"You've all heard of Larry O'Toole,
Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole;
He had but one eye,
To ogle ye by--
Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l!
A fool
He made of de girls, dis O'Toole.

"'Twas he was the boy didn't fail,
That tuck down pataties and mail;
He never would shrink
From any sthrong dthrink,
Was it whisky or Drogheda ale;
I'm bail
This Larry would swallow a pail.

"Oh, many a night at the bowl,
With Larry I've sot cheek by jowl;
He's gone to his rest,
Where there's dthrink of the best,
And so let us give his old sowl
A howl,
For twas he made the noggin to rowl."

I observed the French Colonel's eye glistened as he heard these
well-known accents of his country but we were too well-bred to pretend
to remark his emotion.

The sun was setting behind the mountains as our songs were finished, and
each began to look out with some anxiety for the preconcerted signal,