“Mind ye, Jawn, I’ve no wurrud to say again thim that sets back in their own house an’ lot an’ makes th’ food iv th’ people dear.  They’re good men, good men.  Whin they tilt th’ price iv beef to where wan pound iv it costs as much as manny th’ man in this Ar-rchey Road ’d wurruk fr’m th’ risin’ to th’ settin’ iv th’ sun to get, they have no thought iv th’ likes iv you an’ me.  ’Tis aisy come, aisy go with thim; an’ ivry cint a pound manes a new art musoom or a new church, to take th’ edge off hunger.  They’re all right, thim la-ads, with their own pork-chops delivered free at th’ door.  ’Tis, ’Will ye have a new spring dhress, me dear?  Willum, ring thim up, an’ tell thim to hist th’ price iv beef.  If we had a few more pitchers an’ statoos in th’ musoom, ‘twud ilivate th’ people a sthory or two.  Willum, afther this steak ‘ll be twinty cints a pound.’  Oh, they’re all right, on’y I was thinkin’ iv th’ Connock man’s fam’ly back iv th’ dumps.”

“For a man that was gay a little while ago, it looks to me as if you’d grown mighty solemn-like,” said Mr. McKenna.

“Mebbe so,” said Mr. Dooley.  “Mebbe so.  What th’ ’ell, annyhow.  Mebbe ’tis as bad to take champagne out iv wan man’s mouth as round steak out iv another’s.  Lent is near over.  I seen Doherty out shinin’ up his pipe that’s been behind th’ clock since Ash Winsdah.  Th’ girls ’ll be layin’ lilies on th’ altar in a day or two.  Th’ spring’s come on.  Th’ grass is growin’ good; an’, if th’ Connock man’s children back iv th’ dumps can’t get meat, they can eat hay.”

A BRAND FROM THE BURNING.

“I see be th’ pa-apers,” said Mr. Dooley, “that Boss have flew th’ coop.  ’Tis too bad, too bad.  He wa-as a gr-reat man.”

“Is he dead?” asked Mr. McKenna.

“No, faith, worse thin that; he’s resigned.  He calls th’ la-ads about him, an’ says he:  ‘Boys,’ he says, ‘I’m tired iv politics,’ he says.  ‘I’m goin’ to quit it f’r me health,’ he says.  ‘Do ye stay in, an’ get ar-rested f’r th’ good iv th’ party.’  Ye see thim mugwumps is afther th’ Boss, an’ he’s gettin’ out th’ way Hogan got out iv Connock.  Wan day he comes over to me fa-ather’s house, an’ says he, ‘Dooley,’ he says, ‘I’m goin’ to lave this hole iv a place,’ he says.  ‘F’r why?’ says th’ ol’ man; ‘I thought ye liked it.’  ‘Faith,’ says Hogan, ’I niver liked a blade iv grass in it,’ he says.  ‘I’m sick iv it,’ he says.  ‘I don’t want niver to see it no more.’  And he wint away.  Th’ next mornin’ th’ polis was lookin’ f’r him to lock him up f’r stealin’ joo’lry in the fair town.  Yes, by dad.

“‘Tis th’ way iv th’ boss, Jawn.  I seen it manny’s th’ time.  There was wanst a boss in th’ Sixth Wa-ard, an’ his name was Flannagan; an’ he came fr’m th’ County Clare, but so near th’ bordher line that no wan challenged his vote, an’ he was let walk down Ar-rchey Road just’s though he come fr’m Connock.  Well, sir, whin I see him first, he’d th’ smell iv Castle Garden on him, an’ th’ same is no mignonette, d’ye mind; an’ he was goin’ out with pick an’ shovel f’r to dig in th’ canal,—­a big, shtrappin’, black-haired lad, with a neck like a bull’s an’ covered with a hide as thick as wan’s, fr’m thryin’ to get a crop iv oats out iv a Clare farm that growed divvle th’ thing but nice, big boldhers.