"I haven't the smallest doubt of this-- The truth you tell," he began; "But I think that you misunderstand me miss, I am not a marryin' man. I only thought if you wanted a cab That I wouldn't be high in my fare," And he shuffled the nose-bag round the jaw Of his patient, hungry mare. She walked away, nor bade good day, While he thought of the Probate Court. "She's a girl, I twig, could give me a dig Of a barrister's wig for sport. [Illustration] I have only escaped the courts of law," Quoth he, "by a single hair!" As he finished the knot of his canvas bag On the nose of his hungry mare. [Illustration: The Fairy Queen] MANY an intelligent reader will perceive that the following is a pathetic plaint founded on fact. A moral, conveyed in a polyglot sample of weak passages from many a knowing man's career. In one noted instance, the writer while reciting the ballad, closely escaped the chance of assassination, at the hand of a member of the audience, that he fancied it was a versification of his own particular experience, made public, and brought so circumstantially home to him, that he felt the eyes of all were concentrated upon him as the hero of the ballad. Happily he did not carry a revolver, or it would most likely have exploded suddenly in the direction of the platform. But mutual explanations and further enquiry elicited the information that more than one man of that audience occupied the same lamplit boat of retrospect misfortune. Corney Keegan relates his adventure with the picturesque force, derived from practical experience, and many an aching heart will go out to him in sympathy. His story teaches a comprehensive, solemn, and beautiful lesson. ME mother often spoke to me, "Corney me boy," siz she, "There's luck in store for you agra! You've been so kind to me! Down be the rath in Reilly's Park They say that Larry Shawn That's gone away across the say, Once cotch a Leprechawn. He grabbed him be the scruff so hard, The little crather swore, That if bowld Larry'd let him go, He should be poor no more! "Just look behind ye Larry dear," Screeched out the chokin' elf, "There's hapes of goold in buckets there, It's all for Larry's self! If Larry lets the little man Go free again, he'll be No longer poor but rich an' great!" So Larry let him free. Some say he carried home the goold An' hid it in the aves, But some say when the elf was gone 'Twas turned to withered laves. "If Larry cotch a Leprechawn," Me mother then 'ed cry, "Why you may ketch a fairy queen, Ma bouchal by an' by!" Near Balligarry now she sleeps, Where great O'Brien bled, And often since I took a thought, Of what me mother said.