TO MY COUSIN IN AMERRIKY.

New Zealander, Volume XXII, Issue 2390, 29 March 1865, Page 3

TO MY COUSIN IN AMERRIKY.

Durram street, Belfast. Tom, dear, —What’ll I say to you? You doubkdistilled an’ highly rectified essence of rascals, you're still keepin’ up the tnurdher of yo:tr bastoly an’ ou-Christyan war ! I don’t mane yourself, Tom ; fur L know as well .s I do the count of my own toes that the last place where you’d like to be ra ikin’ your sowl is in the face of a cannon, or on proddin’ tarras with a baynet; an’ Peggy Lyon’s prayer to you, my boy. “Lang be’t sae.” But, North an* South, rebbles an’ loyal, Conledderates, Cou-Linkenites, Con-Clootyites, or whativer you are, it’s Slaughter away Every day Cutting the thro its of your brot tor men ; Shed ling, in slaughter, Blood like water : When will you cease from your murders when ? Widows are moaning, Ophans groaning— Wailing over the blood you’ve shed. Curses appalling, Skyward calling, From the mangled, and for the dead. Oh dear ! oh dear ! if you’d go as far as the good tiling as you’re gain’in the sarvis cf the Quid Fellow, it’s what you’d soon make Christyans of all the worl’. But to do that, Tom, I’m thinkin’ you’d need a few Christy ms at home, by way of a nestegg to begin with. I doubt if you have got them, boy. It’s what I think I could whittle a betther Christyan nor the pick of you out of a kippen of bo ir-'.hree. An’ what’s all the slaughter about, if a body might make so free as to ax ? In he same of til ■ broken erathers that the war was left walkin’ corpses with tiie hreth in them ; n the name of the dead that are beyont countin’ —in the name of all the sorrow that’s tuggin’ and te iri d at millions of hearts —in the name of die tears, an’ the blood, and the caoines—ave, an’ the curses, th it you have wrung from so many—what is ah the murdher about? Is the freedom of the South worth the red-hot price that’s rattled out in sm ikin’ coin from bubblin’ veins ? Is the power of the Yankees to rule the -oath worth all he sowls you have dash’d soreeehin’ into etimity ? Alt 1 you ast s— but I won’t sin again’any brute baste that follows his nather byevenin’ him to you —isn’ ou« life worth more nor all you're fight!u’ for ? Is it to free the slaves you want ? An’ wouldn’t the money spent in murdher buy out ivery nigger slave in the walls of Ameriky ten times over, with nt wastin’ a dhrop of blood without fillin’ up one red hole with butcher’d bodies—without havin’ one sweet vee darliu’ goin’ on her knees at night, an’ axin’ God what the Pres ; • dint did with her father ? Get out of that ! Do you think I don’t like the slaves as well us you I that hj ve seen how you love the niggers, and fought with you many s the time for them ? Oh, aon’t I know how you love them as the cat loves fresh throut—as the fox loves the chicken.

Maybe you’re repentin’ now of the way I saw you visa the niggers, when you pitched them away from knee'in’ beside you at rour prayers. Och, but you’re the hopeful pennytents ! you jist repent the way my lan’ladv's cat did wh -n she ate the canary. If you want to repent an’give the blacks fair play, why but you buy then out, instead of wast : n’ the mmey and tlie lives tliegither? You have no right I tell you. to pay in money an’ pay in blood both, when the one would do. I'll ty4l you more too—what I toul’ you two years a"o an’ more—You'll keep it up till the rebbles ilium the niy/ers into sogers, an’ let them oat on you like taygers. °\Vell, we I, well change the discourse—as the boy sa d to his mother when she was givin’ him down the bank-, for bein out all night courtin'. Here I’ve been foolandhrin’ away for a week or two, an’ I’m jist like a bit of a puppy dog that’s bemnuin’ to open its eyes on the ninth day, the crather. Is got a sight of the Town Commisiontrs no, it’s the Town Council they call them in these parts —and the petty Sesshions’ (what they call Police Court), forby the Boord of Gardyaus an’ the play-house. It’s what the only thing worth seein’ in the play-house is ihe purty girls that be doin’ like Pan'ymiut m n —cuttia’ all sorts of capers on the floor of the house. Mu-re’s one that's us party us a whole gennyration of picth rs. Vnothc-r acts everything, an’ she’s mi thr.-ss —aye, an - maxther t » —of everythi ig. ‘ An’ there’s one thrate of a girl —I didu t see her fora wheen nights - tliat’s diver enough to le Laly Chanciller of the Three Queendoins. Well, I saw the Town Council too. Maybe it wasn't jist in all its glory; but there was some of the glory on Au’ maybe it's myself didn’t look like a duck in th mder when I saw so many party men with ellygint red pttic ats or gowns over their shouldhers. Dear me, but a counth y girl in a fa r would be m tjuare consate with herself if she had oneof them on ! They werejist like the bangin’ judge ; au’ one of them, with a back gown, I tuck to be the Barristher* I'm toul’ the same gentleman doesn’t being to the body corpulent at all, but only keeps them in ordher. The first one I spied with the red gown was Mr. M’Lean ; a i’ thinks I, in my own mir.d, “ Bedad the Govennint’s got some sense at las . an’ made him a judge-thisis something like justis to the Cousarvative party. ’ The nixt one I seen was Mr Hea, without the _own. Och ! the ungrateful Whigs, says I, that didn’t make him a judge too 1 But when I spied so many gintlemen in red, thinks I, begorra they can’t surely all be Judges! If they are, there’ll he more law nor peace in Bel*

fast ! I foun’ out ray own ignorance, Tom, the way the awvers go to glory—by degrees. it’s a sore won’ for slandher—a body would think from the newspapers, that the Town f’ouncil were the dhreadfullest set of play-bovs from Carrickfargus to Kingdom Gome. An 1 mv ban’ to you, Tom, but they’re as quate a set of gintlemen os iver I h.-ard squabblin’. Of coorse they said something about lyin’, an’chatin’, an'par jury, an’ -sich things; but they said it so politely—as if it was a thing iverybody knew—'that it was a rale consolaytion to hear them. They put me in mind of the civil gintlemen that used to cut one another’s throats as if it was coortin’ they were, I wouldn’t ax to hear a qnater man nor Mr. Rea. But I’m toul’ they weren’t alwavs as quate as I saw them ; an’ maybe that’s the rayson they have their meetin’s on the lofr over the Police Offis— that the constables may be handy in case of a ruction. It’s mighty thoughtful of them, that same ! Howaniver, Tom, don’t you b’iieve all you see in the papers about the Council. Ivery paper has ts own tune, and daarn’t cock a lip to whistle any other. The Town Councilors, I tell you, boy, are a mighty illygint congregation —only they’re all prachers. As the professor says— With their robes around them streaming, In their crimson giory beaming, All the City Fa bers seeming To b« Judges in the land. Everywhere the tide of speaking From the red-robed sag.-s breaking- - Here in thunder—therein squeaking Tells the zeal that fires the band. Here in gentle tones ’tis flowing— There more eloquent’tis growing; Here, again, friend Rea is glowing Like thelshmad of the fray. While hi* arrows round are darting, He-e a Councillor is smarting, There one to ' is feet is starting To repel the shafts of Rea. The Bonrd of Gardyans is a mighty studdy, orthodocks gonnyration. I hey take their time, an’ I suppose they do things well, This while back they have been riddlin’ out the rights of a hettherodocks coortship ; but I donna hav they got all the ins an’ outs of it yet. When they’re takin’ in some of the wild Indyans of Belfast, they don’t ax them whatreligion they’re of : an’ they’re right. To ax the half of them that would be the same as axin’a beggarman what day he rode in Ids coach. What (hey do ax is, “ Where do vou go on Sunday ?” An’ they say to church, or to chapel ; when ivery one knows (hey hj ivn’t been inside of one or the other since pooshey was a kittlin. If they went in, some of them, they’d ondherstand it about as well as the brute baste of an Englishman did the church when he went to it one time in bis life. Says he, “You see, a chop was put into a box vor zuramit bad lie had done ; an’ he keep d a bawlin all the time vor marcy; an another ch pin a chest below him keep’d mockin’ of every word he zed, Then a little chop got sop into a tub, with a black zhirt on him, an’ he read zummit out of a paper ; an’ zum of the people luck d at him, an’ zum more zeep’t.” Hubbaboo ! wbillalew, Tom ! sure we have an investygation goin’ on about the shindy of .A ugust.—Mr. Dowse is down h-re to convart the Belfast people, an’ Mr. Barrv, that I niver seen before. But I think Mr. Dowse ought to have Dr. Macivor along with him ; for they’re in sore need here of a taste of his dneth: in’. The investygation is about how the shindy didn’t begin ; an’ how it’s to be kep’ from beginnin’ again; an’ how it was managed so well as to oome to sich a head. The Commishiners are mighty ticklish about lettin’ Belfast pollyticks into coort; but in they’ll be. in spite of all the Commishiners from Balheck to New Holland. Some people wanted to keep Mr. Rea out of the investygation, an’ to do the thing ca; cudach’y. Jist think of that—the notion of any public divelment in Belfast without Mr. Rea ! They might as well thry to make punch without spirits. In five minits’ time, dear life,' Mr. Rea was in the heart’s blood of it ; and I wish the same investygation luck when it gets red of him. Here’s a bit of a song I spun for him to lit to the Compnishiners—if he has any musick in his gizzard. If it’s well twisted, it may go to an ould tune he’s fond of— “ The Boyne Water”— In August of the present year We had a rattlin’ shindy, With many a batther’d head, my boys, A.u’ many a broken windy, We knew not what we fougnt about; But that made little matther, So long as we had ban’s to strike, An’ heeds that we could hatther King William an’ O’Connell were But littl ■ in our notions, An’ Church or Pi pe had little share, Bedad, in our devotions. We funght because we like sich spot Especially when dhrinkin’: Then bli ssin’s on the newspapers That kep’ the fun from sink n'. We did a little wreckin’ at The churches an’ the chappies, An’ mix’d the windy-sma hin’ with A taste of cuttin’ thrapples I Bu that was goin’ furdher ;han The new spapers intended— It spoiled the sport; an' you have come, Your worships, here to mend it. I’m proud to see that you’ve come here To ta-he us something furdher— The way to ke p a shindy up Wilhoi t committin’ murdher. I hope your wor-hips may succeed ; I’m sure you’ll find us willin’ To take a lesson from the crort, An’ slaughter without kil in’. If Mr. Rea finds any thrnbble in makin’ that go to the 11 Boyne Wather,”he may lilt it to “ Yankee Doodle”—that’s jist the same time sung fast. An’ I don’t see why Mr. M’Lean wouldn’t sing this other varse that the Fr fessor an’ myself fix’d for him to a tune I know he’s fond of— Altho’ we have fought, ’tis high time to forget it : We’re all in good humour and friendship to-day : The mischief we did in last August, why, let it, Like hailstones in summer, or mist, pass away, ’Tis the act of a fool To stir a foul pool : ’Tis wisdom to let it be still, I say. Let’s bury deep down The faults of the town : ’Tis time that our follies and struggles should cease ; Let’s meet at the grave of the maniac Past. And vow that the Future shall look to the peace, The progress, and pride of our own Belfast. That’s gospel, Tom, whether it’s poethry or not. So, f/eannach leaf, Barnet Maglone. Poscrip.— The Barry-Dowse inquest on the corpse of the Belfast ruction is goin’ on at the rate of a jig made of semmybrevos—if you know that much musick. It names about the same as a snail’s gallop. The inquest is showin’ nothin’ but what iverybody knew long ago, Mr. M‘Lean's backed out, an’nobody’s seemin’ly content. Tie Govennint dosen’t want to larn how- the shindy begun ; but only to see if it w-as carried on with any dacent fair play—to know where Sir. Grime slep’; where the Mare tuck istay ; whither Sir. M’Kitthrick wore throusers or small close in the spree ; whether the “ losbials” dhrunk ale or whiskey to keep their hearts up ; whether Patri- k’s Day or the Boyne Wather is the best tune for a monkey to dance to ; how m ny ton of coal it would take t boil a crcelful of thnrnips in'o sassengers—an’ sich orthographical illuminations. The people here don’t seem to want this— There’s a grumble from Rea, there’s a growl from SPLean, There's the cry of a score—“ Arrah, what do you mean, AVith your rovin’ commisbin’ to wandiior about, Play’in Hamlet the Dane, with the Prince’s part out 1 Go ’long with your nonsense, and find out the anise Of the mob playin’ foot-ball so long with the laws.” Ach, man ! but the Belfast people put their fut in it nice'v that they didn’t lave the commishiners to honld the inquest themselves, without sendin’lawyers to help them. Begorra, it looks like a rebellion itself, to see Mr. Dowse siltin’ as judge, an’ Sargent A msth ong (1 donna what ragement) pleadin’ afore him. It would Lave been as good as a play if all parties had staid away’, an’ left their worships g‘opin’ —. All alone by- themselves in their glory, To find . ut. the dear knows wh it, AA itliout ever a Whig or a Terv, To hep them in what they’d beat. To see how they’d manage the journey, Alone by themselves in the dark, AVith niver a local attorney To light them along with a spark. Twould be aiqual to sow-ens an’ butther, AVith crame rowlin’ down in a flood, To see how their Worships would flutther An’ flomuiher away in the mud. The inquest might do some good after all. Air. Barry’s sarmon was as good a one as yqu d hear in a month of sundays, only Ed be for puttin’ it another way. Here’s the speech he ought to have made - an" I donna, after all, but it’s the one he did make— Friends—Northerns country-men—attend to me : * 1 come to bury Faction : not to ask The cause why, in the month of August, he Ruled rampant in the town —o’er batter’d heads, Bruised bodies, broken limbs : I ask not why The furious neighbour shot his neighbour down— AAhy, 0 er the pallid corpse, the widow’s wail Rose terrible to heaven—whv the low. Deep, anguished moan of orphan’d infancy Bore swift-wing’d witness to the throne of God, Against the dark Satanic fury that Into perdition’s purlieus turned the town. 1 ask not why your ‘ csp-.tals were crammed ; Or why Belfast was likc a cit where

The fiend of civil warfare makes a hell Where Peace once smiled and Plenty had a home— On red Virginia’s blasted corpse-crammed soil. I come not here to ask of you the cause ; I come— we come—to try that never more, While rolls the Laggan to its present sea, While heaves the wave in Carrickfergns Pay, While skyward towers the summit of Cave Hill, While from your streets the sounds of busim ss swell, Or from your factories the smoke ascends— That never more shall Discord’s furious hand Reiden your pavements with the drops of life. If ye are loyal, why despise the laws ? If ye are patriots, why disgrace the land ? Why make the Irish name a mockery— A hissing and a scorn upon earth ? Why make the land we all are bound to love Mock’d by the nations of the world for '1 he wildest and the wickedest of strife ? _ Shame on you, men ! deep, burning, blasting shame On those who blight and ru.n Ireland’s name. Bv the disgrace you’ve heaped upon yourselves— By the exnense that you will have to bear By the distress that you have brought upon Yourselves and others by the sacred name Of that religion which ye have profaned By the prosper!tv that marks your tov.n But which year furious madness would destroy, Be brothers if vou can ; and if }'ou can t Be brothers, be not brutes, or fiends : be men ! B. M.

Taking a Snob Down a Peg.— A well-known countygentleman, who lately made a very telling and humorous speech at a public meeting in favor of abolishing tolls, is remarkable for his plain manner and exterior. He was one day seated comfortably in a first-class carriage in a train about to start from Bridge Street Station, at Glasgow. A snob, who had travelled second-class from Greenock to Glasgow, accompanied by- a lady, evidently his sweetheart, being about to return home, was induced, from the afternoon turning old wet, to treat himself and fair companion to a return by first-class. Popping his head into the compartment where sat our plain county man, h j , in gruff, insolent tone, said, as he and his crinolined friend pushed in to take their seats, “ Hilloa, old chap ! you’ve committed a mistake ; this, don’t you see, is a first-class carriage I “ Ou, is’t ? ” said the county man, affecting surprise ; “ then, if it’s firstclass, it’ll be fir gentlemen, an’ yi’ll ha’e to gang oot, fir ye (scanning him from head to foot) only seem to ha’e some 0’ the duds 0’ a gentleman.” Not a word from the snob, while his “ old chap ” continued— “ An’ ye’ve got a bit gilt chain tae, ye have, but ye’ll no likely ha’e a watch at the en’ o’t. seestu ? ” Snob still silent, and the speaker still went on, eyeing the snob's feet, “ An’ ye’ve got a pair 0’ yer mither’s shin on tae. Ye’ll no likely ha’e a first-class ticket, seestu.” The snob was still silent and taciturn. “ I’ll ha’e tae make the guard leuk ye’r ticket when we ;top at Paisla seestu.” Away whisked the train; but the snob did not breath" freely till he found it had passed Paisley and his “ old chap,” the Tarter, had got out there. jjriA To s for a Top-Sawyership.—A son of Erin having hired h : s services to cut some ice for the AVenham. Lake Company, was asked if he could us the cross-cut saw He replied that he “ con d surely.” He was sent accordingly, in company wiih his co-laborers, to cut some ice, and on reaching the centre of the lake, the saw produced with both handles sti lin their place. The verdant Paddy looking at the saw very cooly, put his hand in his pocket and drawing from it a peuy, said, “Now, Jamie, fair play, head or tail, who goes below.”