While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her right eye,

That knock men down in the market town,
As right and left they fly,-
While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far,

For the doctor's art

Cannot cure the heart

That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,
Has strings of ducks and geese,

But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these,
While she among her poultry sits,
Just like a turtle dove,

Well worth the cage, I do engage,
Of the blooming god of love!
While she sits in her low-back car
The lovers come near and far,
And envy the chicken

That Peggy is pickin',

As she sits in the low-backed car.

O I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,

Than a coach and four, and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride.

For the lady would sit fornenst me

On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me
With my arm around her waist,-
While we drove in the low-backed car

To be married by Father Mahar.

O my heart would beat high
At her glance and her sigh,
Though it beat in a low-backed car!

THE WAR-SHIP OF PEACE

The Americans exhibited much sympathy towards Ireland when the famine raged there in 1847. A touching instance was then given how the better feelings of our nature may employ even the enginery of destruction to serve the cause of humanity: an American frigate (the Jamestown I believe) was dismantled of all her warlike appliances, and placed at the disposal of the charitable to carry provisions.-Author.

S

WEET Land of Song! thy harp doth hang

Upon the willows now,

While famine's blight and fever's pang

Stamp misery on thy brow;

Yet take thy harp, and raise thy voice,
Though faint and low it be,

And let thy sinking heart rejoice
In friends still left to thee !

Look out-look out-across the sea
That girds thy emerald shore,
A ship of war is bound for thee,
But with no warlike store;

Her thunder sleeps-'tis Mercy's breath
That wafts her o'er the sea;

She goes not forth to deal out death,
But bears new life to thee!

Thy wasted hand can scarcely strike
The chords of grateful praise;
Thy plaintive tone is now unlike
Thy voice of former days;
Yet, even in sorrow, tuneful still,
Let Erin's voice proclaim
In bardic praise, on every hill,
Columbia's glorious name!

THE WHISTLIN' THIEF

WH

HEN Pat came over the hill,
His colleen fair to see,
His whistle low, but shrill,
The signal was to be.

(Pat whistles.)

"Mary," the mother said,
"Some one is whistling sure."
Says Mary, "'Tis only the wind
Is whistling through the door."

(Pat whistles" Garryowen.")

"I've lived a long time, Mary,
In this wide world, my dear,
But a door to whistle like that
I never yet did hear.”

"But, mother, you know the fiddle
Hangs close beside the chink,
And the wind upon the strings
Is playing the tune, I think."
(The pig grunts.)

"Mary, I hear the pig,

Unaisy in his mind.'

"But, mother, you know, they say The pigs can see the wind.'

"That's true enough in the day,
But I think you may remark、
That pigs, no more nor we,

Can see anything in the dark."
(The dog barks.)

"The dog is barking now,

The fiddle can't play the tune." "But, mother, the dogs will bark Whenever they see the moon.'

"But how could he see the moon, When, you know, the dog is blind? Blind dogs won't bark at the moon, Nor fiddles be played by the wind.

"I'm not such a fool as you think,
I know very well it is Pat :-
Shut your mouth, you whistlin' thief,
And go along home out o' that !

"And you be off to your bed,

Don't play upon me your jeers;
For though I have lost my eyes,
I haven't lost my ears!"

66

WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE?

"W

HAT will you do, love, when I am going,
With white sail flowing,

The seas beyond ?

What will you do, love, when waves divide us,
And friends may chide us

For being fond ?”

"Though waves divide us, and friends be chiding, In faith abiding,

I'll still be true!

And I'll pray for thee on the stormy ocean,
In deep devotion-

That's what I'll do!"

"What would you do, love, if distant tidings Thy fond confidings

Should undermine?

And I, abiding 'neath sultry skies,

Should think other eyes

Were as bright as thine?"

"Oh, name it not !-though guilt and shame

Were on thy name,

I'd still be true:

But that heart of thine-should another share it

I could not bear it!

What would I do?"

"What would you do, love, when home returning, With hopes high-burning,

With wealth for you,

If my bark, which bounded o'er foreign foam,
Should be lost near home-

Ah! what would you do?"