Hinnissy. Some mornin' I'll wake up an' know jus' what to do, an' that
I'll do. But 'tis th' annoyance in th' mane time. I've been r-readin'
about th' counthry. 'Tis over beyant ye'er left shoulder whin ye're
facin' east. Jus' throw ye'er thumb back, an' ye have it as ac'rate as
anny man in town. 'Tis farther thin Boohlgahrya an' not so far as
Blewchoochoo. It's near Chiny, an' it's not so near; an', if a man was
to bore a well through fr'm Goshen, Indianny, he might sthrike it, an'
thin again he might not. It's a poverty-sthricken counthry, full iv
goold an' precious stones, where th' people can pick dinner off th'
threes an' ar-re starvin' because they have no step-ladders. Th'
inhabitants is mostly naygurs an' Chinnymen, peaceful, industhrus, an'
law-abidin', but savage an' bloodthirsty in their methods. They wear no
clothes except what they have on, an' each woman has five husbands an'
each man has five wives. Th' r-rest goes into th' discard, th' same as
here. Th' islands has been ownded be Spain since befure th' fire; an'
she's threated thim so well they're now up in ar-rms again her, except a
majority iv thim which is thurly loyal. Th' natives seldom fight, but
whin they get mad at wan another they r-run-a-muck. Whin a man
r-runs-a-muck, sometimes they hang him an' sometimes they discharge him
an' hire a new motorman. Th' women ar-re beautiful, with languishin'
black eyes, an' they smoke see-gars, but ar-re hurried an' incomplete in
their dhress. I see a pitcher iv wan th' other day with nawthin' on her
but a basket of cocoanuts an' a hoop-skirt. They're no prudes. We import
juke, hemp, cigar wrappers, sugar, an' fairy tales fr'm th' Ph'lippeens,
an' export six-inch shells an' th' like. Iv late th' Ph'lippeens has
awaked to th' fact that they're behind th' times, an' has received much
American amminition in their midst. They say th' Spanyards is all tore
up about it.
"I larned all this fr'm th' papers, an' I know 'tis sthraight. An' yet,
Hinnissy, I dinnaw what to do about th' Ph'lippeens. An' I'm all alone
in th' wurruld. Ivrybody else has made up his mind. Ye ask anny
con-ducthor on Ar-rchy R-road, an' he'll tell ye. Ye can find out fr'm
the papers; an', if ye really want to know, all ye have to do is to ask
a prom'nent citizen who can mow all th' lawn he owns with a safety
razor. But I don't know."
"Hang on to thim," said Mr. Hennessy, stoutly. "What we've got we must
hold."
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "if I was Mack, I'd lave it to George. I'd say:
'George,' I'd say, 'if ye're f'r hangin' on, hang on it is. If ye say,
lave go, I dhrop thim.' 'Twas George won thim with th' shells, an' th'
question's up to him."
ON PRAYERS FOR VICTORY.
"It looks to me," said Mr. Dooley, "as though me frind Mack'd got tired
iv th' Sthrateejy Board, an' was goin' to lave th' war to th' men in
black."
"How's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy, who has at best but a clouded view of
public affairs.
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "while th' sthrateejans have been wearin' out
their jeans on cracker-boxes in Wash'n'ton, they'se been goin' on th'
mos' deadly conflict iver heerd tell iv between th' pow'rful preachin'
navies iv th' two counthries. Manila is nawthin' at all to th' scenes iv
carnage an' slaughter, as Hogan says, that's been brought about be these
desthroyers. Th' Spanyards fired th' openin' gun whin th' bishop iv
Cades, a pow'rful turreted monitor (ol' style), attackted us with both
for'ard guns, an' sint a storm iv brimstone an' hell into us. But th'
victhry was not f'r long with th' hated Spanyard. He was answered be
our whole fleet iv preachers. Thin he was jined be th' bishop iv
Barsaloona an' th' bishop iv Mahdrid an' th' bishop iv Havana, all
battle-ships iv th' first class, followed be a fleet iv cruisers
r-runnin' all th' way fr'm a full-ar-rmored vicar gin'ral to a protected
parish priest. To meet thim, we sint th' bishop iv New York, th' bishop
iv Philadelphia, th' bishop iv Baltimore, an' th' bishop iv Chicago,
accompanied be a flyin' squadhron iv Methodists, three Presbyteryan
monitors, a fleet iv Baptist submarine desthroyers, an' a formidable
array iv Universalist an' Unitaryan torpedo boats, with a Jew r-ram.
Manetime th' bishop iv Manila had fired a solid prayer, weighin' a ton,
at San Francisco; an' a masked batthry iv Congregationalists replied,
inflictin' severe damage. Our Atlantic fleet is now sarchin' f'r th'
inimy, an' the bishop iv New York is blockadin' th' bishop iv Sandago de
Cuba; an' they'se been an exchange iv prayers between th' bishop iv
Baltimore an' th' bishop iv Havana without much damage.
"Th' Lord knows how it'll come out. First wan side prays that th' wrath
iv Hiven'll descind on th' other, an' thin th' other side returns th'
compliment with inthrest. Th' Spanish bishop says we're a lot iv
murdherin', irreligious thieves, an' ought to be swept fr'm th' face iv
th' earth. We say his people ar-re th' same, an' manny iv thim. He
wishes Hivin to sink our ships an' desthroy our men; an' we hope he'll
injye th' same gr-reat blessin'. We have a shade th' best iv him, f'r
his fleets ar-re all iv th' same class an' ol' style, an' we have some
iv th' most modhern prayin' machines in the warruld; but he prays
har-rd, an' 'tis no aisy wurruk to silence him."
"What d'ye think about it?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "I dinnaw jus' what to think iv it. Me own idee
is that war is not a matther iv prayers so much as a matther iv
punchin'; an' th' on'y place a prayer book stops a bullet is in th'
story books. 'Tis like what Father Kelly said. Three weeks ago las'
Sundah he met Hogan; an' Hogan, wantin' to be smart, ast him if he'd
offered up prayers f'r th' success iv th' cause. 'Faith, I did not,'
says th' good man. 'I was in too much iv a hurry to get away.' 'What was
th' matther?' ast Hogan. 'I had me uniform to brush up an' me soord to
polish,' says Father Kelly. 'I am goin' with th' rig'mint to-morrah,' he
says; an' he says, 'If ye hear iv me waitin' to pray,' he says, 'anny
time they'se a call f'r me,' he says, 'to be in a fight,' he says, 'ye
may conclude,' he says, 'that I've lost me mind, an' won't be back to me
parish,' he says. 'Hogan,' he says, 'I'll go into th' battle with a
prayer book in wan hand an' a soord in th' other,' he says; 'an' if th'
wurruk calls f'r two hands, 'tis not th' soord I'll dhrop,' he says.
'Don't ye believe in prayer?' says Hogan. 'I do,' says th' good man;
'but,' he says, 'a healthy person ought,' he says, 'to be ashamed,' he
says, 'to ask f'r help in a fight,' he says."
"That's th' way I look at it," said Mr. Hennessy. "When 'tis an aven
thing in th' prayin', may th' best man win."
"Ye're r-right, Hinnissy," said Mr. Dooley, warmly. "Ye're r-right. An'
th' best man will win."
ON THE ANGLO-SAXON.
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "I see be th' pa-apers that th' snow-white
pigeon iv peace have tied up th' dogs iv war. It's all over now. All
we've got to do is to arrest th' pathrites an' make th' reconcenthradios
pay th' stamp tax, an' be r-ready f'r to take a punch at Germany or
France or Rooshia or anny counthry on th' face iv th' globe.
"An' I'm glad iv it. This war, Hinnissy, has been a gr-reat sthrain on
me. To think iv th' suffrin' I've endured! F'r weeks I lay awake at
nights fearin' that th' Spanish ar-rmadillo'd lave the Cape Verde
Islands, where it wasn't, an' take th' thrain out here, an' hur-rl death
an' desthruction into me little store. Day be day th' pitiless exthries
come out an' beat down on me. Ye hear iv Teddy Rosenfelt plungin' into
ambus-cades an' Sicrity iv Wars; but d'ye hear iv Martin Dooley, th' man
behind th' guns, four thousan' miles behind thim, an' willin' to be
further? They ar-re no bokays f'r me. I'm what Hogan calls wan iv th'
mute, ingloryous heroes iv th' war; an' not so dam mute, ayther. Some
day, Hinnissy, justice'll be done me, an' th' likes iv me; an', whin th'
story iv a gr-reat battle is written, they'll print th' kilt, th'
wounded, th' missin', an' th' seryously disturbed. An' thim that have
bore thimsilves well an' bravely an' paid th' taxes an' faced th' deadly
newspa-apers without flinchin' 'll be advanced six pints an' given a
chanst to tur-rn jack f'r th' game.
"But me wurruk ain't over jus' because Mack has inded th' war an' Teddy
Rosenfelt is comin' home to bite th' Sicrety iv War. You an' me,
Hinnissy, has got to bring on this here Anglo-Saxon 'lieance. An
Anglo-Saxon, Hinnissy, is a German that's forgot who was his parents.
They're a lot iv thim in this counthry. There must be as manny as two in
Boston: they'se wan up in Maine, an' another lives at Bogg's Ferry in
New York State, an' dhrives a milk wagon. Mack is an Anglo-Saxon. His
folks come fr'm th' County Armagh, an' their naytional Anglo-Saxon hymn
is 'O'Donnell Aboo.' Teddy Rosenfelt is another Anglo-Saxon. An' I'm an
Anglo-Saxon. I'm wan iv th' hottest Anglo-Saxons that iver come out iv
Anglo-Saxony. Th' name iv Dooley has been th' proudest Anglo-Saxon name
in th' County Roscommon f'r many years.
"Schwartzmeister is an Anglo-Saxon, but he doesn't know it, an' won't
till some wan tells him. Pether Bowbeen down be th' Frinch church is
formin' th' Circle Francaize Anglo-Saxon club, an' me ol' frind Dominigo
that used to boss th' Ar-rchey R-road wagon whin Callaghan had th'
sthreet conthract will march at th' head iv th' Dago Anglo-Saxons whin
th' time comes. There ar-re twinty thousan' Rooshian Jews at a quarther
a vote in th' Sivinth Ward; an', ar-rmed with rag hooks, they'd be a
tur-rble thing f'r anny inimy iv th' Anglo-Saxon 'lieance to face. Th'
Bohemians an' Pole Anglo-Saxons may be a little slow in wakin' up to
what th' pa-apers calls our common hurtage, but ye may be sure they'll
be all r-right whin they're called on. We've got together an
Anglo-Saxon 'lieance in this wa-ard, an' we're goin' to ilict Sarsfield
O'Brien prisidint, Hugh O'Neill Darsey vice-prisidint, Robert Immitt
Clancy sicrety, an' Wolfe Tone Malone three-asurer. O'Brien'll be a good
wan to have. He was in the Fenian r-raid, an' his father carrid a pike
in forty-eight. An' he's in th' Clan. Besides, he has a sthrong pull
with th' Ancient Ordher iv Anglo-Saxon Hibernyans.
"I tell ye, whin th' Clan an' th' Sons iv Sweden an' th' Banana Club an'
th' Circle Francaize an' th' Pollacky Benivolent Society an' th'
Rooshian Sons of Dinnymite an' th' Benny Brith an' th' Coffee Clutch
that Schwartzmeister r-runs an' th' Tur-rnd'ye-mind an' th' Holland
society an' th' Afro-Americans an' th' other Anglo-Saxons begin f'r to
raise their Anglo-Saxon battle-cry, it'll be all day with th' eight or
nine people in th' wurruld that has th' misfortune iv not bein' brought
up Anglo-Saxons."
"They'se goin' to be a debate on th' 'lieance at th' ninety-eight picnic
at Ogden's gr-rove," said Mr. Hennessy.
"P'r'aps," said Mr. Dooley, sweetly, "ye might like to borry th' loan iv
an ice-pick."
ON A LETTER FROM THE FRONT.
Mr. Dooley looked important, but affected indifference, as he mopped the
bar. Mr. Hennessy, who had learned to study his friend in order to
escape disagreeable complications, patiently waited for the philosopher
to speak. Mr. Dooley rubbed the bar to the end, tossed the cloth into a
mysterious recess with a practised movement, moved a glass or two on the
shelf, cleaned his spectacles, and drew a letter from his pocket.
"Hm-m!" he said: "I have news fr'm th' fr-ront. Me nevvew, Terry
Donahue, has sint me a letther tellin' me all about it."
"How shud he know?" Mr. Hennessy asked.
"How shud he know, is it?" Mr. Dooley demanded warmly. "How shudden't he
know? Isn't he a sojer in th' ar-rmy? Isn't it him that's down there in
Sandago fightin' f'r th' honor iv th' flag, while th' likes iv you is
up here livin' like a prince, an' doin' nawthin' all th' livelong day
but shovel at th' rollin'-mills? Who are ye f'r to criticize th'
dayfinders iv our counthry who ar-re lyin' in th' trinches, an' havin'
th' clothes stole off their backs be th' pathriotic Cubians, I'd like to
know? F'r two pins, Hinnissy, you an' I'd quarrel."
"I didn't mean nawthin'," Mr. Hennessy apologized. "I didn't know he was
down there."
"Nayether did I," said Mr. Dooley. "But I informed mesilf. I'll have no
wan in this place speak again th' ar-rmy. Ye can have ye'er say about
Mack. He has a good job, an' 'tis r-right an' proper f'r to baste him
fr'm time to time. It shows ye'er in good thrim, an' it don't hur-rt
him. They'se no wan to stop his pay. He goes up to th' cashier an'
dhraws his forty-wan-sixty-six jus' th' same whether he's sick or well,
an' whether he's pulled th' box reg-lar or has been playin' forty-fives
in th' back room. But whin ye come to castin' aspersions on th' ar'rmy,
be hivens, ye'll find that I can put me thumb on this showcase an' go
over at wan lep."
"I didn't say annything," said Mr. Hennessy. "I didn't know about
Terry."
"Iv coorse, ye didn't," said Mr. Dooley. "An' that's what I'm sayin'.
Ye're here wallowin' in luxury, wheelin' pig ir'n fr'm morn till night;
an' ye have no thought iv what's goin' on beyant. You an' Jawn D.
Rockefeller an' Phil Ar-rmour an' Jay Pierpont Morgan an' th' r-rest iv
ye is settin' back at home figurin' how ye can make some wan else pay
ye'er taxes f'r ye. What is it to ye that me nevvew Terry is sleepin' in
ditch wather an' atin' hard tacks an' coffee an' bein' r-robbed be
leeber Cubians, an' catchin' yallow fever without a chanst iv givin' it
to e'er a Spanyard. Ye think more iv a stamp thin ye do iv ye'er
counthry. Ye're like th' Sugar Thrust. F'r two cints ye'd refuse to
support th' govermint. I know ye, ye bloated monno-polist."
"I'm no such thing," said Mr. Hennessy, hotly. "I've been a Dimmycrat
f'r thirty year."
"Well, annyhow," said Mr. Dooley, "don't speak disrayspictful iv th'
ar-rmy. Lave me r-read you Terry's letter fr'm th' fr-ront. 'M--m: In
th' trinches, two miles fr'm Sandago, with a land crab as big as a
lobster crawlin' up me back be way iv Kingston, June 6, Dear Uncle
Martin.' That's th' way it begins. 'Dear Uncle Martin: We are all well
here, except thim that is not, an' hope ye're injyin' th' same gr-reat
blessin'. It's hotter down here thin Billy-be-dam'd. They'se a
rollin'-mill near here jus' th' same as at home, but all th' hands is
laid off on account iv bad times. They used ol'-fashioned wooden
wheelbahrs an' fired with wood. I don't think they cud handle th' pig
th' way we done, bein' small la-ads. Th' coke has to be hauled up in
sacks be th' gang. Th' derrick hands got six a week, but hadn't anny
union. Helpers got four twinty. Puddlers was well paid. I wint through
th' plant befure we come up here, an' r-run a wagon up th' plank jus'
to keep me hand in. Tell me frinds that wan gang iv good la-ads fr'm th'
r-road cud wurruk anny three iv th' gangs down here. Th' mills is owned
be Rockefellar, so no more at prisint fr'm yer affecshunate nevvew,
Peter Casey, who's writin' this f'r me.'"
"'Tis a good letter," said Mr. Hennessy. "I don't see how they cud get
derrick hands f'r six a week."
"Me frind Jawn D. knows how," said Mr. Dooley.
ON OUR CUBAN ALLIES.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "dam thim Cubians! If I was Gin'ral
Shafter, I'd back up th' wagon in front iv th' dure, an' I'd say to
Gin'ral Garshy, I'd say, 'I want you'; an' I'd have thim all down at th'
station an' dacently booked be th' desk sergeant befure th' fall iv
night. Th' impydince iv thim!"
"What have they been doin'?" Mr. Hennessy asked.
"Failin' to undherstand our civilization," said Mr. Dooley. "Ye see, it
was this way. This is th' way it was: Gin'ral Garshy with wan hundherd
thousan' men's been fightin' bravely f'r two years f'r to liberyate
Cubia. F'r two years he's been marchin' his sivinty-five thousan' men up
an' down th' island, desthroyin' th' haughty Spanyard be th' millyons.
Whin war was declared, he offered his own sarvice an' th' sarvices iv
his ar-rmy iv fifty thousan' men to th' United States; an', while
waitin' f'r ships to arrive, he marched at th' head iv his tin thousan'
men down to Sandago de Cuba an' captured a cigar facthry, which they
soon rayjooced to smokin' ruins. They was holdin' this position--Gin'ral
Garshy an' his gallant wan thousan' men--whin Gin'ral Shafter arrived.
Gin'ral Garshy immedjitly offered th' sarvices iv himsilf an' his two
hundherd men f'r th' capture iv Sandago; an', when Gin'ral Shafter
arrived, there was Gin'ral Garshy with his gallant band iv fifty
Cubians, r-ready to eat at a minyit's notice.
"Gin'ral Shafter is a big, coorse, two-fisted man fr'm Mitchigan, an',
whin he see Gin'ral Garshy an' his twinty-five gallant followers,
'Fr-ront,' says he. 'This way,' he says, 'step lively,' he says, 'an'
move some iv these things,' he says. 'Sir,' says Gin'ral Garshy, 'd'ye
take me f'r a dhray?' he says. 'I'm a sojer,' he says, 'not a baggage
car,' he says. 'I'm a Cubian pathrite, an' I'd lay down me life an' the
lives iv ivry wan iv th' eighteen brave men iv me devoted ar-rmy,' he
says; 'but I'll be dam'd if I carry a thrunk,' he says. 'I'll fight
whiniver 'tis cool,' he says, 'an' they ain't wan iv these twelve men
here that wudden't follow me to hell if they was awake at th' time,' he
says; 'but,' he says, 'if 'twas wurruk we were lookin' f'r, we cud have
found it long ago,' he says. 'They'se a lot iv it in this counthry that
nobody's usin',' he says. 'What we want,' he says, 'is freedom,' he
says; 'an', if ye think we have been in th' woods dodgin' th' savage
corryspondint f'r two year,' he says, 'f'r th' sake iv r-rushin' yer
laundhry home,' he says, ''tis no wondher,' he says, 'that th' r-roads
fr'm Marinette to Kalamazoo is paved with goold bricks bought be th'
people iv ye'er native State,' he says.
"So Shafter had to carry his own thrunk; an' well it was f'r him that it
wasn't Gin'ral Miles', the weather bein' hot. An' Shafter was mad clear
through; an', whin he took hold iv Sandago, an' was sendin' out
invitations, he scratched Garshy. Garshy took his gallant band iv six
back to th' woods; an' there th' three iv thim ar-re now, ar-rmed with
forty r-rounds iv canned lobster, an' ready to raysist to th' death. Him
an' th' other man has written to Gin'ral Shafter to tell him what they
think iv him, an' it don't take long."
"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, "I think Shafter done wrong. He might've
asked Garshy in f'r to see th' show, seein' that he's been hangin'
ar-round f'r a long time, doin' th' best he cud."
"It isn't that," explained Mr. Dooley. "Th' throuble is th' Cubians
don't undherstand our civilization. Over here freedom means hard wurruk.
What is th' ambition iv all iv us, Hinnissy? 'Tis ayether to hold our
job or to get wan. We want wurruk. We must have it. D'ye raymimber th'
sign th' mob carrid in th' procession las' year? 'Give us wurruk, or we
perish,' it said. They had their heads bate in be polismen because no
philan-thropist'd come along an' make thim shovel coal. Now, in Cubia,
whin th' mobs turns out, they carry a banner with the wurruds, 'Give us
nawthin' to do, or we perish.' Whin a Cubian comes home at night with a
happy smile on his face, he don't say to his wife an' childher, 'Thank
Gawd, I've got wurruk at last!' He says, 'Thank Gawd, I've been fired.'
An' th' childher go out, and they say, 'Pah-pah has lost his job.' And
Mrs. Cubian buys hersilf a new bonnet; and where wanst they was sorrow
an' despair all is happiness an' a cottage organ.
"Ye can't make people here undherstand that, an' ye can't make a Cubian
undherstand that freedom means th' same thing as a pinitinchry sintince.
Whin we thry to get him to wurruk, he'll say: 'Why shud I? I haven't
committed anny crime.' That's goin' to be th' throuble. Th' first thing
we know we'll have another war in Cubia whin we begin disthributin' good
jobs, twelve hours a day, wan sivinty-five. Th' Cubians ain't civilized
in our way. I sometimes think I've got a touch iv Cubian blood in me own
veins."
ON THE DESTRUCTION OF CERVERA'S FLEET.
[These comments were made by Mr. Dooley during a strike of the
stereotypers, which caused the English newspapers of Chicago
temporarily to suspend publication.]
"I hear," said Mr. Hennessy, "that th' stereopticons on th' newspapers
have sthruck."
"I sh'd think they wud," said Mr. Dooley. "Th' las' time I was down town
was iliction night, whin Charter Haitch's big la-ad was ilicted, an'
they was wurrukin' th' stereopticons till they was black in th' face.
What's th' news?"
"Th' What Cheer, Ioway, Lamp iv Freedom is on th' sthreets with a
tillygram that Shafter has captured Sandago de Cuba, an' is now settin'
on Gin'ral Pando's chest with his hands in his hair. But this is denied
be th' Palo Gazoot, the Macoupin County Raygisther, an' th' Meridyan
Sthreet Afro-American. I also see be th' Daily Scoor Card, th' Wine
List, th' Deef Mute's Spokesman, th' Morgue Life, the Bill iv Fare, th'
Stock Yards Sthraight Steer, an' Jack's Tips on th' Races, the on'y
daily paper printed in Chicago, that Sampson's fleet is in th' Suez
Canal bombarding Cades. Th' Northwestern Christyan Advycate says this is
not thrue, but that George Dixon was outpointed be an English boxer in a
twinty-r-round go in New York."
"Ye've got things mixed up," said Mr. Dooley. "I get th' news sthraight.
'Twas this way. Th' Spanish fleet was bottled up in Sandago Harbor, an'
they dhrew th' cork. That's a joke. I see it in th' pa-apers. Th'
gallant boys iv th' navy was settin' out on th' deck, defindin' their
counthry an' dhrawin' three ca-ards apiece, whin th' Spanish admiral
con-cluded 'twud be better f'r him to be desthroyed on th' ragin' sea,
him bein' a sailor, thin to have his fleet captured be cav'lry. Annyhow,
he was willin' to take a chance; an' he says to his sailors:
'Spanyards,' he says, 'Castiles,' he says, 'we have et th' las'
bed-tick,' he says; 'an', if we stay here much longer,' he says, 'I'll
have to have a steak off th' armor plate fried f'r ye,' he says. 'Lave
us go out where we can have a r-run f'r our money,' he says. An' away
they wint. I'll say this much f'r him, he's a brave man, a dam brave
man. I don't like a Spanyard no more than ye do, Hinnissy. I niver see
wan. But, if this here man was a--was a Zulu, I'd say he was a brave
man. If I was aboord wan iv thim yachts that was convarted, I'd go to
this here Cervera, an' I'd say: 'Manuel,' I'd say, 'ye're all right, me
boy. Ye ought to go to a doctor an' have ye'er eyes re-set, but ye're a
good fellow. Go downstairs,' I'd say, 'into th' basemint iv the ship,'
I'd say, 'an' open th' cupboard jus' nex' to th' head iv th' bed, an'
find th' bottle marked "Floridy Wather," an' threat ye'ersilf kindly.'
That's what I'd say to Cervera. He's all right.
"Well, whin our boys see th' Spanish fleet comin' out iv th' harbor,
they gathered on th' deck an' sang th' naytional anthem, 'They'll be a
hot time in th' ol' town to-night.' A liftnant come up to where Admiral
Sampson was settin' playin' sivin up with Admiral Schley. 'Bill,' he
says, 'th' Spanish fleet is comin' out,' he says. 'What talk have ye?'
says Sampson. 'Sind out some row-boats an' a yacht, an' desthroy thim.
Clubs is thrumps,' he says, and he wint on playin'. Th' Spanish fleet
was attackted on all sides be our br-rave la-ads, nobly assisted be th'
dispatch boats iv the newspapers. Wan by wan they was desthroyed. Three
battle-ships attackted th' convarted yacht Gloucester. Th' Gloucester
used to be owned be Pierpont Morgan; but 'twas convarted, an' is now
leadin' a dacint life. Th' Gloucester sunk thim all, th' Christobell
Comma, the Viscera, an' th' Admiral O'Quinn. It thin wint up to two
Spanish torpedo boats an' giv thim wan punch, an' away they wint. Be
this time th' sojers had heerd of the victhry, an' they gathered on th'
shore, singin' th' naytional anthem, 'They'll be a hot time in th' ol'
town to-night, me babby.' Th' gloryous ol' chune, to which Washington
an' Grant an' Lincoln marched, was took up be th' sailors on th' ships,
an' Admiral Cervera r-run wan iv his boats ashore, an' jumped into th'
sea. At last accounts th' followin' dispatches had been received: 'To
Willum McKinley: Congratulations on ye'er noble victhry. (Signed) Willum
McKinley.' 'To Russell A. Alger: Ye done splendid. (Signed) Russell A.
Alger.' 'To James Wilson, Sicrety iv Agriculture: This is a gr-reat day
f'r Ioway. Ar-re ye much hur-rted? (Signed) James Wilson.'"
"Where did ye hear all this?" asked Mr. Hennessy, in great amazement.
"I r-read it," said Mr. Dooley, impressively, "in the Staats Zeitung."
ON A LETTER TO MR. DEPEW.
"I usen't to know," said Mr. Dooley, "what me frind Gin'ral Sherman
meant whin he said that thing about war. I've been through two iv thim,
not to speak iv convintions an' prim'ries, an' divvle th' bit iv har-rm
come to me no more thin if I was settin' on a roof playin' an accorjeen.
But I know now what th' ol' la-ad meant. He meant war was hell whin
'twas over.
"I ain't heerd anny noise fr'm th' fellows that wint into threnches an'
plugged th' villyanious Spanyard. Most iv thim is too weak to kick. But
th' proud an' fearless pathrites who restrained thimsilves, an' didn't
go to th' fr-ront, th' la-ads that sthruggled hard with their warlike
tindincies, an' fin'lly downed thim an' stayed at home an' practised up
upon th' typewriter, they're ragin' an' tearin' an' desthroyin' their
foes.