The Irish standard., 1888-02-11

UolA0VCA3 do CuC udOUOA SCstAAuo, AAs ohA'
four or Mr.: Blunt? Neither those who
know the men personally nor the public
who ean judge by their antecedents,
will hesitate to decide.
"THE LAYS OF TULLAM0RE.n
A London dispatch says that Mr.. T.
D. Sullivan, ex Lord Mayor of Dublin,
is to all appearances little the worse for
his two months sojourn in the gloomy
jail at Tullamore. Mr.. Sullivan, after
the manner of poets. passed q part OF
the weary time in prison composing
verse, which he will publish in week
or two under the title Of Lays of Tul.
lamore." The title page of the little
volume will be ornamented with a pic.
ture of prison bars and manacles, and
there will be an engraving of the prison
card which was fastened to the door OF
Sullivan's cell, and bore upon it's face
a description of his person, the offense
for which he mad been imprisoned, and
other particulars dear to jailers. Among
the contents of the book will be comic
ballad entitled "Tullamore Tweed. "
4 here will be stirring poem on the
plan of campaign, and among other
subjects of the poets muse are the
''Clattering of Bolts and Bars in Prison.
and the'' Letters of Sympathy and Gifts
Sent to the Prisoner by an English
Friend" The pieces which, perhaps,
will most commend themselves to pop
ular taste are "The Brogue'' and "A
Vislon."
Mr.. Sullivan must haye been in phe-
nomenal spirits for prisoner when he
wrote "A Vision,' the reading of which
by every man, Tory or Liberal, who is
familiar with Balfour's personal ap-
pearance and peculiarlties will be de-
lightful treat. Here it is: ...
Once within my little study, while the fire light
cleaning ruddy,
Threw fantastic lights and shadows on the
wall and on the floor, ,..
NH~~~~ A~~~A~'
generations
tentious sad and sore,
Naught bur deadly strife and hatred and con-
tentions sad and sore.
Going on forevermore.
And now thought: "All this is blameful, it's
not only sad but shameful
AL this plunderng and depressing and this
spilling lakes Of gore;
'Tis the nation that is stronger that has been
the others wronger.
Let us play this part no longer, but this cruelty
give Ger
Turn to waves of love and kindness, and this
cruelty give DER.
And have peace foeevermore,"
When unto myself thus speaking, on the stairs
heard creaking,
AS of ofsomeone defely sneakinR up to listen at
the door.
Then, said l, ''You need not fear me; you can
just come in aud hear me.
Take sat or stand Smear me; let us talk this
matter DER.
'Tis grave and serious subject: let us talk it
calmly o'er.
Then opened wide the door.
Then being thin and shanlky, white Of visage,
tall and lanky,
Looking i'll at ease aud cranky, came and stood
upon the floor.
In his haads ,me keys he da~ gled, keys
that harshly clinked and tangled,
And over his right optic alarge pane of glass
he wore.
When it fell he slowly raised it. and replaced it
as before.
This he did. and no thing more.
''Now," said I, the Shape add ressing. don't
you thiLk 'twould be a blessing.
If this Anglo-Irish conflict, coming down fiom
days of yore,
If this age of woe and sadness could be changed
to peace and giadness,
And the holy ties of friendship could be knit
from shore to shore,
And no words but words OF kindness pass across
from shore to shore?'
Ouorh the laak one: ',Tuhamore.'
At this word Imarvelled truly, for it seemed to
come unduly,
AS misplaced exhibition of his geographic
lore;
So my thread of th ,ughus resuming, said;
''.phere are dangers looming
Over England's wide dominion that It's useless
to ignore;
What shall strengthen aud sustain her when
the battle thunders roar p
Answer made he, "TullamoreF'