A SPORTING TRIP TO FRANCE. 219 



I need not tell you how glad I was to see him - r 

 the rooms of our lazy friends were besieged, 

 and they were instantly pulled sans ceremonie 

 out of their beds, a preceding they disliked 

 more than any other, and we all sat down to 

 a jolly breakfast. The rest of the dogs turned 

 up in the course of the morning. I have had 

 many good days with old Rappido since. 



The next night we dined all together again, 

 and insisted on Langton singing us a song, 

 which was as follows : 



"By my soul, I'm a broth of a boy. I'm fond of an illi- 



gant fight. 



With my sprig of shillalagh I crack a crown daily. 

 Sure a man with his nut cract's an illigant sight. 

 Chorus. Sure a man, &c. 



" Faith it's fond of the girls that I am, the illigant cratures. 



so slim. 



There's Miss Biddy OTowl I give you my sowl, 

 I'd marry her jist for her tin, for her tin. 

 Chorus. I'd marry her, &c. 



" Oh it's fond now of hunting, I am. What swate music 



there is with the hound ; 



And when in their wake, walls and ditches I take, 

 The hills with my cheers they resound, they resound, 

 Chorus. The hills with, &c. 



" Troth it's fond now of whiskey I am ; there's nought like 



a sup at the cratur ; 

 And if married I am, my wife won't fill the can, 



