Ode to Mrs Flanagan .

Sir,—A friend of mine died last month in Tralee, sit illi terra levis. He
left behind him a large quantity of MSS. His wife, a woman of singular
judgment, appointed me to prepare them for the press; and before I finally
commit them entire to the public, I think it right to give a specimen of the
poetical part. Your Magazine has been pointed out to me as the vehicle. The
public in this incredulous age might not wish to purchase a couple of folios
without some sample of their contents. I give, therefore, the first that comes
to hand.
It happens to be a poem, written about 1817, to a Mr Flanagan of Youghall
Various passages in it requiring elucidation, I submitted it to the people who
could give me most information on its topics. I have to thank Mr Roderick
Mulshenan, Eugene Falvey mariner, Lieutenant Duperier, Mr Leigh Hunt,
&c. The last gentleman took a very kind interest in the concern, as will ap-
pear by the notes furnished by himself and his friends ; and I hereby return
him my most grateful thanks. Every gentleman who assisted me in my com-
mentary is duly mentioned, after the laudable custom of those viri clarissimi,
the variorum editors.
I shall send you some more of these papers in prose and verse, with a life of the author, at some future opportunity.
I remain, sir, your most obedient,
and very humble servant,
Phillip Forager.
Drumanigillibeg, Feb, 29, 1820.
P.S.—I understand, that it is conceived by some of the critics who have
perused this piece, that the hint is taken from Horace. Perhaps so—I accord-
ingly subjoin the ode. I have some notes and annotations on the Latin text,
which I at first intended to send to you, but, on mature reflection, I have
transmitted them to Mr Kidd, who has promised to publish them in his
Curæ posteriores in Horatii Carmina. 

MSS. No I.

To Mrs Kitty Flanagan, comforts her on
the absence of her husband, Jerry Flana-
gan, mate of the Jolly Jupiter, and drops
a hint about a light dragoon.

Why do you cry, my sweet Mrs Flanagan,1
When you will soon have your own dear
man again,
Whom the first wind will bring home from
the Delaware, *
Brimful of sovereigns, and such other yellow

* The Jolly Jupiter was in the Delaware in 1817 with a cargo of crokery. We sailed
from that to Norfolk, in Virginia, where we took on board a cargo of tobacco, which we
smuggled into the ports on the west coast of Ireland. We were but nine hands on board.
Peter Bulger, who was shot last Christmas in the Shannon, in a run from a revenue
cruiser, was our captain ; and Jerry Flanagan, an Ardmore man born, was mate. He
He’s driven in to some port to the west of
, *
(A thing that might happen, dear, to the
best of us.)
Where he is sighing, sobbing, and chatter-
Night and day long of his own dear Cather-
Although his landlady, one Mrs Gallagher, †9
Wants him to quit you, the rogue, and to
follow her.
She tells him the tale of the wife of old Po-
, ‡
Relating a fact that will ne’er be forgot of her.)12
Who, from a feeling malignant and sul-te-ry,13
Had Joseph near hanged for eschewing a-
dultery :
And from this basest, this vilest of women, he15
Gets Mr Hunt’s smutty story of Rimini, §16
By which, ’ tis plain she hopes to a surety,17
Soon to corrupt his natural purity ;18
But he resists her arts and her flattery,19
Deaf and determined, just as a battery20

and Mrs Flanagan, a comely two-handed woman, have gone off to the Cape of Good Hope
to settle among the Caffres and other such outlandish people. The Jolly Jupiter is about
280 tons burthen, a smart sailing brig, built by Hurly of Kinsale. This is all I know
about the matter.—EugeneFalvey.
I may add, that the Jolly Jupiter is now for sale in Liverpool, as I perceive by
Gore’s General Advertiser. It may also be worth mentioning, that Mrs Flanagan was
married in 1812 to Jerry, a good-looking stout fellow, about thirty. She is the daughter
of Mullovny, a vintner in Youghall, and has had six children since marriage. It is
right to be minute on interesting particulars.—Phillip Forager.
* Dingle-i-couch, a celebrated harbour in the kingdom of Kerry, where, I am informed
by my friend and correspondent, Mr Roderic Mulshenan, a name I mention with deserved
respect, the brig Jolly Jupiter did actually put in, in March 1817 ; but through an unfor-
tunate mislaying of his papers relating to this event, I cannot tell the precise day. Mr
R. M. is preparing a history of Dingle, in which, among many other equally interest-
ing particulars, we shall, no doubt, have this point decided. He has already half a ton
of MSS. for this great work.—P. F.
† Mrs Gallagher (pronounced more Hibernico, Gollagher) keeps the sign of the cat-and-
bagpipes in Dingle,—a woman irreproachable in her conduct, amatory in her disposition,
fair in her dealings, and a good hand in running spirits. Touching the colour of her
hair, it is red, and she was a widow (at the time of this poem,) of her third husband for
nearly three months—she has been since married. Miss Skinandbone, a maiden lady in
Dingle, tells me that her treatment of Flanagan was kind, and that he was no Joseph—
but this may not be authenticated.—P. F. She appears to be a woman of taste and read-
ing, by having my poem in her house—Leigh Hunt. It was left at her house by a
Cockney barber, who was running away from his creditors, and taking ship on board the
Yankiedoodle in Dingle ; he left it with Mrs G. as pledge for a tumbler of punch.—Ro-
derick Mulshenan. Perhaps he found it too heavy to carry it any farther.—Z.
‡ This allusion to Scripture, I think profane and reprehensible, Leigh Hunt. So do
I, Byron. So do I, Wm Hone. So do I, Bedford. So do I, Sussex. So do I,
T. Moore. So also many more Whig wits, men conspicuous for respect for the Scrip-
tures. Nobody understands profaneness better than they.—P. F.
§ The clear shown bay of Dingle rises, on my soul, with springy freshness from this
circumstance. Mrs Gallagher made the use I intended of my poem : a rational piety and
a manly patriotism should prompt a writer to excite those passions which nature has given
us, and which tend to increase the population of the country. By smutty, is meant that
I resemble Rembrandt in being dark, gloomy, and grand ; it is a dear coming-round me-
taphorical expression, quite feet-on-the-fenderish, and reminds one of a poker in the fire,
and a chimney corner.—Leigh Hunt
ǁ Deaf as a battery, is not the proper phrase : it must have been put in rythmi gratia.
I suggest the following : —
But he’s as deaf—as deaf as the postesses
To the designs and the arts of his hostess’s.”
John Keats.
Postesses, in the Cockney tongue, signifies Posts.—P. F.
But there’s a sergeant, one Patrick Hen-
Keep away, Kitty, from all such men as he,22
Though he’s so smart, that he’s always em-
ployed, as
Rough-rider to the old Marquis of Droghe-
Though there are few so brawny and big,
my dear
Or far better at dancing a jig, my dear,26
Close down your windows when he comes
Shut both jour doors and your ears to his
Mind not the songs or sighs of this Hannibal,29
But, looking at-him, cross as a Cannibal,30
Cry, “ come be off as light as a tailor, man,31
I will be true to my own dear sailor-man.”32

* There is no such serjeant or rough-rider in the 18th hussars, H. Duperier,
Lieutenant and Adjutant.
 There must then be some mistake in the business, which I cannot account for.—P. F.
† The most noble Charles, Marquis of Drogheda, K. S. P. is Colonel of the 18th hus-
sars. H. D. Lieutenant and Adjutant.
 He is somewhat elderly, being born in 1730 ; he is now the eldest General in the
army, and the only officer in the service who has received the commission he holds
from George II., having raised the 18th in 1759. Long may he keep his rank.—P. F.
Hactenus hæc sed restat adhuc pars ultima curæ.