I tould ye in me last tiligram that I'd made up me mind to lave the Kabinit unless Misther Ballance althered his idays on the fine-anshil question. Well, avick machree, me collaiges seein' that they could'nd stand a day widout me, set a thrap to catch me, for shure they knows how tindher-hearted I am whin me feelins is appailed to. So what does Mac do but invite our collaiges an the principal mimbers av our party, to av little flare-up at his lodgins a few evenins ago. Be-gorra it was a grand turn out intirely, so it was. There was lashins and lavins av atin' and dhrinkin', an' I niver tasted betther sperrits in the whole coorse av me life. Afther Misther Ballance an' mesilf dhrownded our little differences in a tumbler o' punch, he favored us wid the followin' milody:—

Air: "The Boys o' the Irish Brigade."
What for should I sing ye of Whitaker's Bill,
Or tell poor Barton's sad story?
Bob Stout, who would rob ivery publican's till,
Faix does'nt desarve half the glory
That I do, me darlints, for sthrivin to pass
Me own little Bill. Do not grudge it,
But fill, wid small beer, to the brim ivery glass,
An' dhrink to meself an' me Budget.

Misther Ballance's health an' song was dhrunk in bumpers, after which Mac favoured us wid the followin' Scotch gim, which I tuk down in writin', so that I might give ye a correct varsion av' the silvery doorrick av' the North, as it's called:—

Jay See.
Air; "Nelly Broon,"
My bonnie Jay See Broon,
I will sing this sang tae thee—
The canny folks o' Lawrence toon
Should thank thy energee.
Though mony a year's gane o'er my pow
Since first ye met wi' me,
I find ye still beside me noo,
My ain Jay See.

Oh, tell me Jay See Broon,
D'ye mind o' auld lang syne?
In council ha' we baith sat doon,
Ma certie it was fine.
I find ye still, lad, at my back,
For me an' mine ye'd dee—
Wi' siena whip I like a crack,
My ain Jay See.

Afther Misther Stout finished the Chant, the boys would have me up for a song, so I gave thim the followin' ixtimporary thrifle, to that dear ould tchune, "The Warin' o' the Green ":—

Taxin' O' the Beer.
Arrah, darlints dear, just lind an ear,
I'll tell ye somethin' new,
'Twixt you an' me, the Min-is-three
A ruction soon will brew.
Faix I'll go bail, the poor man's ale
In future will be queer;
They'll spile the broth, and give us froth,
A taxin' o' the Beer.

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I met wid Misther Ballauce, an'
He tuk me be the hand,
Sea he, "Come Pat an' have a chat,
A pint or two I'll stand."
"Ye varmint low," ses I, "ye know
Ye've made the liquor dear;
It's casks an' kegs o' washy dhregs,
We'll get instead o' Beer."

Thin if the she-oak we recaive,
Be nothin' else than swill,
Wid pint or jug I'll smash his mug,
An' break his ugly bill.
We crossed the say, from milk an' tay,
To take our tankards here,
The dirty lot may go to pot,
A taxin' o' the Beer.

Sir George thin gave, in a fine tinner voice, the followin' chant, which he lamed at the racint korero:—

Ra te pukohu ka riakina mai Pukekura;
Te wa huri atu ki a Ngairo,
Kua weeha e te taha-kura ra a—
Nana i whakahou mai te wairua,
He mahi ka wareware taku ngakau e noho nei au
Homai ano koe, kia ringia ki te wai-ro-miata,
E'hei aku kamo,
Ngarere e tangi mai te wai rere,
E whano nunumi any te pua-reinga
Ki taku makau.