When France, torn and bleeding, her chivalry slain, Lay gasping and faint upon Fontenoy’s plain, Not vain the appeal that her proud monarch made; The war-cry of Erin, a wild slogan, rang O’er the clamor of battle, as swiftly they sprang From their feet to the charge, and with avalanche might Swept down on the victors, who scattered in flight, Borne back by the steel of the Irish Brigade!
Then, hurrah! for the fame of our faithful and brave, Unforgotten they rest, though across the deep wave, In far distant lands, are their weary bones laid. Long, long be remembered the lesson they taught, They loved the green island, and died where they fought; With face to the foeman unconquered they fell. May we fight the battle of freedom as well For the flag and the cause of the Irish Brigade!
Justice in Ireland, as administered by those awful instruments of the law, the omniscient J. P.’s, is a profoundly solemn thing. The high priest of the Jewish sanctuary, the sacred Brahmin of the Buddhist temple, the Sheikh-ul-Islam of the Mohammedan faith, has only about one-tenth the idea of his own stupendous importance that a West British honorary magistrate possesses. They believe themselves to be not only pillars and ornaments of the glorious English Constitution, but its very corner-stones. Therefore, when one of these Olympic deities condescends to unbend to our more humble level, and actually makes a joke, we should be grateful to his Mightiness for letting us know that, great as he is, he is but human after all. Such an incident is worthy of imperishable record, and we eagerly copy the following from an Irish exchange:--
“In giving his decision at the Abbeyfeale quarter sessions relative to an alleged insult to a sub-constable, which insult consisted of the defendant’s whistling ‘Harvey Duff,’ the chairman said: ‘There is a difference between a policeman and an ordinary individual. When a policeman is hooted or whistled at, it is the office he holds is held up to contempt. It is not Sub-Constable Snooks [_laughter_] that is insulted, but it is the office that is held by Snooks.’ [_Laughter._]”
Who but an Irish J. P. could have emitted from his brilliant intellect that bright sparkle about Snooks? The delicacy and yet the pungency of the wit, added to the simplicity and yet profundity of the reasoning, deserve immortalizing in glowing verse, and with feelings of deepest admiration I dedicate this rhythmic paraphrase of his wonderful ideas to that gorgeous Abbeyfeale chairman:--