'VE heard a good joke on Emerald Pat,

Who kept a few brains and a brick in his hat;

He was bound to go hunting; so taking his gun

He rammed down a charge—this was load number one;

Then he put in the priming, and when all was done,

By way of experiment, he thought he would try

And see if by perchance he might hit the "bull's eye."

He straightened himself until he made a good figure,

Took a deliberate aim and then pulled the trigger.

Click! went the hammer, but nothing exploded;

"And sure," muttered Paddy, "the gun isn't loaded."

So down went another charge, just as before,

Unless this contained a grain or two more;

Once more he made ready and took a good aim

And pulled on the trigger—effect quite the same.

"I wonder, can this be, still shootin'?" said Pat;

"I put down a load, now I'm certain of that;

I'll try it again, and then we shall see!"

So down went the cartridge of load number three.

Then trying again with a confident air,

And succeeding no better, he gave up in despair.

Just at that moment he happened to spy

His friend, Michael Milligan, hurrying by.

"Hello, Mike! Come here and try on my gun;

I've been trying to shoot until I'm tired and done!"

So Mike took the gun and picked up the powder,

Remarking to Pat, "it would make it go louder."

Then placing it firmly against his right arm,

And never suspecting it might do him harm,

He pointed the piece in the proper direction,

And pulled on the trigger without more reflection,

When off went the gun like a county election

Where whisky and gin have exclusive selection

Of those who are chosen to guard the inspection—

There's a great deal of noise—and some little inspection,

And Michael "went off" in another direction.

"Hold on!" shouted Pat, "Hold on to the gun,

I put in three loads, and you fired off but one!

Get up, and be careful, don't hold it so level,

Or else we are both us gone to the—cemetery!"

"I'm goin'," says Michael, "it's time that I wint,

I've got meself kicked and I'll just take the hint."

Now, old boys, and young, here's a moral for you;

Don't make Pat your pattern whatever you do.

Don't carry too much in the crown of your hat;

Of all things you lodge there beware of the bat!

I don't mean the little mouse flying in the air,

The ladies so fear that may get into their hair,

But the dangerous brick bat, so much worse than that,

Nobody can wear it that isn't a "flat,"

And then don't forget it is one of Old Nick's

Diabolical methods of playing his tricks

On foolish young men who become "perfect bricks;"

He don't give the hint until after he kicks!