The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1844-04-30 00:00:00

Ittraturc.

PO ET R Y.

REPLY TO A JESUITICAL, CANTING, WILY AND WHE ED.
LING LYRIC, ADDRESSED To IRISH PROTESTANTS,
BY THE DUBLIN NATION.

(From the Dublin Evening Mail.)

MAIL-HAG MELODIES.

" An open enemy's a curse. •
But a le ended friend is worse."—GAY.

We hate the -axon and the Dane,
And the rude Norman men,—
We curs'd their greed tor blood and ga'n,
And we curse them now again.
Yet start not, Irish born-man,
If you're to Ireland true,-
We heed not blood, nor creed, nor clan,—
We have no curse for you "
Nation, April 13, 1344.

You need not rake such wondrous pains
To make your different castes app !ar,
'Twixt "Irish born" and English " Danes,"
And •• Saxons" there, and " Saxons" here;
We see your scorn behind your smile,
You deep, deceitful Popish crew !
You hate us, one and oh! the while—
But, God be praised, we know you do!

Then welcome be your honest curse,
You c ingirig, wheedling Gaelic Bard!
We like your proffered blessings w rse—
But both demand our just regard.
We thank you for your hate professed—
'Tis genuine, and we'll prize it well.
But for your love, jest now expressed.
We doubt it—for it smacks of Mil!

What ! think you that of all the lot
One • ingle " Saxon" can he led,
To trust you that you hate him not,
Because he', Irish born and 'red ?
No!—all your love, at twice its worth,
. Is hardly value for a laugh !
And the tried game-cocks of the north
Are tar too old to peck at chaff.

Tor many a ely device you search.
To rive our empires' triple parts—
'But 'tis the .oyal, twin-born church
You aim at in your real hearts 1—
'What chances of success you have
Let. Hillsbordsr cord-book attest—
. And those who further knowledge crave
From Henry Cooke may learn the rest!

Vain ! vain is all your specious cant,
Your quibbl ng about native earth !
"Tis not the "Dane"—but " Protestant"
You ha a !—aud hate whe, e'er his birth,
For, find his cradle where you

Abroad—at home—on sea or sod—
You hat? him !—and you've done so sill,
To please your Po e—and he's your God !

Oh ! Rome. you show ioir inmost soul
it bene'er we meet you face to face!
We can discern your Jz•suit scowl
Out through your Pharisaic grace I
Ay, we can read upon your brow.
And cut ling lip, and sbarpset tooth,*
As plain as you do preach them no•v.
The class-book lesson of blaynooth!
vii.
We know you. Rome ! in • eart and skin !
We see—we see your fine pretence,
To draw the gaping patriot in.
And work upon his passive sense I
So do at once your artful mask—
Your subt est tricks are understood ;
And cease your nice distinctive task
Of analysing British blood !
viii.
From root to branch the Norman tree
And every golden fruit it bears
You hate ! because so fair and free
To Heaven its outs,•read arms it rears 1
You hate our Bible hate our schools—
You hate our clergy—hate our creed—
And oath- bou d to your murderous rules
Your hate, in word—you prove in deed!

The stake—the scaffold—and the wheel
Have witnessed it in many a clime
And mahy an age—and now the steel
Is ready—and you " bide your time I"
Bide on ! bide on !—you treacherous baud,
From month to month and year to year—
Our eye is fixed upon your hand,
And rest assured we'il keep it there !

Oh ! boast away your '• year of work"—
Your "shoulder bared" and " gaded loin;"
Your "groups" may line the Lee, at Cork,
But will they dare to stem " the Boyne ?"
No—no—they won't—the hue that lies
In Munster shamrocks fresh and fair,
In Ulster's climate fades and flies,
Too puny for " the lily's" air l

Yes you may hoist the flag of green !
We have the " Orange and the Blue !"
A banner that sh H ne'er be seen,
Unless to make you dearly rue !
And we have hearts, whe e'er you come,
At broad noon-day or depth of night,
'To meet and chase your millions tome !
And God, we know, will guard the right I

* " Dens" might properly enough be considered the very
"eye-tooth" of Popery, which, as soon as the young priest has
cut, he can see his way pretty plainly before him.

CHAPTERS ON ADVERTISEMENTS.

No. I.

Amongst the thousands whose chief or only instructors
are the columns of the daily or weakly press, it may with
safety be asserted th it there is not one in a hundred who
knows how to read a newspaper—how to gather, from that
luminous record of the every day affairs of this strange
world of ours, the lights and shadows of the picture which
it holds up to our vision. The busy trader, wrapped up
in his dream of avarice, glances over prices of st ';
skims over the lists of bankrupts and insolvents;
through the City article, and plunges into the whirl of life,
with the conviction that he is fully informed of all its do-
ings. The politidan imbibes the editorial wisdom of
leading articles—the mingled. " sound and fury", with
which ministers are bombarded and oppositions bespat-
tered—and is happy in the conviction that his knowledge
of the whys and wherefores of statesmar,ship is as exten-
sive as that of any dozen of the " ins", or " outs", of
Downing-street. The votary of fashion runs over the
court circular and the puffing " cards" of west-end yen-
ders of rnercery or bijouterie ; and has exhausted his or her
anxiety to know " how the world wags" ; whilst vulgar
and matter-of-fact people are content to be horrified or
amused by " fatal accidents", police reports, or scanda-
lous on dits, according to their several tastes and stations.
It is the foreground only of the varied panorama of life
which such observers glance over—its well-marked lines
and prominent figures—whilst the objects which lie dimly
shadowed in the background—the wretchedness, the ro-
mance, the wild passion, the mute despair, the fierce hate
and the crime, which inhibit the., dark places of the
world—are to them the writing in a sealed book—the
unevoked figures in an enchanter's mirror.
It is not a mere glance over the surface of this terres-
trial ball, which we denominate earth, that can tell us
what primeval fires are glowing in its womb—what floods
heave in its dark cavities-what ores and gems lie hidden
there which the avarice of man stall never drag up to the
light. It is not a passing gaze into the night-heaven
which can tell us of what order of beings are they, who
inhabit the thousand stars bespangling its blue dome—
whether passion and sin and death are there, as in our
own fallen world. And the unenquiring reader of the do-
ings of his fellow men, as recorded in the columns of a
newspaper, can as little expect thus to unravel the myste-
ries of every day. human life as, by such unieflecting and
unenquiring observation. to fathom the globe, or to read
the secrets of the heavens. The events which newspapers
record are but the air bubbles which rise upon the ever-
working cauldron of human passion. They are but
chance developments of the few wrongs and crimes and
miseries which see the light, whilst countless thousands
are hidden from all save the criminal, the victim, and the
eye of Heaven.
Do we wish to view, in the mirror which the press pre-
sents to us, a faithful reflection of the world, or one ap-
proaching to faittatilncss, we must seek it—not in its re-
cords of events, its police reports, its political disquisi-
tions, or its narratives of folly and depravity, hut—in the
glimpses which it oflords us of unacted villanies and un-
,developed sufferings : we must seek it in its crowded co-
lumns of advertisem .1 t-. There is more of the world in
,any one of such columq. Clan whole volumes could con-
vey. What strife to ex,-t, what restless plotting, what
ingenuity, what tortuous devices, are in those puffing an-
-nouncements ! What misery and unrequited toil—what
wearing of human life, and sacrifice of health and enjoy-
ment and love—what pictures of gaunt and ghastly po-
verty—are associated with those parades of unparallelled
cheapness! What startling evidences of fallen station—
of pride dispelled by the vision of the near and yawning
gulf of utter destitution—of hungry eyes watching the
partition of the last morsel—of the uncomplaining gaze
of attenuated loveliness, or the wolfish glare of selfish
age—are in those "appeals to the charitable and humane!
And, scattered through the miscellaneous advertisements,
what a strange medley may we observe of human life—its
varied ambitions, passions, and pursuits • and what les-
sons might the picture which it presents be made to con-
-icy, were the pencil of imagination permitted to fill up its
broken shadows, and develope in distinct colours its half-
revealed figures ! Tell us not that such a picture would
not be life—that it would not be our world, but the world
of the novelist and the romance writer. It might have
more of light and shadow—mere of startling incongruities
of colouring—more of hideous contrast of objects—than
what we are led to believe is our every-day world ; but it
would, nevertheless, if we gave not an undue amount of
licence to the painter—imagination—and the filling in was
in good keeping, be that world itself!

. We
.propose, if the reader will g* ; us leave, to present
bim with a few of these lessons, sketchilyne drawn, perhaps,
but which may still serve to teachlizto read aright the
of e take up at ran-
record which is daily in his hands.
to
columnarttsements—
dom a file of that greatest purveyor
second of
the Times—and instinctively we turn
and its front page, the locus in quo of what may called
be
masquerade or anonymous announcements,occasion-
ally of assignations of a very questionable character.
What have we first ?
Me

A. STSI-.

Terse and mysterious! And yet, without greatly strain.
ing our ingenuity, we might, perhaps, arrive very near its
meaning and the characters of the parties, between whom
it is meant to communicate. We can imagine ties which
may bind together two human beings, not in love, but ra-
ther in hate and fear ; an outward and horrible friendship,