“I don’t know what ye mean,” said Mr. Hennessy, softly.

“Lord Charles Beresford is a sort iv advance agent iv th’ White Man’s Burden Thrajeedy Company,—­two little Evas, four hundherd millyon Topsies, six hundherd millyon Uncle Toms.  He’s billin’ the’ counthry f’r th’ threeyumphial tour iv th’ Monsther Aggregation.  Nawthin’ can stop it.  Blood is thicker than wather; an’ together, ar-rm in ar-rm, we’ll spread th’ light iv civilization fr’m wan end iv th’ wurruld to th’ other, no matther what you an’ Schwartzmeister say, Hinnissy.

“Be hivins, I like th’ way me kinsmen acrost th’ sea, as th’ pa-apers say, threat us.  ‘Ye whelps,’ says Lord Char-les Beresford an’ Roodyard Kipling an’ Tiddy Rosenfelt an’ th’ other Anglo-Saxons.  ‘Foolish an’ frivolous people, cheap but thrue-hearted an’ insincere cousins,’ they says. ’’Tis little ye know about annything.  Ye ar-re a disgrace to humanity.  Ye love th’ dollar betther thin ye love annything but two dollars.  Ye ar-re savage, but inthrestin’.  Ye misname our titles.  Ye use th’ crool Krag-Jorgensen instead iv th’ ca’m an’ penethratin’ Lee-Metford.  Ye kiss ye’er heroes, an’ give thim wurruk to do.  We smash in their hats, an’ illivate thim to th’ peerage.  Ye have desthroyed our language.  Ye ar-re rapidly convartin’ our ancesthral palaces into dwellin’-houses.  Ye’er morals are loose, ye’er dhrinks ar-re enervatin’ but pleasant, an’ ye talk through ye’er noses.  Ye ar-re mussy at th’ table, an’ ye have no religion.  But ye ar-re whelps iv th’ ol’ line.  Those iv ye that ar-re not our brothers-in-law we welcome as brothers.  Ye annoy us so much ye must be mimbers iv our own fam’ly.  Th’ same people that is washed occasionally be th’ Mississippi as it rowls majistic along th’ imperyal States iv Oheeho an’ Duluth, wathrin’ th’ fertyle plains iv Wyoming an’ Mattsachusetts, is to be found airnin’ a livin’ on th’ short but far more dirtier Thames.  We have th’ same lithrachoor.  Ye r-read our Shakspere so we can’t undherstand it; an’ we r-read ye’er aspirin’ authors, Poe an’ Lowell an’ Ol’ Sleuth th’ Detective.  We ar-re not onfamilyar with ye’er inthrestin’ histhry.  We ar-re as pr-roud as ye are iv th’ achievements iv Gin’ral Shafter an’ Gin’ral Coxey.  Ye’er ambass’dures have always been kindly received; an’, whether they taught us how to dhraw to a busted flush or wept on our collars or recited original pothry to us, we had a brotherly feelin’ for thim that med us say, “Poor fellows, they’re doin’ th’ best they can.”  ‘So,’ says they, ’come to our ar-ams, an’ together we’ll go out an’ conquer th’ wurruld.’

“An’ we’re goin’ to do it, Hinnissy.  Th’ rayciption that this here sintimint has rayceived fr’m ivry wan that has a son in colledge is almost tumulchuse.  We feel like a long-lost brother that’s been settin’ outside in th’ cold f’r a week, an’ is now ast in to supper—­an’ sarched at th’ dure f’r deadly weepins.  We’ll have to set up sthraight an’ mind our manners.  No tuckin’ our napkins down our throats or dhrinkin’ out iv th’ saucer or kickin’ our boots off undher the table.  No reachin’ f’r annything, but ’Mah, will ye kindly pass th’ Ph’lippeens?’ or ‘No, thank ye, pah, help ye’ersilf first.’