"Nation," for which they were well fitted, seeing that, with their
brilliant gifts, they had, from their earliest days, been imbued with
the doctrines of that newspaper.

T.D., like his brother, often came to Liverpool, and used to be equally
delighted with the enthusiastic receptions he got from his
fellow-countrymen. On one occasion he said to me he was at a loss how to
show his appreciation. I told him how to do this. "Write us a song," I
said. He did so; and with that admirable tact which is so characteristic
of him he chose for his theme--"Erin's Sons in England," a song which,
written to the air of "The Shamrock," has, for many years, been sung at
our Irish festivals in Great Britain. As a personal favour to myself he
wrote it for one of the penny books of my "Irish Library".

I need make no apology for introducing T.D. Sullivan's song here. It
will be seen that he sings our praise with no uncertain note; and, in
return, I may say on their behalf that he had no warmer admirers than
among the Irish of England.

ERIN'S SONS IN ENGLAND.

_Air--"Oh, the Shamrock_."

On every shore, the wide world o'er,
The newest and the oldest,
The sons are found of Erin's ground
Among the best and boldest.
But soul and will are turning still
To Ireland o'er the ocean,
And well I know where aye they glow