Begorra, I've got back home agin, so I have, an' though little Patsey (that's our youngest) is sufferin' from the chinkoff, Molly an' the rest o' the childher are in illigant health. Last night afther tay I wos layin' on the soft sawdher on to Molly (betchune you an' me, wid all me galavantin' among the Maori colleens, I've a warm corner in me heart for the ould woman still), and I'd jist comminced a new song I've rote in her honour, whin I hard a familiar futstep comin' up the stairs. I finished wid the first varse as follows:—

Och, I'm not mesilf at Hall,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
I'm not mesilf at Hall !
Round the counthry I am goin',
Talkin' nonsinse widout knowin',
Spoutin' polyticks an' blowin',
Molly dear,
And I'm not mesilf at Hall!

Just as I kem to this line, who the jooce should pop in but Sir George. Our eggshuberint joy at meetin' wid one another was mighty grate intirely, so it was. Av coorse the decanthers wor brought out an' the kettle was set agoin'. Well, avick machree, whin Sir George had unburthened himsilf to me, an' tould me all about his projected tower south, me ould loyalty to the page 76 the people's laidher returned agin; an' undher the conthrollin' inflooince av two tumblers, I burst forth into the followin' ditty:—