"To think that a bachelor free and bright, And shy of the sex as we found him, Should there at the altar, at dead of night, Be caught in the snares that bound him. "Few and short were the words that we said, Though of wine and cake partaking; We escorted him home from the scene of dread, While his knees were awfully shaking. "Slowly and sadly we marched him down, From the first to the lowermost storey; And we never have heard or seen the poor man Whom we left alone in his glory." These lines appeared in _Notes and Queries_ June 27, 1868, and are said to have been written by Thomas Hood. * * * * * THE FLIGHT OF O'NEILL, THE INVADER OF CANADA. "General O'Neill, who, at the head of the Fenian forces recently invaded Canada, seems to combine, together with his love for Ireland, a certain amount of affection for the ordinary enjoyments of life; for one complaint against him is, that the morning of the attack, when awakened at three o'clock by a captain belonging to his quarters, he merely said, "All right!" and fell asleep again. On two subsequent occasions he was awakened with no more practical result, and on being called a fourth time, got up. Even then, however, he declined to proceed at once with the glorious work of liberating Ireland, but said, "He guessed he would wait till breakfast." After breakfast this great patriot advanced at the head of his forces, but being surprised by a party of Canadian Volunteers, who fired upon the Fenians, immediately retired to his quarters, where he was found very comfortably lodged, and was arrested by General Foster, the United States Marshal, for a breach of the neutrality laws." Not a gun was heard, not a bugle note, As over the border he hurried; He took to his heels without firing a shot, Only looking tremendously flurried. No ridiculous scruples inspired his breast, As over the ground he jolted; Not caring a straw what became of the rest, He unhesitatingly bolted. And snug in his quarters, at dead of night, The Yankee General found him; His bed all ready, his candle alight, And bottles of whisky around him. And when at his door came the clanking and noise, His courage all sank to zero; For, though at the head of the Fenian "bhoys," He wasn't exactly a hero. When the Britishers find that he really is gone, In impotent rage they upbraid him; If Mr. O'NEILL they had laid hands upon At that moment, they surely had flay'd him! Few and short were the words they said-- They only expressed their sorrow That they hadn't caught him, and put him to bed Where he wouldn't wake up on the morrow. But safe in New York, under FOSTER'S convoy, He has gone to tell his own story; Where "shut up" very much, this broth of a boy Is at present alone in his glory! _Judy_, 22nd June, 1870.