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May the smiles of love

Cheer our lads so clever;

And, with whisky, boys,

We'll drink King George for ever.

THE POWERS OF WHISKY.

Bernard, in his "Retrospections of the Stage," tells us that, when in company with some of the Sligo corps dramatique, he visited a house of entertainment "for man and horse," at no great distance from that town, and "asked the landlord what he had to eat? He said, 'Whisky!' What he had to drink? Whisky!' What they could contrive to stay their stomachs on? His answer was still, Whisky!' There was nothing to be had at this place but the one commodity."

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This is no bad illustration of the opinion entertained of the powers of whisky, which has been described not merely as "meat and drink," but as "food and clothes," to an Irishman; who, as long as he has the price of "a glass" in his pocket, is as light-hearted as a feather. Even when that is not the case, he is far from feeling despondent, trusting that some lucky chance will aid him in his emergency. "Hunger," it has been observed, "sharpens the wit;" the same thing may be said of whisky. M. de Latocnaye, an amusing French traveller, gives the following instance of this in his "Promenade en Irlande." "Le jeune homme qui était mon compagnon de voyage paraissait bon enfant, et m'expliquait le pays chemin

faisant.

bien fâché.'

Je suis bien fâché, monsieur,' me dit-il; 'je suis "Eh bien ! mon garçon,' lui dis-je, 'quel est le sujet de votre chagrin ?' 'Ah! monsieur, je suis bien fâché de n'avoir point d'argent pour vous offrir un verre de whisky. Je trouvai cette manière de demander assez originale; et je lui répondis que cela ne devait pas l'affliger, parce que je serais bien aise de le régaler moimême."

Air" The Kinnegad Slashers."

Oh! merry am I, ever jocund and gay,
If for whisky in plenty my pocket can pay;
If we feel melancholy, and cannot tell why,

Whisky lightens the heart, though it deadens the
If sorrow should vex us,

Or care should perplex us,

Get tipsy enough, every pang will depart;
Oh! there's nothing like whisky

Makes Irishmen frisky,

It bothers their sorrows, and gladdens their heart.

eye.

If in love with a maid, who your flame would deride,
Drink enough, you'll find charms in a dozen beside;
Drink more, and your victory, then, is complete,

- For you'll think you're in love with each girl that you meet. If a girl's sick, poor creatur',

Let no doctor treat her,

But a plentiful drop of the native impart;

For there's nothing like whisky

To make the girls frisky,

To make them good-natured, and soften their heart.

Oh! whisky, dear whisky, it charms and cajoles,
And it lies at the heart like a friend, and consoles ;
No grief, be it ever so great, can subdue,

While I have, my dear whisky, a flask full of you.
Then let it, ye powers,

Rain whisky in showers;

Let each of the other be a full counterpart;
For there's nothing like whisky

Makes Irishmen frisky;

It bothers their sorrows, and gladdens their heart.

ERIN'S WHISKY.

Copied from "Captain Rock in London," No. 42, a weekly publication of the year 1825, price twopence.

Gamble, in his "Views of Society and Manners in the North of Ireland," philosophically remarks, that "There seems a natural and instinctive fondness in the inhabitants of damp and mountainous places for ardent spirits; and, perhaps, every where, in vacant and unemployed minds, there is similar fondness; for a love of sensation seems the strongest appetite or passion of our nature. For the purpose of speedy intoxication whisky is superlative; and when, to physical and other general causes, are added the more powerful moral ones of his condition, it is little wonderful that the Irish peasant should seek, in the Lethean draught, oblivious happiness; and regard the inventor of his beloved liquor as a greater benefactor than Ceres and Triptolemus put together."

Whilst others sing the joys of wine,
And high their voices raise;

For ever shall the theme be mine

To chant old whisky's praise.
Oh! the charming whisky,
Erin's famous whisky;

'Midst all our grief,

It gives relief,

To know we have good whisky!

What is it makes our hearts so bold;
What makes us love so true?
Oh! if in faith, the truth be told,
Dear whisky, gra', 'tis you.
Oh! the charming whisky,
Erin's famous whisky;
Then bumpers bring,

And let us sing—
The joys of Erin's whisky!

ROCK'S POTEEN.

The word poteen has been already explained as illicit whisky. "Whisky from illicit stills," according to Wakefield, “is sold as openly (in Ireland) as if it had been gauged by the excise officer; it has a peculiar smoky taste, different from that which has been regularly and carefully distilled, and which the people imagine to have acquired its white colour from vitriol. Were one to find fault with the whisky in the northern counties, the imme

diate reply would be, It's as good poteen as any in Ulster, for it never paid a happ'eth of duty." From 1802 to June 1806,-a space of four years and a half, no less than 13,439 unlicensed whisky-stills, 11,098 heads, and 9732 worms, were seized in Ireland. Some idea, therefore, of the magnitude of the traffic in poteen may be formed by this official return.

This song, in praise of poteen, is copied from "Captain Rock in London," No. 2.

Begone, ye dark obtruding cares,
And ne'er again come near me;

My soul for every ill prepares,

Whilst I've poteen to cheer me.
Oh, poteen,

The nice poteen,

The mellow, mild, and rich poteen!

The chosen toast

Round Erin's coast,

The pink of spirits, Rock's poteen.

Unfathom'd by the exciseman's rule,
Our native shines in bottles green;
And where's the drink so mild and cool
As barley juice?—our smoked poteen.
Oh, &c.

Let Britons boast their ale and beer,
For whisky gra'! they've never seen;

Or else another tune we'd hear

In praise of Rock-glen's prime poteen.

Oh, &c.

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