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Letter from Captain SYMONDS.

(Private.) DEAR SIR, I HERE transmit you the Second Canto of Daniel O'Rourke. You see my friend is not pleased at the incorrectness of your typography in his first Canto. Entre nous, he is particularly displeased at your calling him Fagarty. All the blood of his family is up about it. He says you might as well call your publisher Blockwood. So be more careful. Your's &c. R. T. SYMONDS.

H. P. 52d. P. S.-You ought not to have published my private letter, but if you do so again, you may as well put my name at full length. I hate initials. Your capitals bring up sad recollections of A B C, and other curst school remembrances.

Letter from MR FOGARTY.

Blarney, Aug. 31st, 1820. MR EDITOR, HAVING had occasion to go to Cork on Wednesday evening last, I was delighted to find, that my attempt of embodying the story of Daniel O'Rourke in ottava rima had met with your approbation. Without looking over the poem, I immediately invited a party of my friends to the Crown Tavern, to enjoy with them a tumbler of punch and a laugh over your inimi. table Magazine. I invited my old companions, Jackson the flying quaker, Tommy Holt, George C. Beale, Bob Olden, and one or two other men of literature. After discussing a few oysters, (the first of the season,) some mutton kidneys, a couple of lobsters, and a few pots of porter, we ordered in our jorums of punch, and placed the flying quaker in the chair, to read aloud my epic stanzas. at was my astonishment, when at the very second verse we discovered a most appalling error. How was it possible Mr Editor that you made me rhyme " crewto Juan,” and that you could alter the succeeding line so much from what I sent you, making nonsense thereof? I cannot divine the reason. My memory being rather faulty, I could not at the moment recollect the words of the original, so it was determined as soon as Tommy had finished the plate of crisped potatoes and butter, that he had ordered for himself to finish his supper with, he should set off to the top of Sunday's well, (about a mile distant,) where I had left the manuscript for the perusal of an old maiden lady, and fetch it to us. To this Tommy objected, but was ultimately overruled, and despatched on his errand. We discussed divers matters, and had a song or two in his absence, (I shall send them to you if you would wish it : they are original.) Master Tommy returned, puffing and blowing with the manuscript in one hand, and the straw hat in the other, and we proceeded. The lines that you have taken the liberty to alter, ran thus :

“ Heavens ! how unlike the riff-raff cockney crew, one

Finds praised in Scotch review the blue and yellow.” All exclaimed, this was too bad, that it could be no error of the press-Beale actually gloated with astonishment_Tommy sarcastically supposed that the fault must have been my own, as I write rather a pot-hook hand; Olden remarked he could throw no light on the mistake, it was beyond his comprehension; the flying quaker said it was quite inumportant; at last, it was agreed to go on with the poem. When we came to the twelfth verse it was worse and worse; the poor author is made to commit what, if the article was not an Irish one, would be considered a good blunder ; he says, “ darkness reigned here;" and in the same line that, “ the brilliant moon threw lovely lustre o'er the scene”-and all this blundering from carelessness in omitting the word not. I could scarcely contain myself at this mistake, and I saw the boys were

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pig” for “s

laughing in their sleeves at me, but they were silent. We met other errors, such as arms” for “ arm,"

jug," “ ways" for wags,” but we let these pass without much comment. It was resolved however, to state to you our sentiments on the occasion, and I have thus done so. I now pulled from out my pocket the manuscript of the second canto, and read it to the company. They approved of it highly, but begged that I would make an alteration in the two last lines of the second verse. According to the advice of my friends, I have employed Ballydehob, a printer's devil, to copy my manuscript in a fair round hand, so that I hope we will have no more blunders. Our business being now over, we tackled to the punch, and after two or three more songs and a speech from Bob Olden, we adjourned ; promising to meet each other when the September Number of the Magazine makes its appearance in Cork, and sit in judgment on the second canto of Daniel. I remain Sir, Your humble Servant,

FOGARTY O'FOGARTY. P. S.-My Christian name is Fogarty, not Fagarty, as you have facetiously imagined. Have the goodness to pay especial attention to the correction of this, as it is by much the most important error you have committed.


An Epic Poem, in Six Cantos.




סגְרַאֵלֶה בְּיַן שְׁנוּ וּבַעֲבָר תָּעוּ

Isaiah, xxviii. 7. They also have erred through wine, and through strong drink are out of the way."

« Now my own delights I make,
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly brandy can partake,

At thee, sweet Daisy !-WORDSWORTH.

As the sun moves to rest below the wave,

With streams of dazzling lustre at his feet;
As sinks to death, the generous and the brave,

Whose bright career, tho' glorious, was but fleet;
As when the ship whose sides the billows lave,

Parts sorrowing friends in hope again to meet,
So Canto first will disappear from view,
When merry folks have scanned it thro' and thro'.

But this fair sun, to-morrow's dawn, will rise,

In splendour rivalling his setting ray,
The warrior, tho' beneath the turf he lies,

Will thro' his son, still bear the palm away:
The ship that now with swelling canvas flies,

Soon will return to greet its well-known bay,
Thus Canto second on your view will burst,
In type more perfect than did Canto first.

We left, if I mistake not, Paddy Blake

Waiting most anxiously for Mr Dan,
Whose jolly face, expected long, would make

The milk-white froth again o’ertop the can.

To say the truth, our Paddy could not take

His drop alone-but, as the story ran,
With jovial friends, he valued not a feather
To have a pull, long, strong, and all together.

The cuckoo-clock now pointed half-past ten,

And sad forebodings darken’d Paddy's brow,
His very nose grew pale, and paler, when:

He pictured to himself some ruffian row,
Or white boys close concealed in lonely glen,

Fellers alike of Christian and of cow,
If Dan, thought he, be met by such as these,
No ale to-night he'll taste, nor bread, nor cheese.

That times are honester must be confess'd,

For these marauders prowl about no more,
The carder, caravat, and shanavest,
Have lost the knack of bursting in your

I never could behold (at least with zest)

From wretches' backs the bleeding fibres tore ;
Yet such was long the practice of this school,
To card up backs as combers card your


A well-known knock dispell’d his rising fears,

And oped the rustic portal-slowly in
Dan trots, well laden-as if press’d with years,

His breast was in close contact with his chin;
His burden in a twinkling disappears,

While his whole face is coil'd into a grin,
For fear, combined with joy, some writers say,
Will often make a face look quite outrée.t

Why what the deuce ! how came you Dan by this ?

A good full anker"-" Hush !-I'll tell you all,
But sharks are out-It will not be amiss

To get a drink first,--we will have a haul
From out this chap—'tis mild as milkmaid's kiss

The sailors tell me-stop you there, I'll call
For pipes and mugs, a little cheese to eat,
For we'll be merry here at any rate.”

Then Mistress Mulshinane, the Daisy Queen,

Brought forth a stool to prop the anker on,
Placed pipes, tobacco box, and mugs between

Our worthy pair-the giant cheese upon
The polished table, frequently was seen

To bear the knife while ever and anon,
The cups of brandy, unalloyed and pure,
Followed each other swift, though very sure.

Carder, shanavest, caravat, as well as white-boys, in the last verse, are all names of parties in Ireland. I have not time to write notes to describe what were their principles. Vide Musgrave or Plowden, or any other of the heavy historians of Ireland. I can only say, that they had, in general, a tendency to Whiggism.

+ See Darwin's Zoonomia, Lavater's Physiognomy, and Bell's Anatomy of Paintingmighty pretty books, by the bye.


“ I just had passed by Darby Murphy's farm,

On my way here, (quoth Dan) had cross'd the green,
Whistling right merrily to keep me warm,

And scarce had got half way down Con's boreen, *
When some one from behind me, quite unseen,

Tapp'd on my shoulder ;-Turning in alarm,
I asked his business,” a“ do not be faint-hearted,
If brave, I'll make your fortune e'er we've parted.'

“ I now had time to look, 'twas an old dog,

A sailor-chap, who told me, if I'd go
And help his comrades, I should have more grog

Than I could drink, or bear away in tow;
To make my story short, beneath the Hog, t

The smuggler's liquor I worked hard to stow,
And when we settled every thing quite handy,
He gave me this a guinea--this, the brandy.

“ Then now let's send this trash of ale away,

And take to what is purer and much stronger,
And while that creature there, the moon, will stay,

We'll stick together aye, or even longer. I
For by my faith, my friend, 'tis many a day,

Since such we've tasted, -Give us now a song, or
A proper toast,”—“Heregoes-I'll give your daughter
A flowing cup-Pshaw, never mind the water."

Ah! Mr Dan, I'm sure you little know,

What mischief now you're doing to your stomach,
How many plagues, how many torments flow,

From drams that seem as mild to you as some hock;
Believe me, for this joke your blood will flow,

And you'll toss, turn, and tumble on your hammock,
Oh! think in time from this temptation flee !
And shun pill, bolus, draught, and doctor's fee.

Brandy's deceitful liquor, by mine honour,

It mounts so quickly to the captious brain,
And like a young mare, when you first get on her,

It speeds like lightning till you reel again ;
'Tis true perhaps that, on occasions, one or

Two jolly bumpers may be safely ta’en,
Such as when damp or frost has made you shiver ;
But even then 'tis hurtful to the liver.

'Tis pity Daniel had not such advice ;-

(Hold-I must not anticipate my story),
But Cogniac, when smuggled, will entice

Most sober livers ; from the man that's hoary

A lane, Hibernice. A rustical sort of wynd. † A rock so called from its shape, below it are caves, said to be the haunt of mermaids. On this point I shall not dwell, but I am pretty positive th are the haunt of smugglers. * Burn's says something to the same effect:

It is the moon, I ken her horn,

She's blinkin' o'er the lift sae hie,
She shines sae bright to wile us hame,

But by my sooth she'll wait a wce.


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To the young babe, such poisonous stuff is nice ; *

Your soldier sometimes will it help to glory,
But oftener to black eyes, and foolish quarrels,
And thus is foe to body and to morals.

But there is liquor too, (sound sense must teach)

Fit for all folks-I therefore would not lack
Such wine, if I had guests, as would suit each ;

To lawyers I would give the sharp Bar-sac,
To attorneys rich canary,--and I'd reach

To doctors vin de Grave, (they like the smack,)
To sailors Port,--and Parsons should grow misty
On good Lac Virginis, or Lachryma Christi.

The kilted Highlander would seek for Mountain,-

The soldier--Tent, and noisy Muscatel,-
The fancy_Claret, streaming as from fountain,

And dandies-lots of Cape love mighty well;
No schoolmaster would find his fair account in

Declining Hoc-warriors in sack excel;
Excuse these puns-but if you'd know the truth,
I learned them froin Jack Curran in my youth.

Thus Daniel and his friend sat face to face,

And from the anker drew their mellow store;
The bumpers quickly one another chase,

'Mid merry song, and laugh, and boisterous roar;
No wonder that their mirth should thus increase,

For Dan ne'er felt such happy hours before ;
He thought this night the proudest of his life,
And dreamt not once of home, or child, or wife.

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Our worthy Dan at last began to think

His head was not so steady as it ought ;
And now and then his eye-lids gave a blink;

The furniture quite civil, too, he thought,
For chair and picture bow'd to every wink;

And the low candle into two was wrought;
But my coy muse won't tell—although I'd thank her,
Whether they finished all was in the anker.

19. +

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* The female part of the lower orders of the population of Ireland, do actually hold (like Count Fathom's mother) that it is good to suckle babes with alcohol-vulgarly called whisky.

+ In the lost verse, (we have not time at present to explain how it was lost) Daniel appears to have left the Mountain Daisy. Editor.

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