After a time, however, she restored the child; with the express stipulation, that the gates should be thrown open, when the family went to dinner--a practice which is observed to this day." WHEN the Hill of Howth was covered, by a city great, and grand, And nuggets still were gathered, like cockles on the strand; On the shore, around by Sutton, a children's maid was met, Who was wheeling of a baby, in a sky blue bassinet. And as that maiden cycled that infant by the sea, Down the boreen from the Bailey, came number 90 B; And he sudden lit his eye on, he sudden had her set, That slavey, with the baby, in the sky blue bassinet. He held aloft his baton, saluted like a man, Said he "I'm almost certain, you're name is Mary Anne, The sergeant up the boreen, in the distance there is gone, We'll make the distance greater, if you and I move on. For fifty years I've ambushed, and watched around me bate, But never met a sweetheart, that took me so complate, And what's a bate? it's nothin' to a polis, whin he's gone! I'm gone on you me darlin', let you and I move on." "O hoky smoke! avourneen, I never seen yer like, As sure's me name is Dooley, with the christian name of Mike, I sware it, by this number, on my collar, which you see, I'm shockin' fond of you agra," said No. 90 B. He took that trusting maiden, to the adjacent strand, "A punt is on the shingles, convaynient here to hand, Put the bassinet into it," said the blue official fox, "We'll go and look for winkles, thro' seaweed on the rocks." Now whether or for winkles, or what it was they went, They stayed away much longer than was their first intent, A thoughtless time, that stranded them in a piteous plight, The tide was in, O Moses! the punt was out of sight. Upon that woeful morning, the fact we may not shunt, The little Lord St. Lawrence, was kidnapped by a punt, And reverbrated wailings, of his nurse is echoed still, With oathings of the polis, around Ben Heder hill! But then it struck that polis, a hopeful thought of mark, And to the weeping servant, he muttered, "Whist! an' hark!" Then put his index finger, abaft his coral nose, "Howld on! I'll go, an' square it, I've got a schame, here goes!" The crafty rogue departed, and told the specious tale, Of how the child was stolen by the Princess Granauille, He told the weeping mother, he almost thought he knew, From information he received, that he had got a clew, When Granauille was challenged, it struck her, she could make A profitable bargain, in re her nephew's sake, 'Twas just before his teething; his nose was but a blob, Like every other baby's, so she could work the job.