"By—Killarney's—lakes—and—fells, Toot—tetoot toot—toot—toot—dells!"     And—the heel av—McCart—y's—boot Marked—the time at—iv'—ry—toot, While—the slide at—aich—bass—note Seemed—ter slip half—down—his throat, As—he caught his—breath—be—spells:—     "By—Killarney's—lakes—and—fells!"    Now McCarty he lived ter be wrinkled and lean, But he died wan fine day playin' "Wearin' the green,"   And they sould the ould horn to a British spalpeen, And it bu'st whin he tried ter blow "God save the Queen"; But the nights av Saint Patherick's Days in Athlone Folks dare not go by the ould graveyard alone, For they say that McCarty sits on his tombstone And plays this sad tune on a phantom trombone:      "The harp that wance through Tara's halls The sowl av music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that sowl were dead."     And all who've heard the lonesome keens That that grim ghost has blown, Know well by Tara's harp he means That batthered ould trombone.  

 

     SUSAN VAN DOOZEN 

  I'll write, for I'm witty, a popular ditty, To bring to me shekels and fame, And the only right way one may write one to-day Is to give it some Irish girl's name. There's "Rosy O'Grady," that dear "steady lady,"     And sweet "Annie Rooney" and such, But mine shall be nearly original, really, For Susan Van Doozen is Dutch. O Susan Van Doozen! the girl of my choos'n', You stick in my bosom like glue; While this you're perusin', remember I'm mus'n', Sweet Susan Van Doozen, on you. So don't be refus'n' my offer, and bruis'n'     A heart that is willing to woo; And please be excus'n', not cold and refus'n',—     O Susan Van Doozen, please do! Now through it I'll scatter—a quite easy matter—     Some lines that we all of us know, How "The neighbors all cry as she passes them by,     'There's Susan, the pride of the row!'"   And something like "daisy" and "setting me crazy,"    —These lines the dear public would miss—   Then chuck a "sweetheart" in, and "never to part" in, And end with a chorus like this:      O Susan Van Doozen! before I'd be los'n'       One glance from your eyes of sky-blue, I vow I'd quit us'n' tobacco and booz'n',       (That word is not nice, it is true). I wear out my shoes, 'n' I'm los'n' my roos'n'       My reason, I should say, dear Sue,—     So please change your views 'n' become my own Susan, O Susan Van Doozen, please do!  

 

     SISTER SIMMONS 

  

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