“‘Janooary wan, Private Dooley distinguished himsilf at th’ Battle iv Ogoowan in th’ island iv Samar be rushin’ out in a perfect hell iv putty-balls, rice, arrers, an’ harsh cries, an’ seizin’ th’ gin’ral iv th’ Tamalese an’ batin’ him over th’ head with his own bean-blower.
“‘Janooary twinty: Colonel Dooley iv th’ hunderth an’ eighth Macabebee scouts yisterdah administhered th’ best an’ muddyest part iv th’ Gingong river to Gin’ral Alfico Bim in th’ prisince iv a large an’ smilin’ audjeence. Th’ ribil had rayfused to communicate his plans to th’ gallant colonel, but afther he had had sufficient irrigation his conversation was more extinded. So was th’ gin’ral.
“‘Feb’ry eighth: Gin’ral Dooley, th’ hayro iv th’ Ph’lippeens who is at home with a large spleen which he got into him in our beautiful island possissions made a speech before th’ Locoed club las’ night. He said we shud niver give up th’ Ph’lippeens which had been wathered be some iv th best blood in our land—he might say all. He didn’t know much about th’ constichoochion, but fr’m what he heerd about it fr’m a man in his rig’mint who cud spell, it wasn’t intinded f’r use out iv coort. He thought no wan shud be ilicted to congress undher th’ rank iv major. There was much talk iv pro-gress in lithrachoor an’ science which he was in favor iv hangin’. All th’ army needed was rope enough an’ all wud be well. Th’ Supreme Coort was all right but if ye wanted justice hot out iv th’ oven, ye shud see it administhered be three or four laughin’ sub-alturns on th’ stumps iv threes, jus’ afther lunch.
“‘March eighth: Prisidint Dooley, chafin’ at th’ delay in th’ Sinit requirin’ all civilyans to submit their opinyons on th’ tariff to th’ neighborin’ raycruitin’ sergeant wanst a week, wint over to th’ capitol this mornin’ with a file iv sojers an’ arristed th’ anti-administhration foorces who are now locked up in th’ barn back iv th’ White House. Th’ prisidint was severely lacerated be Sinitor Tillman durin’ th’ encounther.’
“Yes, sir, I’d like to be a sojer. I want to be a military man. An’ yet I niver wanted to be a polisman. ’Tis sthrange, too, f’r if ye think it over they ain’t th’ lot iv diff’rence between th’ mos’ ordhinry, flat-footed elbow that iver pulled wan leg afther another to mornin’ roll-call an’ th’ gr-reatest gin’ral that iver wint through a war behind a band on horse. They both belong to th’ race iv round-headed men. Whin ye lenthen th’ head iv a man or dog, ye rayjooce his courage. That’s thrue iv all but th’ bull-tarryer an’ th’ Turk. Both iv thim fight like th’ divvle. Th’ jooties is much th’ same but th’ polisman’s is harder. Th’ polisman has to fight night an’ day but th’ sojer on’y wanst a month. A man’s got to be five foot nine to get on th’ foorce. He can be five foot eight an’ get into th’ army through West Pint, or three foot two an’ get in through th’ War Department. Didn’t Mike Gilligan take more chances whin he wint up to