Dooley, "an' to all reel affectionate people. But me frind Hobson's
not to blame. 'Tis th' way th' good Lord has iv makin' us cow'rds
continted with our lot that he niver med a brave man yet that wasn't
half a fool. I've more sinse an' wisdom in th' back iv me thumb thin
all th' heroes in th' wurruld. That's why I ain't a hero. If Hobson
had intilligence, he'd be wurrukin' in th' post-office; an', if anny
ol' hin thried to kiss him, he'd call f'r th' polis. Bein' young an'
foolish, whin me frind Sampson says, 'Is there anny man here that 'll
take this ol' coal barge in beyant an' sink it, an' save us th'
throuble iv dhrownin' on our way home?' Loot Hobson says, says he:
'Here I am, Cap,' says he. 'I'll take it in,' he says, 'an' seal up
th' hated Castiles,' he says, 'so that they can niver get out,' he
says. 'But,' he says, 'I'll lave a hole f'r thim to get out whin they
want to get out,' he says. An' he tuk some other la-ads,--I f'rget
their names,--they wasn't heroes, annyhow, but was wurrukin' be th'
day; an' he wint in in his undherclothes, so's not to spoil his suit,
an' th' Castiles hurled death an' desthruction on him. An' it niver
touched him no more thin it did anny wan else; an' thin they riscued
him fr'm himsilf, an' locked him up in th' polis station an' fed him
th' best they knew how. An' he wint on a lecther tour, an' here he is.
Be hivins, I think he's more iv a hero now thin iver he was. I'd stand
up befure a cross-eyed Spanish gunner an' take his shootin' without a
mask mesilf; but I'd shy hard if anny ol' heifer come up, an' thried
to kiss me.
"On th' flure iv th' 'Merrimac,' in his light undherclothes, Loot
Hobson was a sthrong, foolish man. On th' stage iv th' Audjitooroom,
bein' caressed be women that 'd kiss th' Indyun in front iv a see-gar
sthore, if he didn't carry a tommyhawk, he's still foolish, but not
sthrong. 'Tis so with all heroes. Napolyeon Bonyparte, th' Impror iv
th' Fr-rinch, had manny carryin's on, I've heerd tell; an' ivry man
knows that, whin Jawn Sullivan wasn't in th' r-ring, he was no
incyclopedja f'r intelligence. No wan thried to kiss him, though. They
knew betther.
"An' Hobson 'll larn. He's young yet, th' Loot is; an' he's goin' out
to th' Ph'lippeens to wurruk f'r Cousin George. Cousin George is no
hero, an' 'tisn't on record that anny wan iver thried to scandalize
his good name be kissin' him. I'd as lave, if I was a foolish woman,
which, thanks be, I'm not, hug a whitehead torpedo as Cousin George.
He'll be settin' up on th' roof iv his boat, smokin' a good see-gar,
an' wondhrin' how manny iv th' babbies named afther him 'll be in th'
pinitinchry be th' time he gets back home. Up comes me br-rave Hobson.
'Who ar-re ye, disturbin' me quite?' says Cousin George. 'I'm a hero,'
says th' Loot. 'Ar-re ye, faith?' says Cousin George. 'Well,' he says,
'I can't do annything f'r ye in that line,' he says. 'All th' hero
jobs on this boat,' he says, 'is compitintly filled,' he says, 'be
mesilf,' he says. 'I like to see th' wurruk well done,' he says, 'so,'
he says, 'I don't thrust it to anny wan,' he says. 'With th' aid iv a
small boy, who can shovel more love letthers an' pothry overboard thin
anny wan I iver see,' he says, 'I'm able to clane up me hero business
before noon ivry day,' he says. 'What's ye'er name?' he says.
'Hobson,' says th' loot. 'Niver heerd iv ye, says Cousin George.
'Where 'd ye wurruk last?' 'Why,' says th' Loot, 'I'm th' man that sunk
th' ship,' he says; 'an' I've been kissed be hundherds iv women at
home,' he says. 'Is that so?' says Cousin George. 'Well, I don't
b'lieve in sinkin' me own ship,' he says. 'Whin I'm lookin' f'r a
divarsion iv that kind, I sink somebody else's,' he says. ''Tis
cheaper. As f'r th' other thing,' he says, 'th' less ye say about
that, th' betther,' he says. 'If some iv these beauchious Ph'lippeen
belles ar-round here hears,' he says, 'that ye're in that line, they
may call on ye to give ye a chaste salute,' he says, 'an',' he says,
'f'rget,' he says, 'to take th' see-gars out iv their mouths,' he
says. 'Ye desthroyed a lot iv coal, ye tell me,' he says. 'Do ye,' he
says, 'go downstairs now, an' shovel up a ton or two iv it,' he says.
'Afther which,' he says, 'ye can roll a kag iv beer into me bedroom,'
he says; 'f'r 'tis dhry wurruk settin' up here watchin' ixpansion
ixpand,' he says.
"That's what Cousin George 'll say to th' Loot. An', whin th' Loot
comes back, he won't be a hero anny more; an', if anny woman thries to
kiss him, he'll climb a three. Cousin George 'll make a man iv him.
'Tis kicks, not kisses, that makes men iv heroes."
"Well, mebbe ye're r-right," said Mr. Hennessy. "He's nawthin' but a
kid, annyhow,--no oldher thin me oldest boy; an' I know what a fool
he'd be if anny wan ast him to be more iv a fool thin he is. Hobson
'll be famous, no matther what foolish things he does."
"I dinnaw," said Mr. Dooley. "It was headed f'r him; but I'm afraid,
as th' bull-yard players 'd say, fame's been kissed off."
THE DECLINE OF NATIONAL FEELING.
"What ar-re ye goin' to do Patrick's Day?" asked Mr. Hennessy.
"Patrick's Day?" said Mr. Dooley. "Patrick's Day? It seems to me I've
heard th' name befure. Oh, ye mane th' day th' low Irish that hasn't
anny votes cillybrates th' birth iv their naytional saint, who was a
Fr-rinchman."
"Ye know what I mane," said Mr. Hennessy, with rising wrath. "Don't ye
get gay with me now."
"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "I may cillybrate it an' I may not. I'm
thinkin' iv savin' me enthusyasm f'r th' queen's birthday, whiniver it
is that that blessid holiday comes ar-round. Ye see, Hinnissy,
Patrick's Day is out iv fashion now. A few years ago ye'd see the
Prisident iv th' United States marchin' down Pinnsylvanya Avnoo, with
the green scarf iv th' Ancient Ordher on his shoulders an' a shamrock
in his hat. Now what is Mack doin'? He's settin' in his parlor,
writin' letthers to th' queen, be hivins, askin' afther her health. He
was fr'm th' north iv Ireland two years ago, an' not so far north
ayether,--just far enough north f'r to be on good terms with Derry an'
not far enough to be bad frinds with Limerick. He was raised on
butthermilk an' haggis, an' he dhrank his Irish nate with a dash iv
orange bitthers in it. He's been movin' steadily north since; an', if
he keeps on movin', he'll go r-round th' globe, an' bring up somewhere
in th' south iv England.
"An' Hinnery Cabin Lodge! I used to think that Hinnery would niver die
contint till he'd took th' Prince iv Wales be th' hair iv th'
head,--an' 'tis little th' poor man's got,--an' dhrag him fr'm th'
tower iv London to Kilmainham Jail, an' hand him over to th' tindher
mercies, as Hogan says, iv Michael Davitt. Thim was th' days whin ye'd
hear Hinnery in th' Sinit, spreadin' fear to th' hear-rts iv th'
British aristocracy. 'Gintlemen,' he says, 'an' fellow-sinitors, th'
time has come,' he says, 'whin th' eagle burrud iv freedom,' he says,
'lavin',' he says, 'its home in th' mountains,' he says, 'an'
circlin',' he says, 'undher th' jool 'd hivin,' he says, 'fr'm where,'
he says, 'th' Passamaquoddy rushes into Lake Erastus K. Ropes,' he
says, 'to where rowls th' Oregon,' he says, 'fr'm th' lakes to th'
gulf,' he says, 'fr'm th' Atlantic to th' Passific where rowls th'
Oregon,' he says, 'an' fr'm ivry American who has th' blood iv his
ancesthors' hathred iv tyranny in his veins,--your ancesthors an'
mine, Mr. McAdoo,' he says,--'there goes up a mute prayer that th'
nation as wan man, fr'm Bangor, Maine, to where rowls th' Oregon,
that,' he says, 'is full iv salmon, which is later put up in cans, but
has th' same inthrest as all others in this question,' he says,
'that,' he says, 'th' descindants iv Wash'nton an',' he says, 'iv
Immitt,' he says, 'will jine hands f'r to protect,' he says, 'th'
codfisheries again th' Vandal hand iv th' British line,' he says. 'I
therefore move ye, Mr. Prisident, that it is th' sinse iv this house,
if anny such there be, that Tay Pay O'Connor is a greater man thin
Lord Salisberry,' he says.
"Now where's Hinnery? Where's th' bould Fenian? Where's th'
moonlighter? Where's th' pikeman? Faith, he's changed his chune, an'
'tis 'Sthrangers wanst, but brothers now,' with him, an' 'Hands acrost
th' sea an' into some wan's pocket,' an' 'Take up th' white man's
burden an' hand it to th' coons,' an' 'An open back dure an' a closed
fr-ront dure.' 'Tis th' same with all iv thim. They'se me frind Joe
Choate. Where 'd Joe spind th' night? Whisper, in Windsor Castle, no
less, in a night-shirt iv th' Prince iv Wales; an' the nex' mornin',
whin he come downstairs, they tol' him th' rile fam'ly was late
risers, but, if he wanted a good time, he cud go down an' look at th'
cimitry! An' he done it. He went out an' wept over th' grave iv th'
Father iv his Counthry. Ye'er man, George Washington, Hinnissy, was
on'y th' stepfather.
"Well, glory be, th' times has changed since me frind Jawn Finerty
come out iv th' House iv Riprisintatives; an', whin some wan ast him
what was goin' on, he says, 'Oh, nawthin' at all but some damned
American business.' Thim was th' days! An' what's changed thim? Well,
I might be sayin' 'twas like wanst whin me cousin Mike an' a Kerry man
be th' name iv Sullivan had a gredge again a man named Doherty, that
was half a Kerry man himsilf. They kept Doherty indures f 'r a day,
but by an' by me cousin Mike lost inthrest in th' gredge, havin'
others that was newer, an' he wint over to th' ya-ards; an' Doherty
an' Sullivan begin to bow to each other, an' afther a while they found
that they were blood relations, an', what's closer thin that whin
ye're away fr'm home, townies. An' they hooked arms, an' sthrutted up
an' down th' road, as proud as imprors. An' says they, 'We can lick
annything in th' ward,' says they. But, before they injyed th'
'lieance f'r long, around th' corner comes me cousin Mike, with a
half-brick in each hand; an' me brave Sullivan gives Doherty th' Kerry
man's thrip, an' says he, 'Mike,' he says, 'I was on'y pullin' him on
to give ye a crack at him,' he says. An' they desthroyed Doherty, so
that he was in bed f'r a week."
"Well, I wondher will Mike come back?" said Mr. Hennessy.
"Me cousin Mike," said Mr. Dooley, "niver missed an iliction. An' whin
th' campaign opened, there wasn't a man on th' ticket, fr'm mayor to
constable, that didn't claim him f'r a first cousin. There are
different kinds iv hands from acrost th' sea. There are pothry hands
an' rollin'-mill hands; but on'y wan kind has votes."
"CYRANO DE BERGERAC."
"Ivry winter Hogan's la-ad gives a show with what he calls th' Sixth
Wa-ard Shakspere an' Willum J. Bryan Club, an' I was sayjooced into
goin' to wan las' night at Finucane's hall," said Mr. Dooley.
"Th' girls was goin'," said Mr. Hennessy; "but th' sthovepipe come
down on th' pianny, an' we had a minsthrel show iv our own. What was
it about, I dinnaw?"
"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "I ain't much on th' theayter. I niver
wint to wan that I didn't have to stand where I cud see a man in blue
overalls scratchin' his leg just beyant where the heeroyne was prayin'
on th' palace stairs, an' I don't know much about it; but it seemed to
me, an' it seemed to Hartigan, th' plumber, that was with me, that
'twas a good play if they'd been a fire in th' first act. They was a
lot iv people there; an', if it cud 've been arranged f'r to have
injine company fifteen with Cap'n Duffy at th' head iv thim come in
through a window an' carry off th' crowd, 'twud've med a hit with me.
"'Tis not like anny play I iver see before or since. In 'Tur-rble Tom;
or, th' Boys iv Ninety-eight,' that I see wanst, th' man that's th'
main guy iv th' thing he waits till ivry wan has said what he has to
say, an' he has a clean field; an' thin he jumps in as th' man that
plays th' big dhrum gives it an upper cut. But with this here play iv
'Cyrus O'Bergerac' 'tis far diff'rent. Th' curtain goes up an' shows
Bill Delaney an' little Tim Scanlan an' Mark Toolan an' Packy Dugan,
that wurruks in the shoe store, an' Molly Donahue an' th' Casey
sisters, thim that scandalized th' parish be doin' a skirt dance at
th' fair, all walkin' up an' down talkin'. 'Tin to wan on Sharkey,'
says Toolan. 'I go ye, an' make it a hundherd,' says Tim Scanlan. 'Was
ye at th' cake walk?' 'Who stole me hat?' 'Cudden't ye die waltzin'?'
'They say Murphy has gone on th' foorce.' 'Hivins, there goes th' las'
car!' 'Pass th' butther, please: I'm far fr'm home.' All iv thim
talkin' away at once, niver carin' f'r no wan, whin all at wanst up
stheps me bold Hogan with a nose on him,--glory be, such a nose! I
niver see th' like on a man or an illyphant.
"Well, sir, Hogan is Cy in th' play; an' th' beak is pa-art iv him.
What does he do? He goes up to Toolan, an' says he: 'Ye don't like me
nose. It's an ilicthric light globe. Blow it out. It's a Swiss cheese.
Cut it off, if ye want to. It's a brick in a hat. Kick it. It's a
balloon. Hang a basket on it, an' we'll have an' ascinsion. It's a
dure-bell knob. Ring it. It's a punchin' bag. Hit it, if ye dahr. F'r
two pins I'd push in th' face iv ye.' An', mind ye, Hinnissy, Toolan
had said not wan wurrud about th' beak,--not wan wurrud. An' ivry wan
in th' house was talkin' about it, an' wondhrin' whin it 'd come off
an' smash somewan's fut. I looked f'r a fight there an' thin. But
Toolan's a poor-spirited thing, an' he wint away. At that up comes
Scanlan; an' says he: 'Look here, young fellow,' he says, 'don't get
gay,' he says, 'don't get gay,' he says. 'What's that?' says Hogan.
Whin a man says, 'What's that?' in a bar-room, it manes a fight, if he
says it wanst. If he says it twict, it manes a fut race. 'I say,' says
Scanlan, 'that, if ye make anny more funny cracks, I'll hitch a horse
to that basket fender,' he says, 'an' dhrag it fr'm ye,' he says. At
that Hogan dhrew his soord, an' says he: 'Come on,' he says, 'come on,
an' take a lickin,' he says. An' Scanlan dhrew his soord, too. 'Wait,'
says Hogan. 'Wait a minyit,' he says. 'I must think,' he says. 'I must
think a pome,' he says. 'Whiniver I fight,' he says, 'I always have a
pome,' he says. 'Glory be,' says I, 'there's Scanlan's chanst to give
it to him,' I says. But Scanlan was as slow as a dhray; an', before he
cud get action, Hogan was at him, l'adin' with th' pome an' counthrin'
with the soord. 'I'll call this pome,' he says, 'a pome about a gazabo
I wanst had a dool with in Finucane's hall,' he says. 'I'll threat ye
r-right,' he says, 'an' at the last line I'll hand ye wan,' he says.
An' he done it. 'Go in,' he says in th' pome, 'go in an' do ye'er
worst,' he says. 'I make a pass at ye'er stomach,' he says, 'I cross
ye with me right,' he says; 'an,' he says at th' last line, he says,
'I soak ye,' he says. An' he done it. Th' minyit 'twas over with th'
pome 'twas off with Scanlan. Th' soord wint into him, an' he sunk down
to th' flure; an' they had to carry him off. Well, sir, Hogan was that
proud ye cudden't hold him f'r th' rest iv th' night. He wint around
ivrywhere stickin' people an' soakin' thim with pothry. He's a gr-reat
pote is this here Hogan, an' a gr-reat fighter. He done thim all at
both; but, like me ol' frind Jawn L., he come to th' end. A man
dhropped a two-be-four on his head wan day, an' he died. Honoria Casey
was with him as he passed away, an' she says, 'How d'ye feel?' 'All
right,' says Hogan. 'But wan thing I'll tell ye has made life worth
livin',' he says. 'What's that?' says Miss Casey. 'I know,' says I.
'Annywan cud guess it. He manes his nose,' I says. But ivrywan on th'
stage give it up. 'Ye don't know,' says Hogan. ''Tis me hat,' he says;
an', makin a low bow to th' aujience, he fell to th' flure so hard
that his nose fell off an' rowled down on Mike Finnegan. 'I don't like
th' play,' says Finnegan, 'an' I'll break ye'er nose,' he says; an' he
done it. He's a wild divvle. Hogan thried to rayturn th' compliment on
th' sidewalk afterward; but he cudden't think iv a pome, an' Finnegan
done him."
"Well, said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd like to've been there to see th'
fightin'."
"In th' play?" asked Mr. Dooley.
"No," said Mr. Hennessy. "On th' sidewalk."
THE UNION OF TWO GREAT FORTUNES.
"They'se wan thing that always makes me feel sure iv what Hogan calls
th' safety iv our dimmycratic institutions," said Mr. Dooley, "an'
that's th' intherest th' good people iv New York takes in a weddin' iv
th' millyionaires. Anny time a millyionaire condiscinds to enther th'
martial state, as Hogan says, an', as Hogan says, make vows to Hyman,
which is the Jew god iv marredge, he can fill th' house an' turn
people away fr'm th' dure. An' he does. Th' sthreets is crowded. Th'
cars can har'ly get through. Th' polis foorce is out, an' hammerin'
th' heads iv th' delighted throng. Riprisintatives iv th' free an'
inlightened press, th' pollutyem iv our liberties, as Hogan says,
bright, intilligent young journalists, iver ready to probe fraud an'
sham, disgeezed as waithers, is dashin' madly about, makin' notes on
their cuffs. Business is suspinded. They'se no money in Wall Sthreet.
It's all at th' sacred scene. Hour be hour, as th' prisints ar-re
delivered, th' bank rates go up. Th' Threeasury Departmint has to go
on a silver basis, there bein' no goold to mannyfacther into plunks.
"Inside th' house th' prisints cast a goolden gleam on th' beauchious
scene. Th' happy father is seen seated at a table, dictattin'
millyion-dollar checks to a stinographer. Th' goold chandeliers is
draped with r-ropes iv dimon's an' pearls. Th' hired girl is passin'
dhrinks in goolden goblets. Twinty firemen fr'm th' New York Cinthral
Railroad is shovellin' dimon'-studded pickle crutes into th' back
yard, among th' yachts an' horses. Chansy Depoo enthers an' thrips
over a box iv bonds. 'Ar-re these th' holy bonds iv mathrimony?' he
says; f'r he is a wild divvle, an' ye can't stop his jokin', avin on
solemn occasions.
"Th' soggarth comes in afther a while, carryin' a goold prayer-book,
th' gift iv th' Rothscheelds, an' stands behind a small but vallyable
pree Doo. To th' soft, meelojous chune iv th' Wagner Palace Weddin'
March fr'm 'Long Green,' th' groom enthers, simply but ixpinsively
attired in governmint fours, an' fannin' himsilf with a bunch iv first
morgedge bonds.
"Th' prayers f'r th' occasion, printed on negotyable paper, is
disthributed among th' guests. Th' bride was delayed be th' crowd
outside. Women screamed an' waved their handkerchefs, sthrong men
cheered an' wept; an' 'twas not until th' polis had clubbed tin hardy
pathrites to death that th' lady cud enther th' house where her fate
was to be sealed. But fin'lly she med it; an' th' two happy, happy
childher, whose sunshiny youth riprisinted five thousan' miles iv
thrack, eight goold mines, wan hundherd millyion dollars' worth iv
rollin' stock, an' a majority intherest in th' Chicago stock yards,
was r-ready f'r th' nicissary thransfers that wud establish th'
combination.
"Th' ceremony was brief, but intherestin'. Th' happy father foorced
his way through dimon' stomachers; an' they was tears in his eyes as
he handed th' clargyman, whose name was Murphy,--but he carried
himsilf as well as if he was used to it,--handed him a check f'r tin
millyion dollars. I don't blame him. Divvle th' bit! Me own hear-rt is
har-rd an' me eyes ar-re dhry, but I'd break down if I had to hand
anny wan that much. 'I suppose th' check is good,' says th' clargyman,
''Tis certified,' says th' weepin' father. 'Do ye take this check,'
says th' clargyman, 'to have an' to hold, until some wan parts ye fr'm
it?' he says. 'I do,' says th' young man. 'Thin,' says th' clargyman,
'I see no reason why ye shudden't be marrid an' live comfortable,' he
says. An' marrid they were, in th' same ol' foolish way that people's
been marrid in f'r cinchries. 'Tis a wondher to me th' ceremony ain't
changed. Th' time is comin', Hinnissy, whin millyionaires 'll not be
marrid be Father Murphy, but be th' gov'nors iv th' stock exchange.
They'll be put through th' clearin' house, me faith, an' securities
'll be issued be th' combination. Twinty-year, goold-secured, four
per cint bonds iv mathrimony! Aha, 'tis a joke that Chansy Depoo
might 've med!
"Th' crowd outside waited, cheerin' an' fightin' th' polis. In this
here land iv liberty an' akequality, Hinnissy, ivry man is as good as
ivry other man, except a polisman. An' it showed how thrue th' people
in New York is to th' thraditions iv Jefferson that divvle a wan iv
thim 'd move away till th' check 'd been passed fr'm father to son, an'
th' important part iv th' sacred ceremony was over. Thin a few iv thim
wint home to cook dinner f'r their husbands, who was previnted be
their jooties at th' gas-house fr'm attindin' th' function. Th' rest
raymained an' see th' two gr-reat fortunes get into their carredge,
pursued be th' guests to th' amount iv five hundherd millyions,
peltin' thim with seed pearls."
"Sure," said Mr. Hennessy, "mebbe 'twasn't as bad as th' pa-apers let
on. Ye can't always thrust thim."
"P'rhaps not," said Mr. Dooley. "Th' pa-apers say, 'Two gr-reat
fortunes united'; an', if that's it, they didn't need th' sarvices iv
a priest, but a lawyer an' a thrust comp'ny. P'rhaps, with all th'
certyfied checks, 'twas two rale people that was marrid; an', if
that's so, it explains th' prisince if Father Murphy."
THE DREYFUS CASE.
I.
"Th' scene was treemenjously excitin'. Th' little city iv Rennes was
thronged with des'prit journalists that had pledged their fortunes an'
their sacred honors, an' manny iv thim their watches, to be prisint
an' protect th' public again th' degradin' facts. Niver since th' war
in Cubia has so manny iv these brave fellows been gathered together at
th' risk iv their lives fr'm overcrowdin' th' resthrants. No wan has
iver sufficiently described th' turrors iv a corryspondint's life
excipt th' corryspondints thimsilves. Gin'rals an' other liars is
rewarded. Th' corryspondint gets no credit. No wan will give him
credit. Still he sticks to his post; an' on this pearlous day he was
at Rennes, fightin' th' other corryspondints, or, if he was an English
journalist, defindin' th' honor iv Fr-rance again hersilf. 'Tis a good
thing for Fr-rance that there ar-re silf-sacrificin' men that don't
undherstand her language, to presint her vicious nature to th' English
an' American public. Otherwise, Hinnissy, she might think she was as
good as th' rest iv us.
"Well, while th' sthreets in Rennes was packed with these dauntless
souls, ar-rmed with death-dealin' kodaks, there was a commotion near
th' coort-house. Was it a rivolution? Was this th' beginnin' iv
another Saint Barth'mew's Day, whin th' degraded passions in Fr-rance,
pent up durin' three hundherd years, 'd break forth again? Was it th'
signal iv another div'lish outbreak that 'd show th' thrue nature iv
th' Fr-rinch people, disgeezed behind a varnish iv ojoous politeness
which our waiters know nawthin' about? No, alas! alas! 'twas nawthin'
a man cud make more thin a column iv. 'Twas th' ac-cursed janitor
goin' in to open th' degraded windows. Abase th' janitor, abase th'
windows! Fear followed uncertainty. No wan knew what moment he might
be called upon to defind his life with his honor. Suddenly th' brutal
polisman who sthud on gyard waved his hand. What cud the brave men do?
They were obliged to rethreat in disordher. But our special
corryspondint was able f'r to obtain a fine view of th' thrillin'
scene that followed. First came th' coort, weepin'. They was followed
be th' gin'rals in th' Fr-rinch ar-rmy, stalwart, fearless men, with
coarse, disagreeable faces. Each gin'ral was attinded be his private
bodygyard iv thried and thrusted perjurers, an' was followed be a
wagon-load iv forgeries, bogus affidavies, an' other statements iv
Major Estherhazy. Afther thim come th' former ministers iv th'
Fr-rinch governmint, makin' an imposin' line, which took three hours
passin' a given point. As they marched, it was seen that they were
shyly kickin' each other.
"An interval iv silence followed, in which cud be heard cries iv
'Abase Dhryfuss!' an' 'Abase Fr-rance!' an' thin come th' man on whom
th' lies iv all th' wurruld is cinthred. Captain Dhryfuss plainly
shows his throubles, which have made him look tin years younger. His
raven hair is intirely white; an' his stalwart frame, with th'
shoulders thrown back, is stooped an' weary. His haggard face was
flushed with insolent confidence, an' th' cowa'dice in his face showed
in his fearless eye. As he passed, a young Fr-rinch sojer was with
diff'culty resthrained fr'm sthrikin' him an' embracin' him with tears
in his eyes.