My harts in the Highlands shall have their hills clear, My harts in the Highlands no serf shall come near―― I’ll chase out the Gael to make room for the roe, My harts in the Highlands were ever his foe. _Punch_, November 8, 1856. ――――:o:―――― “O, WHISTLE, AND I WILL COME TO YOU.” [A youth was prosecuted at Newcastle Petty Sessions, County Limerick, in 1881, for having whistled at Mr. Hugh Murray Gunn, J.P., in a tone of derision.] O whistle, and I will arrest you, my lad, O whistle, and I will arrest you, my lad; Though your father and mother and all should go mad, O, whistle, and I will arrest you, my lad, But warily act, when you’re passing by me, And do not indulge in irreverent glee; Derisive deportment let nobody see, And pass as you were not a passing by me. O whistle, &c. But mind you are always respectful to me, Since rudeness with magistrates doesn’t agree; But far from the converse of naughty boys flee, For fear they should set you a-laughing at me. O whistle, &c. ―――― JOHN BARLEY-CORN, MY FOE. John Barley-Corn, my foe, John, The song I have to sing Is not in praise of you, John, E’en though you are a king. Your subjects they are legion, John, I find where’er I go; They wear your yoke upon their necks, John Barley-Corn, my foe. John Barley-Corn, my foe, John, By your despotic sway The people of our country, John, Are suffering to-day. You lay the lash upon their backs; Yet willingly they go And pay allegiance at the polls, John Barley-Corn, my foe. John Barley-Corn, my foe, John, You’ve broken many a heart, And caused the bitter tear, John, From many an eye to start. The widow and the fatherless From pleasant homes to go, And lead a life of sin and shame, John Barley-Corn, my foe. John Barley-Corn, my foe, John, May heaven speed the hour, When Temperance shall wear the crown And rum shall lose its power; When from the East unto the West The people all shall know Their greatest curse has been removed, John Barley-Corn, my foe! CHARLES F. ADAMS. ―――― TO THE DARING DUCKLING. (_By a Moderate Liberal_) Joe Chamberlain, my Joe, Sir, You seemed but lately bent On preaching Liberal Unity, To our extreme content. But now you say you will not play, Unless your pace we go. How about Liberal Unity, now, Joe Chamberlain, my Joe?