SPECIAL IPISTOL.

Inangahua Times, Volume X, Issue 1601, 16 September 1885, Page 2

SPECIAL IPISTOL.

«♦ . Lambton Kay, Willinton, 29th August, 1885. Ton me conshinse its me head that's splittin' this blessed mornin,' so itis, an' small blame to it for that same. Afther onr victhory last night, inesilf an' a few more o' the boys dhropt into the Methropoliten for the purpose ay taisin' V.P. over the difiiit ay the Opposition. There was J»v. Ivess, John M'Kinzie, Dick Hursthouse, Pat Buckley, nn' one or two others mimbers, aud whin we wint upstairs we found the author o' the "Ould Flag"«aited in his arm chair an' growlin' like a bair wid a sore head. Dick Hursthouse comminced to chaff him, an afther wo done justice to a couple ay rounds, the janial smile returned to his face an, he began to take the handier good-humonredly. Placin, my chair "Opp osit' his, I looked the ould schaimer shvait hetchune the two eyes, an' I'sos; — "Now Vincent, you ami I are ould frinds, but upon mo honor I'm ashamed o' the way ye're actin' towaids the Goverumint, so lam," "Hi, ha. ha!'' ses he, lettiu' a lau^h om of him lita a three-year-onld rhino soivus," "D'ye call that miserabie conglomeration ay initiated irreconcilable political atoms a (tovernmint ?' ses he. "Ay coorse I do," ses I, "an' a mighty good Goveruiitit, to," ses I. "Arrah, hould yer prate, Padily, avick," ses he, *■• an' don't talk a lot ay balderdash," ses he. " Why in the hole coorse ay me political exparieiice 1 nim* come across a Ministhry who could swallow their principals wid sicli aise," ses he. «■ Ye'd hetther dhraw it mild, Pyke," ses Pat Buckley, who was g-ettin' ■ purty warm, " Ye'd betther dhraw it ' mild, and uot make the groundless insuuiations against inesilf and me collnigues, or, be the powers, I won't sta d it, at all, at a1.," ses he ' d'ye mind that, now," ses he. B-jgorra V. P. cooled down in a muinit, an'tu*niu' round to Misther Buckley, he ses : — " Throth, Pat, yell niver get shut ay that Milashian timper ay yours, to ye won't. Why man alive, can't ye take a joke an' be jovial an' janial like the rest ay us." Seem' how matthers wor turn in" I rung the bell an' ordhered up another round be way ay throwin' oil on the throuhled withers. Whin good '.miner was restored, Joe Ivess, who had a sweet tinner vo c .*, sang tht; foilowiu' ditty composed be me for himsilf an' the other Canterbury numbers : — Oh come to the West Coast, oh come there wid me, 'Tis a sweet land ay mountains an' rivera so free, Where gould dust is plinty and big nuggets shine. Oh cmie to the West Const an' make us the line ; I'm sure it will pay whin its put to the test, You'll find there's no line like the one to the West. The North has its miin thrunk, so costly yuii Pee, The South has its Centhral, wellknown to V.P. While through Tiiraiiakey, so far, far away, — Are railways that do not, aud nevor will pay ; Then make} the West Coast line, I'm sure 'twifl pay best, — You'll timi there's no line like the ono to the West. Afther dhrinkin' Joe Ivess'** health an' song, Dirk Hiirstliuuse volunteered a short recitation also wrct-' by me foj-

the Nelson mimtars. I have ouly ; room for the first stanza : — Ay elson — not the North, — Sing the glorious day's rinoun, , Whin Shepherd's famed oold hat ] Oot a bran new brim an' crown j Begorra he looked grand, ' As he proudly took his stand, Iv the Couucil, be command, Wid it on. I got grate i ' ise for the original idays an' niethre ay the pome, and Dick Hursthouse was toasted for his beautiful elocusionnry effort. Whin he'd finished, V.P. -*tood up au' he Ses, ses he : — ''Now, boys, J U give ye a trifle composed b« uiiseit, aud I think yell acknowledge that it has the ring ay the tht-ue metal, so it lias: — 1 Talk, talk, talk. Till black iv the face, O Stout ; But I wish that my tongue could utther The words iii-.d would put you out. [ It is well for the Govern mint men j Who vote as they're ordhered aitch I day An' it's juecedly well for yourself Who gota the Pi ime Miuisther's pay. My stately periods flow In iloquence strong an' bould, But still though I blather and blow, I'm always out in the could. Talk, talk, talk ! While Larnach is laughing wid glee, As he.holds the portfoley ay Mines, That should have belonged to me. Begorra Misther Pyl* e'B song iv yoked | tnndhers ay applause, an whin he j finished the lmys called upon me for a staive or two. Afther olearin' our throats, Pat Buckley an' mesilf warbled the followin' jewett, so we did : — Och let the Major fret an' swair, For him an' his we little care ; We laugh at Bryce, an' poke our fun At that big schoolboy, Rolleston ; Though Thrimble frowns, an' Hislop jeers, For them an' theirs we've little fears. We'll stand, although our measures fall J Wo won't go uut at all, at all ! If Atkinson wor coinin' back. The country would go to the rack ; An' soon the "Middle Parry" lot Would dhrive New Zayland quick to pot ; We will stop in, we won't go ont ! Without its Yogel an' its Stout The State would soon go to the wall : We won't go out at ail, at all ! 'Pon me conshinse, when onr jewett was inded, round followed round, an' it's mesilf doesn't know how I raiched me home en the Kay, so I don't P*.ddy Murphy.