Since, there they'll unfold, what we want to be told, How they cough'd, how they sneez'd, how they shiver'd with cold, How they tippled the "cordial," as racy and old As Hodges, or Deady, or Smith ever sold, And how they all then felt remarkably bold; How they thought the boil'd beef worth its own weight in gold; And how Mister Green was beginning to scold Because Mister Hollond would try to lay hold Of the moon, and had very near overboard roll'd.
And there they'll be seen—they'll be all to be seen! The great-coats, the coffee-pot, mugs, and tureen! With the tight-rope, and fire-works, and dancing between, If the weather should only prove fair and serene. And there, on a beautiful transparent screen, In the middle you'll see a large picture of Green, With Holland on one side, who hired the machine, And Monk Mason on t'other, describing the scene; And Fame on one leg in the air, like a queen, With three wreaths and a trumpet, will over them lean; While Envy, in serpents and black bombazine, Looks on from below with an air of chagrin.
Then they'll play up a tune in the Royal Saloon, And the people will dance by the light of the moon, And keep up the ball till the next day at noon; And the peer and the peasant, the lord and the loon, The haughty grandee, and the low picaroon, The six-foot life-guardsman, and little gossoon, Will all join in three cheers for the "monstre" balloon.
HANDY ANDY.
Andy Rooney was a fellow who had the most singularly ingenious knack of doing every thing the wrong way; disappointment awaited on all affairs in which he bore a part, and destruction was at his fingers' ends: so the nick-name the neighbours stuck upon him was Handy Andy, and the jeering jingle pleased them.
Andy's entrance into this world was quite in character with his after achievements, for he was nearly the death of his mother. She survived, however, to have herself clawed almost to death while her darling babby was in arms, for he would not take his nourishment from the parent fount unless he had one of his little red fists twisted into his mother's hair, which he dragged till he made her roar; while he diverted the pain by scratching her till the blood came, with the other. Nevertheless she swore he was "the loveliest and sweetest craythur the sun ever shined upon;" and when he was able to run about and wield a little stick, and smash every thing breakable belonging to her, she only praised his precocious powers, and used to ask, "Did ever any one see a darlin' of his age handle a stick so bowld as he did?"
Andy grew up in mischief and the admiration of his mammy; but, to do him justice, he never meant harm in the course of his life, and was most anxious to offer his services on all occasions to any one who would accept them; but they were only those who had not already proved Andy's peculiar powers.
There was a farmer hard by in this happy state of ignorance, named Owen Doyle, or, as he was familiarly called, Owny na Coppal, or, "Owen of the Horses," because he bred many of these animals, and sold them at the neighbouring fairs; and Andy one day offered his services to Owny when he was in want of some one to drive up a horse to his house from a distant "bottom," as low grounds by a river side are always called in Ireland.
"Oh, he's wild, Andy, and you'd never be able to ketch him," said Owny.—"Throth, an' I'll engage I'll ketch him if you'll let me go. I never seen the horse I couldn't ketch, sir," said Andy.