Bet was three times in a minute,
An' he thrained hard for the same,
But the lad was never in it—
Tho' they tell me he died game!
Well, sir!—Monty grew the height of
Fin McCool or Brian Boru—
Truth I 'm tellin', but in spite of
Ev'rything poor Mike could do—
Divil a dacint situation
Monty got, but dhrive a hack,
At the Bonaventure station—
'T was the name that kept him back—
Till his friend, John Reilly, tould him,
"Change the haythen name for Pat—"
Pathrick Joseph—now behould him
Walkin' dillygate! think o' that!
So be careful, Master Francis,
An' ye 'll bless yer uncle James—
Don't be takin' any chances
With thim God-forsaken names!
Keep Out of the Weeds
No smarter man you can never know
W'en I was a boy, dan Pierre Nadeau,
An' quiet he 's too, very seldom talk,
But got an eye lak de mountain hawk,
See all aroun' heem mos' ev'ryw'ere,
An' not many folk is foolin' Pierre.
Offen I use to be t'inkin'—me—
How on de worl' it was come to be
He know so moche, w'en he never go
On college or school, ole Pierre Nadeau,
Feesh on de reever de summer t'roo,
An' trap on de winter—dat 's all he do.
"Hi! boy—Hi! put your book away,
An' come wit' your uncle Pierre to-day,
Ketch hol' of de line an' hang on tight,
An' see if your moder won't cook to-night
Some nice fresh feesh for de familee,"
Many a tam he was say to me—
An' den I 'm quiet, too scare to spik,
Wile Pierre he paddle me down de crick,
Easy an' nice he mak' her go
Close to de shore w'ere de bulrush grow,
W'ere de pike an' de beeg feesh lak to feed,
Deir nose stickin' out w'ere you see de weed—