One of the gayer features of this family likeness is the persistence of a certain kind of satire. We know from Dr Hyde's _Literary History of Ireland_ that an important function of the ancient bards was to satirize the rivals and enemies of their chieftain. They had, of course, to sing his victories, to inspire and encourage his warriors and to weave into verse the hundreds of romances which had come down to them from times older still. But their equipment was not complete unless it included a good stinging power of ridicule; and the _ollamh_, or chief bard, was commonly required to castigate in this way the king of some other province who happened to have given offence. But it is not to be supposed that the rival _ollamh_ would remain silent under the punishment inflicted on his lord; and one can imagine the battle of wits which would follow. Or, if we need any assurance as to the caustic power of the bard, it may be found in one quaint incident. The hero Cuchulain was ranged against Queen Maeve of Connacht in her famous raid into Ulster about the year 100 B.C. Maeve was astute as well as warlike, and when she had failed several times to induce Cuchulain to engage singly with one of her warriors, she sent to him a threat that her bards "would criticize, satirize and blemish him so that they would raise three blisters on his face" ... and Cuchulain instantly consented to her wish. I cannot guess how many blisters have been raised by Irish satirists since that date, but I know the art has not died out. There are modern practitioners of it. Synge made the national susceptibility smart; and yet his satire, to the mere onlooker, would seem sympathetic enough. So, too, with Miss Susan Mitchell. She pokes fun at her compatriots with perfect good humour and we cannot believe that they would be annoyed by it. But you never can tell. Perhaps the witty philosophy of "The Second Battle of the Boyne" would not appeal to an Ulster Volunteer; and it is conceivable that even a Nationalist might resent the sly shaft at the national pugnacity. The opening stanza tells about an old man, whose name of portent is Edward Carson MacIntyre. His little grandchild runs in to him from the field carrying a dark round thing that she has found, and she trundles it along the floor to the old man's feet. Now Edward Carson MacIntyre Was old, his eyes were dim, But when he heard the crackling sound, New life returned to him. "Some tax-collector's skull," he swore, "We used to crack them by the score." "Why did you crack them, grandpapa?" Said wee Victoria May; "It surely was a wicked thing These hapless men to slay." "The cause I have forgot," said Mac, "All I remember is the crack." ..... "And some men said the Government Were very much to blame; And I myself," says MacIntyre, "Got my own share of fame. I don't know why we fought," says he, "But 'twas the devil of a spree."