I must now close my letter-there's Aunt, in full And you, ye countless Tracts for Sinners,
screech,
Blow all your little penny trumpets.
Wants to take me to hear some great Irvingite He comes, the reverend man, to tell

The six childher with you, my dear Judy, ochone!
And poor I wid myself, left condolin' alone.

But it was, after all-for, by spellin' quite slow, First I made out "Rev. Mortimer"- then a great "0;"

again,

Up I jump'd, like a sky-lark, my jewel, at that

How I came to this England, o'er say and o'er And, at last, by hard readin' and rackin' my skull
lands,
And what cruel hard walkin' I've had on my hands, Out it came, nate as imported, “O'Mulligan!"
Is, at this present writin', too tadious to speak,
So I'll mintion it all in a postscript, next week:-
Only starv'd I was, surely, as thin as a lath,
Till I came to an up-and-down place they call Bath,
Where, as luck was, I manag'd to make a meal's
meat,

name,

Div'l a doubt on my mind, but it must be the same.
"Masther Murthagh, himself," says I, "all the
world over!

My own fosther-brother- by jinks, I'm in clover.
Though there, in the play-bill, he figures so grand,
One wet-nurse it was brought us both up by hand,
And he'll not let me shtarve in the inemy's land!"

Well, to make a long hishtory short, niver doubt
But I manag'd, in no time, to find the lad out;
And the joy of the meetin' bethuxt him and me,
Such a pair of owld cumrogues was charmin' to

see.

I am,

But luck has two handles, dear Judy, they say,
And mine has both handles put on the wrong way. Nor is Murthagh less plas d with the' evint than
For, pondherin', one morn, on a drame I'd just had
Of yourself and the babbies, at Mullinafad,
Och, there came o'er my sinses so plasin' a flutther,
That I spilt an owld Countess right clane in the
gutther,

As he just then was wanting a Valley-de-sham;
And, for dressin' a gintleman, one way or t'other,
Your nate Irish lad is beyant every other.

Muff, feathers and all!-the descint was most But now, Judy, comes the quare part of the case;
awful,
And, in throth, it's the only drawback on my place,
And what was still worse, faith- I knew 'twas 'Twas Murthagh's ill luck to be cross'd, as you

unlawful:

For, though, with mere women, no very great evil,
To' upset an owld Countess in Bath is the divil!
So, liftin' the chair, with herself safe upon it,
(For nothin' about her was kilt, but her bonnet,)
Without even mentionin' "By your lave, ma'am,"
I tuk to my heels and here, Judy, I am!

What's the name of this town I can't say very well,
But your heart sure will jump when you hear what
befell

Your own beautiful Larry, the very first day,
(And a Sunday it was, shinin' out mighty gay,)
When his brogues to this city of luck found their

way.

Bein' hungry, God help me, and happenin to stop,
Just to dine on the shmell of a pasthry-cook's shop,
I saw, in the window, a large printed paper,
And read there a name, och ! that made my heart
caper-

Though printed it was in some quare A B C,
That might bother a schoolmasther, let alone me.
By gor, you'd have laugh'd, Judy, could you've but
listen'd,

As, doubtin', I cried, "why it is!-no, it isn't:"

And, God knows, between us, a comic'ler pair
Of twin Protestants couldn't be seen any where.

Poor dear Irish Church!-he to-day sketch'd a view

Of her history and prospects, to me at least new,

Next Tuesday (as towld in the play-bills I min- And which (if it takes as it ought) must arouse

tion'd,

Address'd to the loyal and godly intintion'd,)

His rivirence, my master, comes forward to
preach,-

Myself doesn't know whether sarmon or speech,
But it's all one to him, he's a dead hand at each;
Like us, Paddys, in gin'ral, whose skill in orations
Quite bothers the blarney of all other nations.

The whole Christian world her just rights to espouse.
As to reasoning—you know, dear, that's now of no

use,

People still will their facts and dry figures prodace,
As if saving the souls of a Protestant flock were
A thing to be manag'd “according to Cocker!"
In vain do we say, (when rude radicals hector
At paying some thousands a year to a Rector,
In places where Protestants never yet were,)

But, whisht!-there's his Rivirence, shoutin' out" Who knows but young Protestants may be born

over

Not forgettin' the mark of the red currant whiskey
She got at the fair when yourself was so frisky.
The heavens be your bed!-I will write, when I
can again,

Yours to the world's end,

there?"

And granting such accident, think, what a shame,
If they didn't find Rector and Clerk when they

came!

It is clear that, without such a staff on full pay,
These little Church embryos must go astray;
And, while fools are computing what Parsons
would cost,
[Lost!
Precious souls are meanwhile to the' Establishment

In vain do we put the case sensibly thus ;-
They'll still with their figures and facts make a fuss,
And ask "if, while all, choosing each his own road,
Journey on, as we can, towards the Heavenly Abode,
It is right that seven eights of the travellers should
pay

LARRY O'BRANIGAN. For one eighth that goes quite a different way?"—
Just as if, foolish people, this wasn't, in reality,
A proof of the Church's extreme liberality,
That, though hating Popery in other respects,
She to Catholic money in no way objects;
And so liberal her very best Saints, in this sense.
That they even go to heaven at the Catholic's ex-
pense.

LETTER VI.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS.
ELIZABETH

But, though clear to our minds all these arguments be,
People cannot or will not their cogency see;
And, I grieve to confess, did the poor Irish Church

How I grieve you're not with us!-pray, come, if Stand on reasoning alone, she'd be left in the

you can,

Ere we're robb'd of this dear oratorical man,
Who combines in himself all the multiple glory
Of Orangeman, Saint, quondam Papist and Tory;-
(Choice mixture! like that from which, duly con-
founded,

The best sort of brass was, in old times, com-
pounded)-

The sly and the saintly, the worldly and godly,
All fus'd down in brogue so deliciously oddly!
In short, he's a dear-and such audiences draws,
Such loud peals of laughter and shouts of applause,
As can't but do good to the Protestant cause.

lurch.

It was therefore, dear Lizzy, with joy most sincere." That I heard this nice Reverend O' something we've here,

Produce, from the depths of his knowledge and
reading,

A view of that marvellous Church, far exceeding.
In novelty, force, and profoundness of thought,
All that Irving himself, in his glory, e'er taught

Looking through the whole history, present and past,

Of the Irish Law Church, from the first to the last;

For, observe, the more low all her merits they And the friends of the Sabbath must speak out.

And the more all good Christians must deem it Saw to-day, at the raffle—and saw it with pain—

And showed, by upholding the toilet's sweet rites, That the whole in the Apocalypse may be found That we, girls, may be Christians, without being out,

As clear and well-prov'd, he would venture to This, I own, much alarms me; for though one's

Thou wilt find quite enough (till I'm somewhat Making "Company's Christians 1" perhaps costs