate, as he tottered along,
And despised him, as moderns despise an old song.

Jack Adair was at table with six of his friends,
Who, for making him drunk, he was making amends;
Time hoped at his presence none there were affronted :
'Sit down, boy,' says Jack, and prepare to be hunted.'

They drank, hand to fist, for six bottles and more,
Till down tumbled Time, and began for to snore;
Five gallons of claret they poured on his head,
And were going to take the old soaker to bed.

But Jack, who's possess'd of a pretty estate,-
And would to the Lord it was ten times as great!
Thought, aptly enough, that if Time did not wake,
He might lose all he had by the world's turning back.

So, twitching his forelock, Time opened his eyes,
And, staggering, stared with a deal of surprise;
Quoth he, I must mow down ten millions of men,
But e'er you drink thrice I'll be with thee again.""

Time at length departs, after giving his worthy host a most friendly shake by the hand, and declaring

"Go on with your bumpers, your beef, and good cheer,
And the darling of Time shall be Johnny Adair."

Mozeen entitles the song, to which this long, but, it is hoped, not uninteresting introduction is prefixed, "A Description of a Fox Chase that happened in the County of Dublin with the Earl of Meath's Hounds."

Tune-" Shelah na Guiragh.”

Hark, hark! jolly sportsmen, awhile to a tale,
Which, to pay your attention, I hope will not fail;
'Tis of lads, and of horses, and dogs, that ne'er tire,
O'er stone walls, and hedges, through dale, bog, and briar.
A pack of such hounds, and a set of such men,
'Tis a shrewd chance if ever you meet with again.
Had Nimrod, the mightiest of hunters, been there,
Fore, 'gad, he had shook like an aspen for fear.
La, la, la, &c.

In seventeen hundred and forty and four,
The fifth of December-I think 'twas no more;
At five in the morning, by most of the clocks,*
We rode from Kilruddery,† to try for a fox;
The Laughlinstown landlord, the bold Owen Bray,‡
With Squire Adair, sure, were with us that day;

* Theobald Wolfe Tone, whose practice it was to quote snatches of song, notes in his Journal," 20th April, 1797, "Set out from Cologne, at five in the morning, by most of the clocks' on my way," &c.

+ About a mile and a half beyond Bray, and near the lesser Sugarloaf, or Gold-spur Mountain-a noble seat of the Brabazons, created Earls of Meath in 1627.

Mozeen advises all travellers landed from England, " sick of the seas," to proceed to Laughlinstown

-"without any delays,

For you'll never be right till you see Owen Bray's.

With his Ballen a Mona, Ora, Ballen a Mona, Ora, Ballen a Mona, Ora,

A glass of his claret for me!

Were you full of complaints from the crown to the toe,

A visit to Owen's will cure you of wo;

Joe Debill, Hall Preston, that huntsman so stout,
Dick Holmes,* (a few others), and so we went out.
La, la, la, &c.

We had cast off the hounds for an hour or more,

When Wanton set up a most tuneable roar.

"Hark, to Wanton!" cried Joe; and the rest were not slack,

For Wanton's + no trifler esteemed by the pack;

Old Bonny + and Collier + came readily in,

And every dog joined in the musical din.

Had Diana been there, she'd been pleased to the life,
And some of the lads got a goddess to wife.

La, la, la, &c.

Ten minutes past nine was the time o' the day,
When Reynard unkennelled, and this was his play;
As strong from Killeager, as though he could fear none,
Away he brushed round by the house of Kilternan ; §

A buck of such spirits ye never did know,

For, let what will happen, they 're always in flow,

When he touches up Ballen, &c.

The joy of that fellow for me!

Fling leg over garron, ye lovers of sport,

Much joy is at Owen's, though little at Court;

'Tis thither the lads of brisk mettle resort,

For there they are sure that they 'll never fall short

Of good claret, and Ballen, &c.

The eighty-fourth bumper for me!" &c.

* Married, in 1756, Elizabeth, daughter of the Honourable Captain Molesworth.

+ "Favourite hounds of Lord Meath's."-Note by MOZEFN.

Now a deserted farm-house on the Enniskerry side of the Scalp. See Map.

On the Dublin side of the Scalp, once the residence of the famous Squire Adair of the song.

Quere: May not this have been the Adair, and this the identical