Be the piper that played afore Moses, I was as nigh as a toucher gettin' into an attack o' delarium thramins over the Governor's arrival. Av coorse, as I tould ye afore, I hadn't seen Sir Herculis since we worat school together at Murty Donohoe's, jist beyant the crass-roads, op-pos-it the Mullingar road. Well, 'pon me conshinse, I thought his Ixcillincee would shake the two hands o' me on the Kay whin I met him landin' from the Wolverine. "Tare-an-ounthers, can I believe me two eyes?" ses the Governor, whin he first caught sight o' me "Blur-an-agers, sure that can't be yerself, Paddy aroon," ses he. "Begorra, it's all that's lift o' me, yer Ixcillincee," ses I. "'Fon me conshinse I shouldn't have known ye, Paddy, av it wasn't for the blue wart on the lift hand corner o' yer nose," "D'ye tell me so?" ses I, "an be-dad I can make the same rimark wid rispict to yer Ixcillincee," ses I, "for be-jabers, av it wasn't for the piculiar cut av yer Ixcillincee's right hand whisker I'd have parsed ye in the sthreet widout knowin'ye," ses I. Sir Herculis then inthroduced me to Lady Robinson an' his shuite, an' in return I inthroduced him to me collaiges—Mac, Whitmore, an' Fisher. Johnnie had the impidcuce to inthroduce himself. After our mutchual congratulashnns, Sir Herculis tuk me aside, an' ses he, "Faddy, allanah, yersilf and yer collaiges can come up afther tay an' we'll have a quiet dhrop o' the craythur togetber." Well, in response to his Ixcillincee's invitation, mesilf an' Mac, an' the Colonel, an' Fisher, wint up to the Vice-Raygil residince in the evenin', an' spint a most injoyable night. Afthera few rounds o' punch had recaived ample justice, we gave a song aitch. As mesilf was the only one that sang in plain English, I vintchure to give ye the other ditties in the gibberish in which they wor sung, verbatim et litheratim. This is Mac's song:—

Air: "Bonnie Jean."
O a' the airts the win' can blaw,
I dearly loe the South,
For there the silv'ry Doric braw
Fa's frae ilk Scottish mouth;
There's nae a settler in the Ian',
Frae Taieri tae the sea.
But boasts o' the auld Free-kiric ban'
O' auld Iden-tit-ee.

Blaw, blaw, ye Opposition men,
Ye re unco fu' o' gas;
The guid auld Scottish folks, ye ken,
Wha dearly lo'ed a glass,
Could hae a crack and mak' the laws Sae that the'rsel's were free;
The Cooncil foucht the guid auld cause
O' auld Iden-tit-ee.