T SONS OF THE EMERALD ISLE FATHER O'FLYNN Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety, Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn, Kindliest creature in ould Donegal. Don't talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity, Come, I vinture to give ye my word, Niver the likes of his logic was heard, Into thayology, Troth! and conchology if he'd the call. Och! Father O'Flynn, you've the wonderful way wid you, All ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you, All the young childer are wild for to play wid you, Still, for all you've so gentle a soul, Gad, you've your flock in the grandest control, Coaxin' onaisy ones, Liftin' the lazy ones on wid the stick. And, though quite avoidin' all foolish frivolity, Where was the play-boy could claim an equality Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest, All to the laity? Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too?” Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn, Tinderest teacher, and Alfred Perceval Graves [1846 FATHER MOLLOY OR, THE CONFESSION PADDY MCCABE was dying one day, And Father Molloy he came to confess him; Paddy prayed hard he would make no delay, But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless him. "First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy, "For I'm thinking you've not been a very good boy." To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle; So I'll say in a word I'm no very good boy-- 'Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy, "The manifold sins that humanity's heir to; And when you hear those that your conscience annoy, And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety, Your Riverence's fist will be soon black and blue; For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small, 'Tis your Riverence knows how to absolve them, astore; So I'll say in a word, I'm no very good boy— And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy." "Well," says Father Molloy, "if your sins I forgive, So you must forgive all your enemies truly; And promise me also that, if you should live, You'll leave off your old tricks, and begin to live newly." "I forgive ev'rybody," says Pat, with a groan, "Except that big vagabone Micky Malone; And him I will murdher if ever I can—” "Tut, tut!" says the priest, "you're a very bad man; For without your forgiveness, and also repentance, You'll ne'er go to Heaven, and that is my sentence." "Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard case— With your Riverence and Heaven I'm content to make pace; But with Heaven and your Riverence I wondher-Och hone― I forgive--if I die—but as sure as I live Samuel Lover [1797-1868] PADDY O'RAFTHER PADDY, in want of a dinner one day, Stole from a priest a fat pullet, they say, And went to confession just after; "Your riv'rince," says Paddy, "I stole this fat hen.” "What, what!" says the priest, "at your ould thricks again? Faith, you'd rather be stalin' than sayin' amen, "Sure, you Paddy O'Rafther!" wouldn't be angry," says Pat, "if you knew That the best of intintions I had in my view For I stole it to make it a prisint to you, And you can absolve me afther." "Do you think," says the priest, "I'd partake of your theft? Of your seven small senses you must be bereft You're the biggest blackguard that I know, right and left, Paddy O'Rafther." "Then what shall I do with the pullet," says Pat, "If your riv'rince won't take it? By this and by that I don't know no more than a dog or a cat What your riv'rince would have me be afther." "Why, then," says his rev'rence, "you sin-blinded owl, Give back to the man that you stole from his fowl: For if you do not, 'twill be worse for your sowl, Paddy O'Rafther." Says Paddy, "I asked him to take it-'tis thrue Says Paddy, nigh choken with laughter. "By my throth," says the priest, "but the case is absthruse; If he won't take his hen, why the man is a goose: 'Tis not the first time my advice was no use, Paddy O'Rafther. "But, for sake of your sowl, I would sthrongly advise To some one in want you would give your suppliesSome widow, or orphan, with tears in their eyes; And then you may come to me afther." So Paddy went off to the brisk Widow Hoy, And the pullet between them was eaten with joy, Then Paddy went back to the priest the next day, And told him the fowl he had given away To a poor lonely widow, in want and dismay, "Well, now," says the priest, "I'll absolve you, my lad, Paddy O'Rafther!" Samuel Lover [1797-1868] LARRIE O'DEE Now the Widow McGee, And Larrie O'Dee, Had two little cottages out on the green, With just room enough for two pig-pens between. One morning said he: "Och! Misthress McGee, It's a waste of good lumber, this runnin' two rigs, |