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Tell me frinds that wan gang iv good la-ads fr'm th' r-road cud wurruk anny three iv th' gangs down here. Th' mills is owned be Rockefellar, so no more at prisint fr'm yer affecshunate nevvew, Peter Casey, who's writin' this f'r me." "'Tis a good letter," said Mr. Hennessy. "I don't see how they cud get derrick hands f'r six a week." "Me frind Jawn D. knows how," said Mr. Dooley.
Sure it's often I've druv ye and Mr. Edward too. I used to wurruk for Mr. Ross of Mullinger. I was Denny the postboy Denis Driscoll, yer honor; sure ye must know me?" "Oh yes, to be sure I remember," said Gerald, as recollection slowly dawned upon him. "But who'd have thought of finding you in a place like this? I didn't even know you'd left Ross's stables." "Six or siven months ago, yer honor."
And, say, Jawn, they can't say 'mate' whin they ask for more. They say 'mate." "'Mate'? And can't they say 'mate, whin they ate it so much?" "No, Jawn, they sing out for mate. It's no use; they can't spake the language, and it's no use t'achin' thim. They're good min to wurruk all bone and sole leather, but ye can't refine thim." "You can't, Mike, but I kin." "How, ye skeptic? Luk at 'em.
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.
Now, in Cubia, whin th' mobs turns out, they carry a banner with the wurruds, 'Give us nawthin' to do, or we perish. Whin a Cubian comes home at night with a happy smile on his face, he don't say to his wife an' childher, 'Thank Gawd, I've got wurruk at last! He says, 'Thank Gawd, I've been fired. An' th' childher go out, and they say, 'Pah-pah has lost his job. And Mrs.
"I think marrid men gets on th' best f'r they have a home an' fam'ly to lave in th' mornin' an' a home an' fam'ly to go back to at night; that makes thim wurruk. Some men's domestic throubles dhrives thim to dhrink, others to labor.
Says me Cousin George: "Aggynaldoo, me buck, he says, 'th' war is over, he says, 'an' we've settled down to th' ol' game, he says. 'They're no more heroes. All iv thim has gone to wurruk f'r th' magazines. They're no more pathrites, he says. 'They've got jobs as gov'nors or ar-re lookin' f'r thim or annything else, he says.
Th' monarch's mind turned to th' subjick iv war an' he says to himsilf: 'What a dhreadful thing it is that such a beautiful wurruld shud be marred be thousands iv innocint men bein' sint out to shoot each other f'r no cause whin they might betther stay at home an' wurruk f'r their rile masthers, he says.
Whin this deadly missile flies through th' air, th' threes ar-re withered an' th' little bur-rds falls dead fr'm th' sky, fishes is kilt in th' rivers, an' th' tillyphone wires won't wurruk. Th' keen eyed British gunners an' corryspondints watches it in its hellish course an' tur-rn their faces as it falls into th' Boer trench.
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