not, would not, and will not understand
more than two parties. The exceptions are
too few to affect their general habit of mind,
if, indeed, the many-headed (when they came
to think of it) would really trust a Protestant
patriot, save in the belief of his readiness
to join the true Church, when the proper
time should arrive. Such of their own clergy
as profess "loyalty," are considered to know
what they are about.

"The Brave Defenders of the Church of
Rome," is in celebration of one of the boys of
the '98, who was sent to "Vandimonds
land"

           Because he was head leader
               Of Father Murphy's Shelmoneers.

The Reverend General Murphy, one of the
most renowned of the chiefs of '98, who used
to boast of catching the heretic balls in his
fingers, is often alluded to in these ballads.
This ballad and some of the others were,
no doubt, written many years ago; but their
sentiments are by no means out of date; and
Father Murphy's fame vividly survives in
some of the most recent effusions. The fourth
verse of The Brave Defenders presents a
curious junction of the theologist with the
insurgent:

For being a Roman Catholic I was trampled on by
         Harry's breed,
[meaning Henry VIII.]
And for fighting in defence of my God, my country,
         and my creed;
Transubstantiation is the faith that we depend upon;
Look and you will find it in the sixth chap. of St.
         John.
As Moses and Elias, they told us of our heavenly
         church,
That we in future ages should suffer persecution
         much.

Four songs resound the praises of "brave
Dr. Cahill," who appears to have sprung
into sudden popularity on the strength of
some amiable remarks of the brave Doctor,
to the effect, that there was not a man,
woman, or child in France, who would not
dance with joy at. the prospect of a favourable
opportunity of plunging a knife into the body
of an Englishman. The first, is called "The
Penal Law," and says:

Brave Dr. Cahill he does not despair,
He wrote some fine letters our spirits to cheer.
                                   Chorus.
Be sober and steady, and mind what you're at,
It's not like '98,—there is something in that.

The chorus to verse three, is varied thus:

It's not like Ballingarry, so mind what you're at,
Nor the days of John Mitchell,—there is something
         in that.

"It's not like" is a common idiom,
implying that the business will be better
managed next time.

The "New Song on the great Dr. Cahill's
Visit to England," is addressed to "you
Romans throughout England's nation," and
declares the Doctor's object to be to:

                Join us in true combination
                     Against a vile heretic tribe.

After several rather truculent lines, it ends
thus:

      We have noble fine brave men in England,
          We have them in France and in Spain;
      We have them across the Atlantic,
          Preparing to come o'er the main.
      We have noble brave Cahill, our leader,
          And millions of heroes at home,
      Then why should we longer be craving? [craven]
          But fearlessly fight for our own.

In the next lay, another doctor divides the
honours with the great Cahill. The Poem
is called "Doctors Betagh and Cahill," and
commences significantly:

Come all you loose young fellows, you know well
          what I mean,
Prepare yourselves in time my boys, I'd have you
          mind the green;
The weather it looks gloomy, I think we 're near a
          change,
And little John, the Lepreghaun, he is nearly quite
          deranged.
                                     Chorus.
So get your hooks in order, boys, be ready for your
          work;
Now is your time or never, boys, before we are all
          burked.

"Little John," means the Prime Minister,
who is constantly satirised in the same crushing
manner. The nature of the expected
reaping for which the hooks are to be kept in
order, is made plain enough a few lines
farther down:

Father Murphy was a reaper, the best I ever seen,
He reaped away without delay—he loved the sham-
        rock green.

Here is a caution against traitors in the
camp:

So if you hire a reaper, take care of who you chose,
Don't be like me, Master Edward, or your corn you
        will lose;
The traitor's name was Reynolds—attend to what I
        say,
Before the work it was commenced he did us all
        betray.

In conclusion, Eighteen Hundred and Fifty-
two, the year of hope and dread, is thus
alluded to:

That holy prophet as I call, Dr. Betagh was his
        name,
The last sermon he preached was in Rosemary-lane;
Many signs, he said, and tokens through the seasons
        we would see,
Large hail with heavy lightnings after '47 it would
        be.

In Eighteen Hundred and Ten, he prophesied, it's
        true,
That Ireland would flourish in the year Fifty-two;