CHAPTER X.


And now another man I seek,
Who lived on George Street, by the creek,
Lo! memory's telescopic eye
At once John Taillon's shade brings nigh,
And as his form approaches near,
His laugh I almost seem to hear.
One of those lost with much regret,
James Leamy, I would not forget,
Though not a man of '28,
His early and untimely fate--
His merry life and tragic fall,
Are in the memory of all.
And Andrew Leamy in his time,
Was head of many a stirring "shine;"
A man of mark he might be singled,
In whom the good and bad commingled,
In equal balance in such way,
That each in turn had its sway;
He's gone! the grass grows o'er his head;
The muse deals gently with the dead.
James Devlin, where are you old man,
Whose fingers o'er the catgut ran?
Professor of the art to foil
Both "treason, stratagem and spoil,"