7 MARCH 1891, Page 15

[A special feature of the present fratrioidal conflict in Iroland

is the havoc wrought by the opposing factions on each other's musical instrumonto.]

THE minstrel boy to the war has gone, Begorra! 'tis there you'll find him : His father's horn he has girded on, And his big drum slung behind him. "Land of song," quoth the warrior bard, " Though civil war may rend thee, One dauntless drum thy rights shall guard, One crumpled horn befriend thee."

The minstrel fell, but no mortal means Could bring his proud soul under : For he broke his horn to smithereens, And burst his drum asunder : And swore, as he eyed the shattered hide, "No recreant foe shall thump it," "Lie still, good horn, no lips forsworn Shall blow my own dear trumpet."