290 LIFE IN IRELAND 



D. is sure to take a whip. I shall be at Sir Shawn's, 

 where meet us, and we will march together, 



' your's in the spirit, 



'GRAMMACHREE, Major.' 



Brian took up his pen and wrote — 



Dear Gram, — I don't care a d — n, 



If your letter is only a soldier's FLAMJ 



And the Review turn out only a sham ; 



But before you have swallowed your usual dram, 



I will attend you in Merrion Square, 



Ready on horseback to take the air, 



In quest of somebody fat and fair. 



If not in the Park, perhaps I know where. 



Excuse this hasty doggerel rhyme, 

 It always marches at double quick time ; 

 And if in your ears it does not chyme, 

 You haven't a taste for Irish sublime. 



I am, dear Gram, with friendship true, 



Your friend and comrade, Brian Boru, 



Still ready to give the devil his due ; 



As a proof of which I write to you : 



But I 've written enough in a style quite new, 



So bid you in haste — a short adieu. 



B. B. 

 To that jolly old Stager, 



The 7uooden-legg''d Major. 



The corporal bolted with his orderly ticket, and Sir 

 Brian Boru prepared for his expedition, under the 

 hands of Patrick Mooney. 



The rhyme that Brian Boru chose to make use of 

 on this funny occasion, was very well suited to the 

 capacity of Major Grammachree; it is a favourite 

 burden of the Irish, from its beinsr ridiculous. I have 



