'the borrowing the words of an old song, speak of it as beautiful city;' and looking at it in conjunction with its unrivalled outlets, the claim may, we think, be safely conceded." Air" They may rail at this life.” They may rail at the city where first I was born, 'But it's there they've the whisky, and butter, and pork; And a neat little spot for to walk in each morn They call it Daunt's Square, and the City is Cork. The square has two sides—why, one east and one west, And convenient 's the region of frolic and spree, Where salmon, drisheens,* and beefsteaks are cooked best: Och! Fishamble's the Eden for you, love, and me! If you want to behold the sublime and the beauteous, Where the parents and childer are comely and duteous, Blackpool is another sweet place in that city, Where pigs, twigs, and weavers, they all grow together, With its smart little tan-yards-och, more is the pity To strip the poor beasts to convert them to leather! *Sheep's puddings. I Further up to the east is a place great and famous, It is called Mallow Lane-antiquaries agree That it holds the Sheebeen, which once held King Shamus:* Och! Cork is an Eden for you, love, and me! Then go back to Daunt's Bridge, though you'll think it is quare That you can't see the bridge +-faix you ne'er saw the like Of that bridge, nor of one-sided Buckingham Square; Nor the narrow Broad Lane that leads up to the Dyke, Where, turning his wheel, sits that saint, "Holy Joe,"‡ And umbrellas are made of the best quality, And young virgins sing " Colleen das croothin a mo; "§ And-Cork is an Eden for you, love, and me! When you get to the Dyke, there's a beautiful prospect Is Blair's castle, that trembles above in the breeze. Which some hills intervening prevent you to see; But you smell the sweet wind from the wild groves of Blarney Och! Cork is the Eden for you, love, and me! Take the road to Glanmire, the road to Blackrock, or * James 11. f "There is no bridge, but an archway under the street." + "A noted knife and oath grinder, now deceased." $ "The pretty girl milking her cow." If you do what is wise, take a dram of Tom Walker, Or if you're a Walker, toss off Billy Wise.* I give you my word that they're both lads of spirit ; Oh! long life to you, Cork, with your pepper-box steeple, Your girls, your whisky, your curds and sweet whey; Your hill of Glanmire, and the shops where the people Get decent new clothes down beyont the Coal Quay. Long life to sweet Fair Lane, its pipers and jigs, And to sweet Sunday's well, and the banks of the Lee; Likewise our court-houses, where judges in wigs Sing, Cork is the Eden for you, love, and me! Mr. Walker, whose "Bounce upon Bess" has been already noticed at p. 86, and Mr. Wise, were two famous distillers in Cork; their memories are enshrined in the following epigram: "You people of Cork that are talkers, I beg you will shew me the rules, And Wise strives to make you all fools." : + What Mr. Daniel MacCarthy would have termed "naked truth." -Vide p. 99. The rapid improvement in Cork is in nothing more evident than its architecture. So recently as 1806, when the old County Court House was built, an English architect was imported to design and execute it. They have managed these things differently in our days," observes Mr. Windle; "the names of Deane, Pain, Hill, Cottrell, &c. are now connected with some of our public edifices, to which the citizen may point without shame." CORK'S GOOD-HUMOURED FACES. A specimen of the ingenious manner in which a witty manufacturer in Cork of an excellent liquid shaving-soap, and other articles, that really require no puffing, contrives to attract attention to his inventions. Mr. Olden, who has been already noticed in the introductory observations to the preceding song, p. 167, modestly remarks in one of his poetical effusions, when commending the superiority of his goods,— "I hope that you not such an ass are To send for shaving-soap as far as Naples, Or to imagine oil brought from Macassar, From aged pates each hair that's turning gray pulls." a And in another he thus eulogises the merits of his Essence de Savon, which bears what country gentlemen call “ confounded hard Greek name," and which may be classed with those words that Moore has recommended "Should only be said on holydays, When one has nothing else to do." “ ΕΥΚΕΙΡΟΓΕΝΕΙΟΝ, Whene'er I lay eye on, I firmly rely on A capital shave; And as for the water, 'Tis not a pin matter From where derivatur The well or the wave." Cork has sometimes been styled "the Irish Athens," possibly from the fame of Olden's verses, and his and Father Prout's partiality for Greek. It is stated that Mr. Olden's very amusing and most learned poems have been collected and printed for private circulation, with the title of "Soap Bubbles." All his verses which have come under the Editor's observation, display an extraordinary command of rhyme, which is sported with in actual wantonness. As Messrs. Day and Martin, and Mr. Warren, of blacking notoriety, are believed respectively to have retained a poet on their establishment, so it has been shrewdly conjectured that Mr. Olden cannot make good his claim to the authorship of all the songs put forth by him, and that he has even secured the services of more poets than one; among whom the Rev. Mr. Chester and Mr. John Lander are suspected to be the most industrious. For good-humoured faces, Cork once beat all places- By politics now are contracted each brow, or Young and old in a scolding Match joining, the whole din resolved to assuage: With soap drops, fast as hops Lathering chops, ill-blood stops, and all dire party rage. * An Irish phrase, expressive of deep regret. |