Year: 1865

Father Ambrose McShorry, parish
priest Of Knocknasbee, in the diocese
of Ardah, Ireland, was one of the
best men, generally speaking, that
ever existed in any country Of the
world. Beloved by his own people,
and revered by others who differed
from him in his religious opinions, he
passed his life in the humble discharge
of his clerical duty, preaching the
Gospel to the poor, repioving vice,
inculcating virtue, and doing good to
all, without distinction of creed, or
dread of the political enemies by
whom he was surrounded. He was
humble, meek, pious and benevolent,
given TO hospitality like the early
fathers of the church, whose example
he ever emulated. He was lover Of
good men, no matter of what denom-
ination-a lover of his country, poor,
despised, and down trodden-a con-
summate seholar--an eloquent preach
er, who spoke his own native tongue
with great huency, and did more to
suppress the evil influence arising
from Irish wakes, funerals, and Sun
day dances, than any other priest of
this day. To the wayfaring man, his
hospitable door was even open, with
generous, warm-hearted meela falha,
peculiar TO his native isle. To the
child Of sorrow, the erring, and the
distressed, his fatherly counsel, ad-
ministered like the balm of Gilead,
seldom failed to soothe, reclaim and
comfort. He rejoiced with them that
did rejoice, and mingled the tear of
unaffected sorrow with all who had
reason to weep. In one short SEN
tence, father Ambrose was a man after
Gods own heart, in tho Christian ac-
ceptation Of that term.


About this time there fourished in
that part Of the country, one of the
most singular characters that ever
figured in Irish romance. This was
Patrick Nooneen, but better known
in the sporting world by the nick
name of Paddy the Piper" He was
a remarkably small bit of fellow,
not over five feet in height, black
haired, thin and swarthy, with long
hooked nose, small eyes, low receding
forehead, and never, in his fattest day,
exceeding ninety pounds in weight
He was indeed a queer-looking, dim
inutive little man, but. remarkable for
his shrcwd answers, ready wit, and
an inexhaustible fund of merriment,
and Irish drollery.


At the time of which / speak,
Paddy was about forty years of age,
the best piper of his day, but one of
the greatest topers to be met with in
any part of Ireland. Beside his
extraordinary performance on the
pipes, he was the life of the wake and
the wedding, wherever he went. -
When any of the lower order died
within ten miles around, the piper
was sure TO be there and il the rela-
tions of the deceased were rich people
and able to procure lots Of whisky,
Pat was in his element, and made the
Warehouse resound with laughter and
merriment. 1t was no wonler then
these exploits of Paddy the Piper"
should be severely censurcd by the
pious priest. He did all in his power
to reform the little musical bper, but
to no purpose. Like Millions devil
"Ile harden'd more by what should mot reclaim"


BY the pious exertions Of father
Ambrose, Sunday dancing and the
oxcesses practiced at wakes and fune-
rails gradually began to fall away, so
that in u little time Paddy's craft was
in danger, and his drollery in little
demand. With such a gloomy pros
pect in the locality that gave him
birth, no wonder he shn"ld feel die
posed TO enlarge his sphere of action,
and to try his fortune in townships
more remote, where he thought his
musical talent would be more aplrc-
ciated.


After a little piping among tho
hamlets in the ad djacent parishes, with
no better success or greater indulgence
from the clergy, he took it into his
head TO visit protestant England,
where he supposed the morals of the
people were not SO strictly looked
into. Accordingly the first Monday
morning in the glorious month of
June found him piping his passage
on board packet across the Irish
channel.


In England ho found bettor pay,
and better eating, but what good was
all that, thought tbs piper, without
whiskey, ard the congenial society of
the old companions he loved Eng
land was a good country enough, to
be sure, land flowing with milk and
honey, as father Ambrose used to say
of the old land Of Cannan, but-pot-
teen whisky was not so abundant, nor
Irish wit so great a demand as at
home. In a few weeks the piper got
heart-sick of merry England, and re-
solved to return home TO the blessed
green sod of his native land, 10y tho
next packet. lie had piped his way
from Liverpool to the coal re. ion, and
finding there public house on his
way, and lose shilling in his pocket,
he resolved to indulge in a last carouse,
before quitting forever the land of
Cromwell and the Sassanagh. He
got, of course, as drunk as lord, and
lay one fine day morning on the road
side, his pipes by his side, about one
mile from the colliery. In this state
he was found by an old acquaintance,
who had labored in the coal mines for
three or four years, and was then re-
turning with an empty dray, to the
mouth of the pit.


"By Grips, Terry, here's Paddy the
Piper, If he's in tho land of the living,
and as drunk as q wheel barrow"
said the drayman to his fellow collier.


"By jabers, tho very man, Nike"
returned his companion, jumping out
of the dray and going over TO where
the unconscious piper lay.