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This Day is Published,

BLACKWOOD'S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE,

No. LVIII. FOR DECEMBER.-1821.

Contents. I. Stanzas Dedicatory to Francis Jeffrey, Esq. &c. &c. &c.-II. Christmas Chit-Chat.-III. Vanderbrummer; or the Spinosist.-IV. Seashore Reflections at Sun-set.-V. The Primrose.-VI. Specimens of a Free and Easy Translation of Horace.-VII. On the Probable Influence of Moral and Religious Instruction on the Character and Situation of Seamen. No. 4.-VIII, Parini's Giorno.-IX. On the Italian Schools of Painting. No. I. On the Storia Pittorica of the Abate Lanzi, and the Works of Andrea del Sarto, and his Followers.-X. Howison's Canada.-XI. Christophe, late Emperor of Hayti. - XII. Horæ Cantabrigiensis. No. VIII.-XIII. Ancient National Melodies, with the Music. No. 1. Song 1 Comparisons are Odious. A Chaunt. Song 2. Cobbet’s Complaint. A Dirge.-XIV. A Midsummer Night's Dream, in Blank Verse, by Blaize Fitstravesty, Esq.—XV. Drouthiness.—XVI. The Leg of Mutton School of Prose. No. Í. The Cook's Oracle.—XVII. On Early Rising. In a Letter to Mr North.-XVIII. The Literary Pocket-Book ; or Companion for the Lover of Nature and Art.-XIX. "Singular Recovery from Death.—XX. Quip Modest to Mr Barker; in a Letter to Christopher North, Esq.-XXI. Works Preparing for Publication.-XXII. Monthly List of New Publications.—XXIII. Monthly Register. Commercial Report. Ape pointments, Promotions, &c. Births, Marriages, and Deaths.

&c. &c. &c.

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH ; AND

T. CADELL, LONDON.

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Dear North,

tered as plumbs in the holiday pudIt has often struck me with asto- dings of a Yorkshire boarding-school, nishment, that the people of Ireland and scattered, for the same reason, just should have so tamely submitted to to save appearances, and give a title to Mr Thomas Moore's audacity, in pre. the assumed name. There's the Vale fixing the title of Irish to his melo- of Ovoca, for instance, a song upon a dies. That the tunes are Irish, I ad- valley in Wicklow, but which would mit; but as for the songs, they in ge- suit any other valley in the world, neral have as much to do with Ire- provided always it had three syllables, land, as with Nova Scotia. What an and the middle one of due length. Irish affair for example" Go where Were I in a savage mood, I could glory waits thee," &c. Might not it cut him up with as much ease as a have been sung by a cheesemonger's butcher in Ormond market dissects an daughter of High Holborn when her ox from the county of Tipperary ; but master's apprentice was going in a fit I shall spare him for this time, inof valour to list himself in the third tending, if I have leisure, to devote Buffs, or by any other such amatory an entire paper to prove his utter inperson, as well as a Hibernian Virgin competence; at present I shall only And if so, where is the Irishism of the ask, whether, in these pseudo-Irish thing at all? Again,

Melodies, there is one song about our When in death I shall calm reclinc,

saints, fairs, wakes, rows, patrons, or Bear my heart to my mistress dear;"

any other diversion among us? Is Tell her it fed upon smiles and wine

there one drinking song which decent

individuals would willingly roar forth Tell her it fed upon fiddlesticks ! Pret- after dinner in soul-subduing soloes, or ty food for an Irishman's heart for the give to the winds in the full swell of a ladies ! Not a man of us from Carn- thirty-man chorus ? Not one-nosore Point to Bloody Forland would not one. Here am J, M. M. Mulligive a penny a pound for smiles; and gan-who, any night these twenty as for wine, in the name of decency, is years, might have been discovered by that a Milesian beverage ? Far from it him whom it concerned, discussing indeed; it is not to be imagined that my four-and-twentieth tumbler, and I should give five or six shillings for a giving the side of the festive board, or bottle of grape-juice, which would not the chair presiding o'er the sons of be within five quarts of relieving me light, with songs fit to draw nine souls from the horrors of sobriety, when for out of one weaver, and, of course, hearthe self-same sum I could stow under ing others in my turn-ready to declare my belt a full gallon of Roscrea, drink that never was song of Moore's sung beyond comparison superior. The idea in my company; and that is decisive. is in fact absurd. But there would be If any one should appeal from my long no end were I to point out all the un- experience-let such unbelieving perIrish points of Moore's poetry. Allue son leave the case to any independent sions to our localities, it is true, we jury, selected indifferently from all dissometimes meet with, as thinly scat- tricts,-from the honest Inishowen

. This expression, I own, it Irish; but it is lost by the common punctuation, mistress dear, which is just as bald an epithet as any man would wish to meet with on a day's journey. Vol. X.

4 H

consumers of the north, down to the can resist pressing of this kind, and I wet-gulleted devourers of Tommy yielded. Talbot, in the handsomest Walker in the south, and he will be manner, volunteered to set the airsconvinced. In fact, my dear North, for which, though I offered him inread over his “ Fill the bumper fair," stant payment, he would not suffer me and you will find, that instead of gi- to remunerate him in any other manving us a real hearty chanson-a-boire, ner than by permitting me to treat as we say in Dunkirk, you have a par- him to a bot glass. When it was ask. cel of mythological botheration about ed what would be the best vehiele for Prometheus, and other stale person- giving them to the public, we voted ages, which, in the days of heathen- that the only Irish Magazine, as you isin, would be laughed at for its igno- truly styled your great work last No rance, as it is now, in thedays of Chris- vember, was the fit soil for the planting tianity, voted a bore for its imperti- of Irish melodies ; and it was carried nence. And is this the national song- unanimously that they should be inwriter for this much-injured and hard- stantly transmitted to your care, Mr drinking island ? --Perish the idea !- North. If you publish them, my fame, As an oratorical friend of mine once and that of my country, will be watesaid at an aggregate meeting in Fish- rially extended. I think you will find amble Street, such a thought is a stig- them superior to the mere milk-andma upon humanity, and a taint upon water affairs which you see in your the finer feelings of man !

every-day reading. A fair sort of young man, the Hon. I have not aimed, or rather Talbot Mr O'Callaghan, of the White Knight's has not aimed, at bothering the plain family, has been so struck with this and simple melody by any adventitious deficiency of Mr T. Moore, that he is airs and graces. You have them, ungoing to give us a number of melodies adorned, adorned the most--that is, in opposition to those of our little bard. stark-naked. The piano trashery bas I wish him success, but I am afraid bedevilled the tunes given by Moore; that, though he is an ingenious per- and this is another instance of the son, he is not possessed of that ideal man's insufficiency. Just think of the faculty which is requisite for the task. piano being chosen as the instrument For fear he should fail, I have deter« for Trish airs, when he had, as a southmined to start, and shew the world a ern correspondent of yours sings, real specimen of true Irish melody, The harp or bagpipe, which you please, in a series of songs symphonious to to melodize with ! Moore first had Sir the feelings of my countrymen. Nei. John Stevenson as his composer, (who ther Moore nor O’Callaghan will, I now is at work for Mr O'Callaghan) flatter myself, be much read after this and then he took up Bishop-both series of mine. I hate boasting; but, friends of mine, with whom I often -pocas polabras—as Christopher Sly have cleaned out a bottle, and thereobserves.

fore I shall not say any thing derogaWe were talking about the business tory of either. In short, let the publast Thursday, at the Cock in Mary- lic judge between Moore, Mulligan, street, while Talbot was playing most and O'Callaghan-Bishop, Talbot, and divinely on the Union pipes. There Stevenson-and God defend the right. were present Terence Flanagan, Pat. I shall make a few remarks on the Moriarty, Jerry O'Geogheghan, Phe melodies I send, and then conclude. lim Macgillicuddy, Callaghan, O'. Indeed I had not an idea of writing Shaughnessy, and some other equally half so much when I began. well-known and respected characters, Melody the first is theological, conwho are to a man good judges of punch, taining the principal acts of our naporter, and poetry; and they agreed tional Saint-his coming to Ireland on it would be a sin if I did not publish a stone-his never-emptying can, coma half-dozen of melodies, four of which monly called St Patrick's pot-his I wrote in the tap-room the night be changing a leg of mutton into a sal. fore, just to get rid of a quarter of an mon in Lent time and his banishhour or so, while I was finishing a few ment of the snakes. Consult Jocelyn, pints in solitary reflection. No man or his translator, E. L. Swift, Esq. (1)

41) The tune to which Mr Mulligan has put these words is a great favourite in Ireland. It is said the original words (* The night before lary was stretched") were written by a very learned gentleman, who is now a dignitary of the established church in Ireland. It is a first-rate slang song. C. N.

Melody the second is pathetic, be on the spur of the occasion this morning the Lamentation of a Connaught ing, at the time noted. It is to the Ranger, discharged. I had eleven famous tune of Lillebullerommy uncle cousins in that regiment. I may as Toby's favourite ; and the tune, as well give it as my opinion, that the you may see, by Burnet, with which only cure for our present difficulties, Lord Wharton whistled King James, is to go to war without delay; and I of the unsavoury surname, out of venture to say, if an aggregate meet- three kingdoms. It is among us a ing of the seven millions of us could party air, and called the Protestant be called any where, a war would be Boys; but honest men of all parties voted nem. con.

I don't much care must approve of my words. They with whom, that being an after- come home to every man's feelings. thought, but I certainly would prefer The last is sentimental. I wrote it having a shaking of those ugly-looking merely to prove I could write fine if garlic-eaters, the Spaniards, who are I liked ; but it cost me a lot of trouble. now so impudent as to imagine they I actually had to go to the Commercould have fought the French without cial Buildings, and swallow seven cups us. I heard one Pedro Apodaca say of the most sloppish Bohea I could as much, and I just knocked him get, and eat a quartern loaf cut into down, to shew him I did not agree thin slices before I was in a fit mood to with him in opinion. I would en- write such stuff. If I were to continue gage, that 200,000 men would be rai- that diet, I should be the first of your sed in a day in this country, and if we pretty song writers in the empire; but would not batter the Dons I it would be the death of me in a week. leave it to the reader.

I am not quite recovered from that The third is amatory. Compare this breakfast yet-and I do not wonder at with the best of Tom Moore's ditties. the unfortunate figure the poor CockBut to be sure it is absurd to think of neys cut who are everlastingly suffera man of his inches talking of making ing under the deleterious effects of love to half the girls of the country, tea-drinking: as he does in Little's poems.

I have scribbled to the end of my The fourth is warlike something paper, so must conclude. Believe me in the manner of Sir Walter Scott's to be, my dear North, Gatherings. It relates to a feud in

Your's truly, Kerry. (2)

Morty MACNAMARA MULLIGAN. The fifth is convivial, and was ex- P. S. Why don't you come to Dubtempore. I did not write it with the lin? other four, but actually chaunted it 9, Suffolk Street, Nov. 16, 1820.

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A FIG for St Den-nis of France, He's a trumpery fellow to

brag on; A

fig for St George and his lance, Which spitted a

(2) The tune of this (“ The Groves of the Pool") is indigenous of the South of Ireland. There is a capital song to this tune, by R. Millikin of Cork, beginning with “ Now the war, dearest Nancy, is ended, and peace is come over from France." Mil. likin is the author of the Groves of Blarney, which Mathews sings with so much effect. The Standard-Bearer has supplied us with some lines on that unknown poet. See No. LVII. p. 382.

There is a sort of sketch of his life in Ryan's Worthies of Ireland. We should gladly make room for a fuller account, with specimens of his poetry. If it is good--as we are sure it must-its locality will be of little consequence. c. N.

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heathenish dragon: And the saints of the Welshman and Scot Are

pi-ti- ful couple of pipers, Both of whom may just travel to pot, If com

pared with the pa-tron of swipers, St Patrick of Ireland, my dear.

1.
A fig for St Dennis of France,

He's a truinpery fellow to brag on;
A fig for St George and his lance,

Which spitted a heathenish dragon ;
And the Saints of the Welshman or Scot

Are a couple of pitiful pipers,
Both of whom may just travel to pot,
Compared with that patron of swipers,

Patrick of Ireland, my dear!

2.
He came to the Emerald Isle

On a lump of a paving-stone mounted ;
The steam-boat he beat by a mile,

Which mighty good sailing was counted ;
Says he, “ The salt water, I think,

Has made me most bloodily thirsty,
So bring me a Alagon of drink,
To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye,

Of drink that is fit for a saint."

3.
He preach'd then with wonderful force,

The ignorant natives a-teaching ;
With a pint he wash'd down his discourse,

“ For," says he, “ I detest your dry preaching."
The people, with wonderment struck,

At a pastor so pious and civil,
Exclaimed, “ We're for you, my old buck,
And we pitch our blind gods to the devil,

Who dwells in hot water below."

4.
This ended, our worshipful spoon

Went to visit an elegant fellow,
Whose practice each cool afternoon

Was to get most delightfully mellow.
That day, with a black jack of beer,

It chanced he was treating a party ;
Says the saint, “ This good day, do you hear,
Í drank nothing to speak of, my hearty,

So give me a pull at the pot."

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