"THE GIFT HORSE."
Niver look a gift horse in the mouth? Moighty foine,
But how if the crayture is not worth its kape?
Faix, it isn't the nag for a stable o' moine.
Oive doubts of its blood and oi don't loike its shape.
What! we ought to accipt it and think it an honour?
We moight do that same did we not know the donor!
Oh, I grant ye it's big, and I grant ye it's bould,
A blood-looking Bucephalus ivery inch;
But its oi if ye look, Sorr, is cruel and could,
And that big aff-hind leg has a fidgety flinch.
Oi'd git out av the way av its heels moighty quick,
For I fancy the baste has a botherin' kick!
It looks all very well in the front, to be shure,
Though I don't loike the way that it lays back its ears,
But your sate in the saddle had need be secure
If it lash out behoind, as it could, oive me fears.
By the sowl of St. Pat. oi'd as soon risk a spill
From those blayguard buck-jumpers of Buffalo Bill!
Gift horse? Oh, by jabers that's not what we're afther,
We'd breed for ourselves if they'd give us a chance.
Balfour, ye stand there wid an oi full o' laughter.
Ye divil, we know that cool optical dance.
Come the comether on us then, would ye, ye wag,
Wid this "ginerous" gift of a dangerous nag?
All shenanigin', that's what it is, sheer purtence;
But ye don't catch us ould Oirish birds wid such chaff!
Ye'd loike us to take it,—and take no offence.
And thin it's yourself as 'ud just have the laugh.
It may do for the North, but won't suit us down South;
So, Parnell, my boy, take a squint at its mouth!
Faster and Faster.—In France there is now a Fasting Girl. If she beats the record, and if the winners, who back her staying powers against those of Succi, give her a handsome dot, she will be known as La Jeûnesse Dorée.