“I left him there; but he come into th’ place at six o’clock, an’ borrid a paper an’ pencil.  Thin he wint back, an’ sat down an’ wrote.  ‘What ar-re ye doin’ there?’ says I.  ‘I’ve wrote a sketch iv th’ nominee f’r th’ Stock-yards Sun,’ he says.  ’Listen to it.  Willum J. O’Brien,’ he says, ‘was born in th’ County iv Mayo forty years ago,’ he says.  ’He received a limited education, his parents even thin designin’ him f’r th’ Prisidincy.  Bein’ unable to complete a coorse at th’ rayform school, he wint to wurruk; but soon, tired iv this, he started a saloon.  Fr’m thince he dhrifted into politics, an’ become noted as th’ boy welter-weight iv th’ South Branch.  He was ilicted aldherman at a time whin comparatively nawthin’ was doin’ in th’ council.  Subsequent he become a sinitor, an’ later enthered into partnership with th’ Hon. Jawn Powers in th’ retail liquor traffic.  Mr. O’Brien is a fine built man, an’ can lick anny wan iv his age west iv th’ river, give ’r take tin pounds, color no bar.  His heart bets up close to th’ ribs iv th’ common people, an’ he would make opprissors iv th’ poor wish they’d died early if ye give him a chance with a beer bottle.  How’s that?’ says Hinnissy.

“‘Worse,’ says I.  ‘Foolish man,’ says I.  ’Don’t ye know that it ain’t our Bill that’s been nommynated?’ I says.  ‘This is a Nebraska man,’ I says.  ‘Well,’ he says, ’if ‘tis Bill O’Brien, he’d win easy.  But,’ he says, ’if ‘tis not,’ he says, ‘’tis wan iv th’ fam’ly,’ he says.  ’I’ll change this here novel an’ make it a sketch iv th’ cousin iv th’ candydate,’ he says.  An’ he wint on with his wurruk.”

A CANDIDATE’S PILLORY.

“What’s this counthry comin’ to, annyhow, that a man that’s out f’r to be Prisident has to set up on a high chair an’ be questioned on his record be a lot iv la-ads that hasn’t had annything to do since th’ carpetbeatin’ season’s ended? “said Mr. Dooley.  “Ye’d think Big Bill was r-runnin’ f’r chief ex-icutive iv th’ Clan-na-Gael.  First along comes a comity iv th’ Sons iv Rest.  ‘Major,’ says they, ’we’re insthructed be th’ organization to ascertain ye’er views on th’ important, we may say all-important, question iv havin’ wire matthresses put on th’ benches in th’ parks.  Are we,’ they says, ‘goin’ f’r to have to wear lumps on our backs into all eternity,’ they says, ‘an’ have our slumbers broke be th’ hot fut iv th’ polisman?’ they says.  ‘We demand an answer,’ they says, ‘or, be this an’ be that, we won’t do a thing to ye.’  Well, maybe Bill has been down to th’ corner playin’ a game iv spoil-five with his old frind Coalsack, an’ has paid no attintion to th’ Sons iv Rest.  ‘Well,’ he says, ‘gintlemen, I’m in favor iv doin’ ivrything in reason f’r th’ hoboes,’ he says.  ‘Th’ protection iv th’ home hobo again th’ pauper can trade iv Europe,’ he says, ‘has been wan iv th’ principal wurruks iv me life,’ he says; an’ he gives thim each a hand out, an’ bows thim to th’ dure.