With no small difficulty, and no inconsiderable manoeuvring, I succeeded in procuring, at an expense of trouble and conscience which you will no doubt think but poorly rewarded, an accurate 'report' of one of his most popular recitations. It celebrates one of the many daring exploits of the once famous Phaudhrig Crohoore (in prosaic English, Patrick Connor). I have witnessed powerful effects produced upon large assemblies by Finley's recitation of this poem which he was wont, upon pressing invitation, to deliver at weddings, wakes, and the like; of course the power of the narrative was greatly enhanced by the fact that many of his auditors had seen and well knew the chief actors in the drama. 'PHAUDHRIG CROHOORE. Oh, Phaudhrig Crohoore was the broth of a boy, And he stood six foot eight, And his arm was as round as another man's thigh, 'Tis Phaudhrig was great,-- And his hair was as black as the shadows of night, And hung over the scars left by many a fight; And his voice, like the thunder, was deep, strong, and loud, And his eye like the lightnin' from under the cloud. And all the girls liked him, for he could spake civil, And sweet when he chose it, for he was the divil. An' there wasn't a girl from thirty-five undher, Divil a matter how crass, but he could come round her. But of all the sweet girls that smiled on him, but one Was the girl of his heart, an' he loved her alone. An' warm as the sun, as the rock firm an' sure, Was the love of the heart of Phaudhrig Crohoore; An' he'd die for one smile from his Kathleen O'Brien, For his love, like his hatred, was sthrong as the lion.