SELECT POETRY.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume II, Issue 135, 29 September 1871, Page 6

SELECT POETRY.

THE "ARKANSAW" CATS, In anew rolunie of American poems we find, the following version of the Kilkenny cats:— There was a man in Arkansaw As let his passions rise, And not unfrequently picked out Some other varmint's eyes. His name was Tuscaloosa Sam, And often he would say, '• There's not a cuss in Arkansaw I can't whip any day." One morn a stranger, passin* by Heard Sammy talkin' so, When down he scrambled frpm. his. hoes, And off his coat did go. '• My boy," says he, * * it's my belief, Whomever you may be, That I kin make you screech, and smell Partikler agony." They clinched like two rampageous bean, And then went down a bit; They swore a stream of six-inch oaths, And fit, and fit, and fit. And so they " fit, and fit, and fit " on through ten stanzas, until, jist at cock-crow, suddently, There came an awful pause, And I and my old man run out To ascertain the cause. The sun was rising in the yeast, And lit the hull concern, But not a sign of either chap Was found at any turn. Yet in the region where they fit, We found, to our surprise, One pint of buttons, two big knives, Some whiskers, and four eyes ! ♦ IN THE TUNNEL. (By the Author of the " Heathen Chinee.") Didn't know Flynn— Flynn of Virginia— Long as he's been 'yar ? Look'ce here, stranger, Whar hev you been? Here in this tunnel He was my pardner, That same Tom Flynn-r-Working together, In wind and weather, Day out and in. Didn't know Flynn ! Well, that is queer ; Why, it's a sin To think of Tom Flynn, Tom with his cheer, Tom without fearStranger, look 'yar ! Thar in the drift, Back to the wall, He held the timbers Ready to fall; Then in the darkness I heard him call: " Run for your life, Jake ! Run, for your wife's sake ! Don't wait for me." And that was all Heard in the din, Heard of Tom Flynn— Flynn of Virginia. That's all about Flynn of Virginia. That lets me out, Here in the damp— Out of the sun— That 'ar derned lamp Makes my eyes run. Well, there—l'm done. But, sir, when you 'll Hear the next fool Asking of Flynn— Flynn of Virginia— Just you chip in Say you knew Flynn; Say that you've bean 'yar.