The weekly Butte record., 1863-12-12

EAoRIAL OF PRIVATE MILES o'REILLY, now A.
USLUckY PRISONER IN THE 6UARDHoUss.
His Excellency the Right Honorable Edwin NJ
Stanton, Esq, and all others whom it may con
sarn:
AIR-"The Fine Ould Irish Gintleman.'
I'll sing you navy song,
Made by a soldiers pate,
OF gallant grim onld Admiral,
Whom iron iobbers hate
Because he couldn't, or didn't. or wouldn't
Some dbs in their favor state;
For which he has several big black marks
ovid no end Of notes of discrimination, an great
& ug ly criss grasses forninst his name)
On Captain Fox's slate
The gallant grim ould Admiral,
Wan the onlden time
Twas he who, when our skies wor dark,
just twinty munths ago,
Let ritts of daylight through the clouds
In glorious lusthre flow.
1.-THE fight is done! Port Royal won -
Och, didn't ould Uncle Gideon
CAN all the administration organs big an little,
ON Colonel Forney's "Philadelphi Fibler down
! poor ould Horace Greely's very weakly " Thrib
he
OF the mighty victhory blow,
And praise the grim ould Admiral
IA "wan of the oulden timer
An twas him that tuck the iron clads
Last spring against Fort Sumter;
An twas him that or 5 hundred yards,
Wid his fifteen inchers bumped her
An twas Rhind wild his two big riaed guns,
That at half the distance thumped her
While the present Admiral stands off
Cat the eonvayuient perspective distance of two
bo usand yards thereabouts, until even the poor
brsook ruin of place seems to grow ashamed of
|im,)
An don't by long shot come t her,
So near was he grim ould Admiral,
Who is wan of the oulden time!
An now this great ould Admiral
Is laid upon the shelf,
Like broken CLANCY taypot
Or useless piece of delf,
Because he couldn't or didn't or wouldn't
(An' for this. more power to himself)
Chime in wild them iron-clad jobbers
(Who are down on their bare knees night, noon
|n' mornin', prayin' Heaven or the other place for
Png life an success to their pathron saint Captain
fox0
In their schemes for aoquirin pelf-
This honest an thrue ould Admiral,
This type of the bygoue time
An because on the side OF this Admiral
used both me tongue an me pen,
am now chained up Ikea un-u-i-corn,
In the Provost Marshal's den,
Wid nothin but hard tack an wathet--
If it worn't for the Provost's men
Who smuggle me in, God bless the boys
(0n the sly, do you sse an just by way of keep
ng' me sperrits up, an preventin' me leg orna-
hints from takin the skin off my ankles too much
Some whiskey new an agen,
Which drink to the great ould Admiral,
Whom knew in the bygone time.
Och, Stanton, Oar great God o War;,
Ny condlttonln pity see,
An if you have got any bowels to milt
Let thin bowels be milted for me.
For came out OF the dayciutest people
In the beautiful town of Thralee
Where praties and whisky is plenty.
Gan divil resayve the provost marshal We have
here, at all at all, though we have the "pee lers'-
'ad cess to 'em-who ar worse, if such thing wor
,ossible)-
An they bow both heart an knee
To men like the grim ould Admiral
\ type of the oldea time.
God be good to you, Misther Stanton,
An look kindly on me case;
An to the IAN wild Methuslehs beard
An the patrarchal face.
q name ould Uncle Gideon.)
Just Ak him to show me gracel
For which will as in duty bound
II he he gets me ont of this place
Do for him an for all that ever | can
(votn' airly an vooin often for yez both, or for
ither of you if yez chance TO be candydates in
ny disthrick or county where can get widin ten
DDS Of the ballot box)-
An now my name thrace-
Miles o'Reilly who wrote of the Admiral,
An is havin' a hard ould time