When Britain first, at Napoleon's command, my boy, arose from out the azure main, this was her charter, her charter of the land, that Britains never, never, never shall be slaves as long as they have a chance to treat everybody else like niggers. Suffer me also to remark, that, Britannia needs no bulwarks, no towers along the steep; her march is o'er the mountain wave, her home is on the deep--where she keeps up her neutrality by smuggling contraband Southern confederacies, and swearing like a hard-shell chaplain when Uncle Sam's ocean pickets overhaul her. Albion's neutrality is waking up a savage spirit in the United States of America, as you will understand from the following Irish Idle which was written PRO PAT-RIA. Two Irishmen out of employ, And out at the elbows as aisily, Adrift in a grocery-store Were smoking and taking it lazily. The one was a broth of a boy, Whose cheek-bones turned out and turned in again, His name it was Paddy O'Toole-- The other was Misther McFinnigan. "I think of enlistin'," says Pat, "Because do you see what o'clock it is; There's nothin' adoin' at all But drinkin' at Mrs. O'Docharty's. It's not until after the war That business times will begin again, And fightin's the duty of all"-- "You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. "Bad luck to the rebels, I say, For kickin' up all of this bobbery, They call themselves gintlemen, too, While practin' murder and robbery; Now if it's gintale for to steal, And take all your creditors in again, I'm glad I'm no gintleman born"-- "You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. "The spalpeens make bould to remark Their chivalry couldn't be ruled by us; And by the same token I think They're never too smart to be fooled by us. Now if it's the nagurs they mane Be chivalry, then it's a sin again To fight for a cause that is black"-- "You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. "A nagur's a man, ye may say, And aiqual to all other Southerners; But chivalry's made him a brute, And so he's a monkey to Northerners; Sure, look at the poor cratur's heels, And look at his singular shin again; It's not for such gintlemen fight"-- "You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan. "The nagur States wanted a row, And now, be me sowl, but they've got in it! They've chosen a bed that is hard, However they shtrive for to cotton it. I'm thinkin', when winter comes on They'll all be inclined to come in again; But then we must bate them at first"-- "You're right, sir," says Misther McFinnigan.