132 LIFE IN IRELAND 



Before all, as herald, or avaunt courier, a break-of-day 

 boy rode on a piebald poney, blowing a bullock's 

 horn with all his might and main ; peacock's feathers 

 hung over his brows, and a multitude of party coloured 

 rags covered his figure. The band consisted of an 

 Irish harp, three fiddles, a pair of bag-pipes, and a 

 base drum. Every one that had a voice joined the 

 music, and drowned it in chorus. It would have done 

 your heart good to see the noise and hear the song as 

 they doubled Jacob's Hotel, and steered down to Poll 

 Katalane's. 



Tune—' Hearts of Oak.' 



Come, cheer up, brave boys, 'tis to glory we steer, 

 This marriage to toast in a butt of strong beer ; 

 We are all Irish boys, we are sound at the core, 

 And the coal-porter's wedding shall make Dublin roar. 

 Lads of steel are our wives. 

 They never complain. 



We '11 protect them with our lives. 

 Fearless and steady. 

 We always are ready 

 To drink and get sober again and again. 



The door at Poll Katalane's was not very wide, 

 nevertheless the whole party found admittance by 

 hook or by crook, and amongst them Sir Shawn and 

 Brian Boru shoved in their noses. 



The scene did not answer expectation — they were 

 all too far gone. Waltzing began very early, and 

 boxing began very soon after ; coal-dust flew about 

 like thickened smoke, and in the affray our visitors 

 got more thumps than one Monkey's allowance was 



