St. Patrick, ’tis said, cleared Ireland’s bogs Of serpents and reptiles――toads, tadpoles and frogs―― But a saint of our day shows a far greater wonder―― For good Father Matthew’s got alcohol under! St. Patrick did well――and we give him a glass Of pure cold water――so round let it pass! We drink to his name――’tis a bright one in story, And, wreathed with green shamrock, shines ever in glory; For if we will read the old legend aright, The reptiles he vanquished so bravely in fight Were druidical monsters――dark errors and crimes―― Which he drove, with the cross, from Erin’s fair climes; But alas! when the saint had long slept in the grave, A serpent, more monstrous, crept out from the wave; He seemed a good genius――was joyous and frisky―― And so he was welcomed, and they christened him WHISKEY. A favorite he grew, and at wedding or fair―― By every one cherished――sure Whiskey was there! And all the world fancied, when he took a part, Though ’t were praying or dancing, it came from the heart. But at last it was seen that a demon of night Had passed himself off as an angel of light; For, in moments of glee, like a serpent he stole Unseen to the bosom, and coiled in the soul! Nor was this all――for Whiskey’s a fellow That lives in each liquor, which makes one mellow―― And though he may dwell in a hogshead himself, His spirit is found in a julep――the elf! ’Twas thus by his arts that he spread o’er the isle, And millions on millions did Whiskey beguile. In vain are the efforts the evils to paint, Where Whiskey was worshipped as more than a saint! There was madness and death――there was sorrow and guile―― Yet――the source of them all――he was worshipped the while! But murder will out――and Whiskey grew bold, Was detected――convicted of all we have told. St. Patrick was dead, but he left an example―― And so Father Matthew adopted the sample; He attacked the old monster, and though he roared out, And flourished his tail, and turned round about―― Mat laid it on well, and his blows, like a sledge, Fell heavy and thick, for he wielded THE PLEDGE; And the last news is this――’tis surely no wonder―― Father Matthew’s atop, and Whiskey is under. ―――― THE REAL CULPRIT.――A noble lady of Florence lost a valuable pearl necklace, and a young girl who waited upon her was accused of the theft. As she solemnly denied the charge, she was put to the torture. Unable to support the terrible infliction, she acknowledged that “she was guilty,” and, without further trial, was hung. Shortly after, Florence was visited by a tremendous storm, and a thunderbolt fell upon a figure of Justice on a lofty column, and split the scales, one of which fell to the earth, and with it the ruins of a magpie’s nest, containing the pearl necklace! ―――― Combat between a Falcon and Serpent.