THE FLIGHT OF O'NEILL, THE INVADER OF CANADA.
"GENERAL O'NEILL, who, at the head of the Fenian forces recently invaded Canada, seems to combine, together with his love for Ireland, a certain amount of affection for the ordinary enjoyments of life; for one complaint against him is, that the morning of the attack, when awakened at three o'clock by a captain belonging to his quarters, he merely said, "All right!" and fell asleep again. On two subsequent occasions he was awakened with no more practical result, and on being called a fourth time, got up. Even then, however, he declined to proceed at once with the glorious work of liberating Ireland, but said, "He guessed he would wait till breakfast." After breakfast this great patriot advanced at the head of his forces, but being surprised by a party of Canadian Volunteers, who fired upon the Fenians, immediately retired to his quarters, where he was found very comfortably lodged, and was arrested by General Foster, the United States Marshal, for a breach of the neutrality laws."
Not a gun was heard, not a bugle note,
As over the border he hurried;
He took to his heels without firing a shot,
Only looking tremendously flurried.
No ridiculous scruples inspired his breast,
As over the ground he jolted;
Not caring a straw what became of the rest,
He unhesitatingly bolted.
And snug in his quarters, at dead of night,
The Yankee General found him;
His bed all ready, his candle alight,
And bottles of whisky around him.
And when at his door came the clanking and noise,
His courage all sank to zero;
For, though at the head of the Fenian "bhoys,"
He wasn't exactly a hero.
When the Britishers find that he really is gone,
In impotent rage they upbraid him;
If Mr. O'NEILL they had laid hands upon
At that moment, they surely had flay'd him!
Few and short were the words they said—
They only expressed their sorrow
That they hadn't caught him, and put him to bed
Where he wouldn't wake up on the morrow.
But safe in New York, under FOSTER'S convoy,
He has gone to tell his own story;
Where "shut up" very much, this broth of a boy
Is at present alone in his glory!
Judy, 22nd June, 1870.