we bate the Bill out of Bull."

"An' how would ye know, at all, at all?"

"How would I know, is it? D'ye take me for a fool?"

"Arrah, thin, sure I would not judge ye by yer looks!"

That is a model bar spar, the combatants drinking dog's-nose,
sometimes called "powdher an' ball"--a drink of neat whiskey washed
down by a pot of porter. The Connaught folk drink whiskey neat, but
usually follow the spirit with water. They take up both glasses at
once, and after a loving sniff at the poteen they pour it slowly down,
the shebeen stuff tasting like a torchlight procession. Then they
hastily toss off the water, making a wry face, and mostly addressing
to the despised fluid the remark--

"Ye'll find IT gone on before!"

The desperate appeal of the Parnellite party for funds has evoked much
merriment among Irish Unionists, and much burning scorn from
anti-Parnellites--who themselves have much need of the money. A young
friend has sent me the following parody, adapted from an old and
well-known, melody:--

The patriot came down like a wolf on the fold,
And all that he asked was their silver and gold;
And he pocketed all that he got, as his fee,
From the shores of the Liffey to rocky Tralee.
Tho' Pat looked as naked and bleak as his soil,
Yet there stood the patriot to sack up the spoil.
And from parish to parish the box went its rounds--
If we give you our speeches you must give us your pounds.

The coming golden time is neatly hinted at. Home Rule will pay for
all:--

When it comes, you no longer shall lie in a ditch,
Every beggar among you at once shall be rich;
The hedger and ditcher shall have an estate,
And drive his four horses, and dine off his plate.
What! you won't? And your champion in want of a meal,
With his coat out at elbows, his shoes down at heel;
With his heart all as black as his speeches in print!
Boys, I know what you'll do: you'll just keep back the Rint.
Now down with your cash, never think of the jail,
For Erin's true patriots the Virgin is bail;
She'll rain down bank notes till the bailiff is blind--
Still you're slack! Then I'll tell you a piece of my mind.

The priest is invoked to compel unwilling subscribers:--

Would you like to be sent, in the shape of a ghost,
To be pokered by demons and browned like a toast?
Or be hung in a blaze with a hook in your backs,
Till you all melt away like a