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'It's Choosdah, th' fourth iv July; Winsdah, th' eighth iv October, an' Thursdah, the sivinteenth iv March, he says. 'Pathrick's day, says th' sicrety iv state. 'Thrue f'r ye, says Woo. 'What year? says Jawn Hay. 'The year iv th' big wind, says Woo. 'Good, says John Hay, 'proceed with ye'er story. 'Here's th' letther, says Woo.
'Dear, oh dear, he says, 'I'd like a pull at th' clay, he says. 'Whin Easter comes, plaze Gawd, I'll smoke mesilf black an' blue in th' face, he says. "That was th' beginnin' iv th' downfall. Choosdah he was settin' in front iv th' fire with a pipe in his mouth. 'Why, Terrence, says me mother, 'ye're smokin' again. 'I'm not, says he: ''tis a dhry smoke, he says; ''tisn't lighted, he says.
Dooley. "Fine, fine. It makes me hear-rt throb with pride that I'm a citizen iv th' Sixth Wa-ard." "Has th' ar-rmy started f'r Cuba yet?" "Wan ar-rmy, says ye? Twinty! Las' Choosdah an advance ar-rmy iv wan hundherd an' twinty thousand men landed fr'm th' Gussie, with tin thousand cannons hurlin' projick-tyles weighin' eight hundherd pounds sivinteen miles.
"Well, Dorgan had th' divvle's own time paradin' up an' down an' sindin' out ordhers to sthrike to ivry man he knowed of till th' la-ad comes over las' Choosdah avenin', dhressed in his rigimintals with a gun as long as a clothes-pole over his shoulder. 'Hughey, said th' father, 'you look very gran' to-night, he says.
'But I'm goin' to be marrid an' lave th' school on Choosdah, th' twinty-sicond iv Janooary, she says, 'an' on Mondah, th' twinty-first, I'm goin' to ask a few iv th' little darlin's to th' house an', she says, 'stew thim over a slow fire, she says. Mary Ellen is not a German, Hinnissy."
I am so. "I was on'y thinkin'. Ol' Gran'pah Grogan died las' Mondah, as good a man as e'er counted his beads or passed th' plate. A thrue man. Choosdah a Connock man up back iv th' dumps laid down th' shovel.
"I wint out last Choosdah, an' I suppose I must 've freed as much as eight counties in Ireland. All th' la-ads was there. Th' first ma-an I see was Dorgan, the sanyor guarjeen in the Wolfe Tone Lithry Society. He's th' la-ad that have made th' Prince iv Wales thrimble in his moccasins.
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