The universal Irish song book; a complete collection of the songs and ballads of Ireland ...

Preface

The Publisher, in presenting this " Universal Irish Song Book," confidently asserts, that in no other collection in Ireland or America will be found so many of the Songs of Ireland as in this volume.

It embodies all the standard songs of the different classes : Amatory, National, Convivial, Martial and Sentimental mat enthused or amused the Irish people in Ireland, and their children, the Irish- Americans, for generations, and which will always continue popular with them.

A selection of the best of that crude class mainly composed in the last century by country school-masters and others with a smattering of poetic taste, and which are generally designated *' Come all Ye's," are included for the purpose of satisfying the wishes of some parties who having heard them in their youth, still retain a more pleasing recollection of them than their literary merit warrants.

Notwithstanding the magnitude of the work and its completeness in detail, it is placed at a price that it is hoped will cause it to supersede all the fractional collections heretofore

issued.

P. J. Kenedy..

New York, February, 1884.

THE

UNIVERSAL

Irish Song /Book.

ON MUSIC.

Air. — " Banks of JBanna."

When through life unblest we rove,

Losing all that made lite dear, Should some notes we used to love,

In days of boyhood, meet our ear, Oh ! how w^elcome breathes the strain !

Wakening thoughts that long have slept, Kindling former smiles again

In faded eyes that long have wept.

Like the gale, that sighs along

Beds of oriental flowers, Is the grateful breath of song,

That once was heard in happier hours ; Fill'd with balm the gale sighs on,

Though the flowers have sunk in death ; So, when pleasure's dream is gone.

Its memory lives in Music's breath.

Music, oh how faint, how weak,

Language fades before thy spell !

Why should Feeling ever speak,

When thou canst breathe her soul so well ? Friendship's balmy words may feign.

Love's are even more false than they ; Oh ! 'tis only music's strain

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray.

SONG OF THE BATTLE EYE.

AiK. — ' ' Oniiskeen Lawn. "

To-MORROW, comrade, we On the battle-plain must be,

There to conquer, or both lie low !

The morning star is up — But there's wine still in the cup,

And we'll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go ;

We'll take another quaff ere we go.

'T is true, in manliest eyes

A passing tear will rise.

When we think of the friends we leave lone ;

But what can wailing do ?

See, our goblet's weeping too ! [our own !

With its tears we'll chase away our own, boy, With its tears we'll chase away our own.

But daylight's stealing on ;

The last that o'er us shone

Saw our children around us play ;

The next — ah ! where shall we

And those rosy urchins be? [boy, away ;

But — no matter — grasp thy sword and away, No matter — grasp thy sword and away !

Let those who brook the chain Of Saxon or of Dane,

Ignobly by their firesides stay; One sigh to home be given, One heartfelt prayer to heaven, [hurra !

Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra !

Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra !

THE GKOVES OF BLAKNEY.

E. A. MiLLiKEN. Born, 1767 ; Died, 1815.

The groves of Blarney They look so charming, Down by the purling

Of sweet silent streams ; Being banked with posies That spontaneous grow there, Planted in order

By the sweet rock close. 'Tis there's the daisy And the sweet carnation, The blooming pink,

And the rose so fair; The daffodowndill}' — Likewise the lily, All flowers that scent

The sweet fragrant air.

'Tis Lady Jeffers

That owns this station ;

Like Alexander,

Or Queen Helen fair; There's no commander In all the nation, For emulation,

Can with her compare.

Such walls surround her, That no nine-pounder Could dare to plunder

Her place of strength ; But Oliver Cromwell, Her he did pommell, And made a breach

In her battlement.

There's gravel walks there.

For speculation, And conversation

In sweet solitude. 'Tis there the lover May hear the dove, or The gentle plover

In the afternoon ;

G

And if a lady

Would be so engaging

As to walk alone in

Those shady bowers, *Tis there the courtier He may transport her Into some fort, or

All under ground.

For 'tis there's a cave where No daylight enters.

But cats and badgers

Are for ever bred ; Being mossed by nature, That makes it sweeter Than a coach-and six.

Or a feather bed. 'Tis there the lake is.

Well stored with perches.

And comely eels in

The verdant mud ; Besides the leeches.

And grove of beeches, Standing in order

For to guard the flood.

There's statues gracing This noble place in — All heathen gods

And nymphs so fair : Bold Neptune, Plutarch, And Nicodemus, All standing naked

In the open air !

So now to finish This brave narration, Which my poor geni

Could not entwine ; But were I Homer, Or Nebuchadnezzar, Tis in every feature

I would make it shine.

THE BOWLD SOJER BOY.

Samuel Loveb.

Oh, there's not a trade that's going,

Worth showing,

Or knowing,

Like that from glory growing,

For a bowld sojer boy ; Where right or left we go, Sure you know, Friend or foe Will have the hand — or toe,

From a bowld sojer boy !

There's not a town we march through. But the ladies, looking arch through The window panes, will search through

The ranks to find their joy ; While up the street, Each girl you meet, With look so sly, Will cry '' My eye !

Oh ! isn't he a darhng — the bowld sojer boy T*

But when we get the route,

How they pout.

And they shout.

While to the right about

Goes the bowld sojer boy 1 'Tis then that ladies fair.

In despair Tear their hair.

But the div'la one I care.

Says the bowld sojer boy ; For the world is all before us, Where the landladies adore us, And ne'er refuse to score us,

But chalk us up with joy ; We taste her tap.

We tear her cap, '' Oh ! that's the chap For me,"

Says she, ** Oh, isn't he a darling — the bowld sojer boy."

THE BOWLD SOJEE BOY.— Cojitinucd.

Then come along with me.

Gramachree,

And you'll see

How happy you will be

With your bow Id sojer boy ; Faith, if you're up to fun, With me run, 'Twill be done In the snapping of a gun,

Says the bowld sojer boy ; And 'tis then that without scandal Myself will proudly dandle The little farthing candle

Of our mutual flame, my joy ; May his light shine As bright as mine, Till in the Hue He'll blaze And raise The glory of his cause, like a bowld sojer boy !

-o

THE BANKS OF BANNA.

Shepherds, I have lost my love,

Have you seen my Anna ?

Pride of every shady grove

Upon the banks of Banna.

I for her my home forsook.

Near yon misty mountain, Left my flocks, my pipe, my crook,

Greenwood shade, and fountain.

Never shall I see them more

Until her returning ; All the joys of life are o'er —

From gladness chang'd to mourning.

Whither is my charmer flown ?

Shepherds, tell me whither?

Ah ! woe for me, perhaps she's gone,

For ever and for ever !

BAENEY BRALLAGHAN'S COURTSHIP.

'TWAS on a windy night,

At two o'clock in the morning", An Irish lad so tight,

All wind and weather scorning, At Judy Callaghan's door, Sittuig upon the palings.

His love-tale he did pour, And this was part of his wailings — Only say

You'll have Mister Brallaghan, Don't say nay,

Charming Judy Callaghan.

Oh, list to w^hat I say.

Charms you've got like Venus ; Own your love you may.

There's only the wall between us ; You lie fast asleep,

Snug in bed and snoring, Round the house I creep.

Your hard heart imploring.

Only say, &c.

Tve got nine pigs and a sow,

I've got a stye to keep 'em ; A calf and a brindled cow,

And got a cabin to sleep in ; Sunday hose and coat.

An old grey mare to ride on, Saddle and bridle to boot,

Which you may ride astride on.

I've got an old Tom cat.

Thro* one eye he's staring ; I've got a Sunday hat.

Little the worse for wearing ; I've got some gooseberry wine —

The trees had got no riper ; I've got a fiddle tine,

Which only wants a piper.

Only say, &c.

BAKNEY BEALLAGHAN S COV^RTSKIF,— Continued,

I've got an acre of ground,

I've got it set with praties ; I've got of backey a pound,

And got some tay for the ladies ; I've got the ring to wed,

Some whiskey to make us gaily, A mattress, feather bed.

And handsome new shillelah.

Only say, &c.

You've got a charming eye,

You've got some spelling and reading ; You've got, and so have I,

A taste for genteel breeding ; You're rich, and fair, and young, As everybody's knowing, ^ You've got a dacent tongue, Whene'er 'tis set a going.

Only say, &c.

For a wife till death

I am willing to take ye — But, och, I waste my breath.

The devil himself can't wake ye ! *Tis just beginning to rain,

So I'll get under cover; I'll come to-morrow again,

And be your constant lover.

Only say, &c, o

DEAK LAND.

When comes the day all hearts to weigh.

If staunch they be, or vile.

Shall we forget the sacred debt We owe our mother isle ?

My native heath is brown beneath,

My native waters, blue ; But crimson red o'er both shall spread.

Ere I am false to you,

Ere I am false to you.

DEAK JjA^D.— Continued.

When I behold your mountains bold —

Your noble lakes and streams — A mingled tide of grief and pride

Within my bosom teems.

I think of all your long dark thrall —

Your martyrs brave and true ; And dash apart the tears that start —

We must not weej? for you,

We must not weep for you.

My grandsire died, his home beside;

They seized and hanged him there; His only crime, in evil time,

Your hallowed green to wear.

Across the main his brothers twain

Were sent to pine and rue ; And still they turn'd, with hearts that burn'd,

In hopeless love to you

In hopeless love to you.

My boyish ear still clung to hear

Of Erin's pride of yore, Ere Norman foot had dared pollute

Her independent shore : Of chiefs, long dead, who rose to head

Some gallant patriot few.

Till all my aim on earth became

To strike one blow for you,

To strike one blow for you.

What path is best your rights to wrest

Let other heads divine ; By work or word, with voice or sword,

To follow them be mine.

The breast that zeal and hatred steel.

No terrors can subdue ; If death should come, that martyrdom

Were sweet, endured for you,

Were sweet, endured for you.

12 EKIN'S LOVELY HOME.

When I was young and in my prime, my age just twenty-one, I acted as a servant unto a gentleman ; 1 served him true and honest, and very well its known, But cruelly he banished me from Erin's lovely home.

The reason he did banish me, I mean to let you hear, I own 1 loved his daughter, and she loved me as dear ; She had a heavy fortune, but riches 1 had none. And that's the reason 1 must go from Erin's lovely home.

It was in her father's garden, all in the month of June, When viewing of those flowers, all in her youthful bloom. She said, "My dearest William, if with me you will roam, We'll bid adieu to all our friends, and Erin's lovely home."

That very night I gave consent along with her to go, From her father's dwelling-place, which proved my overthrow ; The night being bright, by the moonlight we both set off alone. Thinking we'd got safe away from Erin's lovely home.

When we came to Belfast, by the break of day.

My true-love she got ready our passage for to pay,

Five thousand pound she counted down, saying this shall be

your own.

And never mourn for those you've left in Erin's lovely home.

But of our great misfortune, I mean to let you hear.

It was a few hours after her father did appear.

And marched me back to Omagh gaol, in the county of

Tyrone, From there I was transported from Erin's lovely home.

When I heard my sentence, it grieved my heart full sore, And parting from my true-love, it grieved me ten times more ; I had seven links upon my chain, and every hnk a year, Before I can return again to the arms of my dear.

Before the rout came to the gaol to take us all away, Mv true-love came to me, and these words to me did say, '' Bear up your heart, don't be dismayed, I will not vou disown, Until you do return again to Erin's lovely home."

THE IRISH JAUNTING CAR.

My name is Larry Doolan, I'm a native of the soil ; If you want a day's diversion, I'll drive you out in style; My car is painted red and green, and on the door a star, And the pride of Dublin City is my Irish jaunting car.

CHORUS.

Then, if you want to hire me, step in to Mickey Maher, And ask for Larry Doolan and his Irish jaunting car.

When Queen Victoria came to Ireland her health to revive, She asked the Lord Lieutenant to take her out to ride ; She replied unto his greatness, before they travelled far, How delightful was the jogging of the Irish jaunting car. Then, if you want to hire me, &c.

I'm hired by drunken men, teetotalers, and my friends, But a carman has so much to do, his duty never ends ; Night and dav, both wet and dry, I travelled near and far, And at night I count the earnings of my Irish jaunting car. Then, if you want to hire me, Sec.

THE IKISH JAUNTING C An.— Continued.

Some say the Russian bear is tough, and I believe it's true,

Though we beat him at the Alma and Balaklava too ;

But if our Connaught Rangers would bring home the Russian

Czar, I would drive him off to blazes in my Irish jaunting car.

Then, if you want to hire me, &c.

Some say all wars are over, and I hope to God they are ; For, you know full well they ne'er were good for a jaunting

car ; But peace and plenty— may they reign here, both near and

far ; Then we drive to feasts and festivals in an Irish jaunting car.

Then, if you vVant to hire me, &c.

They say they are in want of men, the French and English,

too.

And it's all about their commerce now they don't know what

to do ; But if they come to Ireland our jolly sons to mar, I'll drive them to the devil in my Irish jaunting car.

Then, if you w^ant to hire me, &c.

CUSHLA MA CHKEE.*

From the Irish.

Before the sun rose at yester-dawn, I met a fair maid adown the lawn ;

The berry and snow

To her cheek gave its glow.

And her bosom was fair as the sailing swan, Then, pulse of my heart ! what gloom is thine ?

Her beautiful voice more hearts hath won Than Orpheus' lyre of old had done ;

Her ripe eyes of blue

Were crystals of dew, On the grass of the lawn before the sun— And, pulse of my heart ! what gloom is thine ?

*Vein, or pnlse of my heart.

15 CATE OF ABAGLEN.

Air, •' An Cailin Ruadh."

When first I saw thee, Gate, That summer evening late, Down at the orchard gate

Of Araglen, I felt I ne'er before Saw one so fair, a-stor^ I fear'd I'd never more

See thee agen.

I stopp'd and gazed at thee.

My footfall, luckily Reach'd not thy ear, the' we

Stood there so near ; While from thy lips, a strain, Soft as the summer rain, Sad as a lover's pain,

Fell on my ear.

I've heard the lark in June, The harp's wild plaintive tune, The thrush, that aye too soon

Gives o'er his strain ; Fve heard, in hush'd delight The mellow horn at night Waking the echoes light

Of wild Loch Lein ; But neither echoing horn.

Nor thrush upon the thorn, Nor lark at early morn

Hymning in air, Nor harper's lay divine, E'er witch'd this heart of mine Like that sweet voice of thine,

That evening there.

And when some rustling, dear.

Fell on thy list'ning ear, You thought your brother near, And nam'd his name,

CATE OF ABAGIjEI^.— Continued.

I could not answer — though, As luck would have it so, His name and mine, you know,

Were both the same — Hearing no answ'ring sound, You glanced in doubt around.

With timid look and found

it was not he ; Turning away your head And, blushing rosy red, Like a wild fawn you fled

Far, far from me.

The swan upon the lake, The wild rose in the brake.

The golden clouds that make

The west their throne, The wild ash by the stream, The full moon's silver beam, The evening star's soft gleam,

Shining alone ; The lily rob'd in white — All — aU are fair and bright: — But ne'er on earth was sight

So bright, so fair, As that one glimpse of thee That I caught then, ma c/irce, * It stole my heart from me

That evening there.

And now you're mine alone, That heart is all my own — That heart, that ne'er hath known

A flame before, That form, of mould divine, That snowy hand of thine.

Those locks of gold are mine

For evermore.

Was lover ever seen As blest as thine, Caitlin?

Hath ever lover been More fond, more true?

* My heart.

CEUISKIN LAWN.

Let the farmer praise his grounds, Let the huntsman praise his hounds,

The shepherd, his dew-scented lawn ; But I, more bless'd than they, Spend each happy night and day

With my charming Uttle cruiskin lazvn,

Gra-ina-chree a cooiin bawn, Gra-ma-chrcc ma cruiskin^ Slainte geal ma vourneen, Gra-ina-chree a cooiin^ bawn, bazvn^ baivn^

Gra-ma-chree a cooiin bawn.

Immortal and divine.

Great Bacchus, god of wine,

Create me by adoption your son.

In hope that you'll comply That my glass shall ne'er run dry, Nor my smiling little crniskin lazvn.

Gra-ma-chree, &c.

And when grim Death appears, In a few but pleasant years.

To tell me that my glass has run ; I'll say, begone, you knave.

For bold Bacchus gave me leave

To take another crniskin lazvn.

Gra-ma-chree, &c.

Then fill your glasses high.

Let's not part with lips adry,

Though the lark now proclaims it is dawn; And since we can't remain.

May we shortly meet again, To fill another crniskin lazvn,

Gra-ma-chree, &c.

18 GILLE MA CHEEE.

GEBAIiD GbLFFIN.

Gille ma chree*

Sit down by me, We now are joined, and ne'er shall sever,

This hearth's our own,

Our hearts are one, And peace is ours for ever !

When I was poor, Your father's door Was closed against your constant lover. With care and pain, I tried in vain My fortunes to recover.

I said, * To other lands I'll roam.

Where fate may smile on me, love ;' I said, * Farewell, my own old home!' And I said, * Farewell to thee, love!' Sing Gille ma chree^ &c.

I might have said, My mountain maid.

Come live with me, your own true lover ; I know a spot, A silent cot.

Your friends can ne'er discover, Where gently flows the waveless tide

By one small garden only ; Where the heron waves his wings so wide, And the linnet sings so lonely !

Sing Gille ma chree^ &c,

I might have said,

My mountain maid, A father's right was never given

True hearts to curse

With tyrant force, That have been blest in heaven.

* Brightener of my heart.

But Ihen, 1 said, "In after years, "When thoughts of home shall find her !

My love may mourn with secret tears Her friends, thus left behind her."

Sing Gt//e ma chree^ &c.

" Oh, no," I said, " My own dear maid.

For me, though all forlorn for ever, That heart of thine Shall ne'er repine O'er slighted duty — never.

From home and thee, though wandering far,

A dreary fate be mine, love ; I'd rather live in endless war, Than buy my peace with thine, love." Sing Gille ma cJiree, <Scc.

Far, far away.

By night and day, I toil'd to win a golden treasure ;

And golden gains

Repaid my pains In fair and shining measure.

I sought again my native land,

Thy father welcomed me, love ; I poured my gold into his hand.

And my guerdon found in thee, love.

Sing Gille ma chreey

Sit down by me.

We now are joined, and ne'er shall sever,

This hearth's our own,

Our hearts are one, And peace is ours for ever !

THE BUGABOO.

Come, all you tender-hearted boys, wherever you may be,

And I'll tell you of the dangers upon the dark blue sea,

Of the dangers and the hardships, my boys, that 1 went

through, When I shipped as cook and steward, my boys, on board of

the Bugaboo.

(Repeat the last two lines of each verse.)

The day when first 1 joined her, she lay in James street canal ;

She was large and stout and beautiful : forget her shape I never shall —

The captain wore a large stravy hat, knee breeches and a body coat so blue,

Arrah ! boys, he'd made a fine figure-head to ornament the Bugaboo.

We soon weighed anchor and set sail to plow the raging surf . We were bound for the bog of Allan to get a load of turf, We sailed until we passed the back of Richmond barracks so

true, When the gallant eighty-fourth fired a royal salute of bricks

at the Captain of the Bugaboo.

We sailed three years, when a storm arose, and the sea ran

mountains high : The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed and lit the dark blue

sky.

So the second mate gave orders to lower the sails and clew, While the captain down below was smoking in his bed — he

set fire to the Bugaboo.

When the captain found what he had done he loud for help

did shout, He called up through the chimney top for the helmsman to

come and put it out : But the helmsman was fast asleep, and to his post untrue. And the fire burned so hard through the middle of the turf,

they couldn't save the Bugaboo.

THE BVGABOO.—Contlmied.

When fifteen thousand miles from land, in latitude fiftj'-four, The fire burned so hard one night, that it couldn't burn any

more ; So the captain he gave orders to lower the boats and save

the crew, While a thousand sods of turf and fifty thousand men were

smothered in the Bugaboo.

I'M A BANTING, KOVING BLADE.

By Samuel Lover.

Whoo ! I'm a ranting, roving blade.

Of never a thing was I ever afraid :

I'm a gentleman born, and scorn a trade,

And I'd be a rich man, if my debts were paid.

But my debts are worth something, this truth instil — That pride makes us fall, all against our will : For, 'twas pride that broke me — I was happy, until I was ruined all out by my tailor's bill.

I'm the finest guide that ever you see,

1 know ev^ery place of curiosity,

From Ballinafad unto Tanderagee :

And if you're for sport, come along wid me.

I'll lade you sportin' round about : We've wild ducks and widgeons, and snipe and throut, And I know where they are, and what they are about, And if they're not at home, then I'm sure they're out.

The miles in this country much longer be, But that is a saving of time you see : For, two of our miles is equal to three, Which shortens the road in a great degree.

And the roads in this place is so plenty, we say, That you have nothing to do, but find your own way : If your hurry's not great, and you have time to delay, You can go the short cut — that's the longest way.

22 THE lEISH 8H0BE.

By Una. (Mrs. A. Fokd. )

" 'Tis vain to hope, 'tis vain to dream,

Your land can never rise ; With hate her children rend her heart,

While low in dust she lies; Forget her wrongs" — so says the world,

As many did before.

But, Oh ! how can we e'er forget

Our dear old Irish shore ?

Can we forget the glorious host

Who scorned as slaves to live, Who gave their lives to native land —

What more could mortal give ?

Or cease to venerate the soil

Made holy by their gore ?

Our hearts were clods, could we forget

Our dear old Irish shore —

Can we forget that on our brows

Is slavery's shameful brand — That we are never truly free

While fetters bind our land — That Freedom on us seems to frown

And murmur evermore : ** If true to me arise and free

Your own green Irish shore.'*

When we forget to ope our eyes

To meet the smile of day, Forget to weep when those most dear

Are shrouded in the clay — Forget to look with love and trust

To Him we now adore — We may forget, but not till then.

Our dear old Irish shore.

THE IKISH SHORE,— Continued,

*Tis vain to dream, but not to toil,

O land we love, for thee ; While hope remains and mem'ry lasts,

Our dearest wish must be, For thee to labor, plan and pray,

And sleep, when life is o'er.

Beneath the sod that wraps thy breast,

Our green old Irish shore.

THE BLACKBIRD.

Once on a morning of sweet recreation,

I heard a fair lady a-making her moan, With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation. Aye singing, *' My Blackbird for ever is flown ! He's all my heart's treasure, my joy, and my pleasure,

So justly, my love, my heart follows thee ; And 1 am resolved, in foul or fair weather,

To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be.

**I will go, a stranger to peril and danger,

My heart is so loyal in every degree ; For he's constant and kind, and courageous in mind,

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be ! In Scotland he's loved and dearly approved.

In England a stranger he seemeth to be ; But his name I'll advance in Ireland or France.

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be.

"The birds of the forest are all met together.

The turtle is chosen to dwell with the dove, And I am resolved in foul or fair weather.

Once in the spring-time to seek out my love. But since fickle Fortune, which still proves uncertain,

Hath caused this parting between him and me. His right I'll proclaim, and who dares me blame ?

Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be."

IKISH SCHOOLMASTER.

Old Teddy O'Rourke kept a bit of a school

At a place called Clarina, and made it a rule, If the mind wouldn't mark, faith, he'd soon mark the back,

And he'd give them their own, with a devilish crack. His scholars were: Jerry, Big Billy and Ned,

With Murrogh M'Carthy, Old Darby, and Ted, Tall Dermot O'Clany, and Dennis O'Shea,

Faith, all noble boys to drive learning away.

Spoken : Well, my boys, says old Ted, as 3'Ou are all here, I'll just be calling your names over, to see if any of ye are missing. Gerald M'Shee. — I'm not here, sir. — Then where are you, agrah ? — I'm astride of the door, sir. — Then come in, and I'll beat you. Corney O'Flaherty, — I'm here, but my brother Barne}^ ain't. — Then where is your brother Barney ? — Faith, sir, he's dead and they're going to wake him. — Poor fellow ! I'm sorry he's gone HOME, for he was my own scholar ; but do you go and sit down, and don't fall asleep, or I'll be after waking you.

So long life to old Teddy,

For he's always read}' To kick up a row, or the whiskey to smack:

With his drinking and eating.

His birching and beating.

And his hubaboo, philaloo, row de dow whack.

Faith, Ted had a nose as big as a ton.

And a chin too ! och honey, but they were all one ; A grin too, he had, and if there was a noise.

He'd just give a squint and frighten the bo3'S ; A fortune he had, too : — his birch and his -wig,

A black ugly cow, and an old dirty pig, A PRATTY plantation, a dog and a cat.

And his head that he kept in an old greasy hat.

Spoken: Phelim O'Maheney, says he one day, before you sit down, stand up and say your alphabet : so keep your five fingers out of your head for a few minutes, and begin. What letter's that, sir^ — I don't know, sir. — Arrah, botheration to you, what was it 1 said when I saw you blacking Pat Mooney's