ney and Grover Cleveland and J. Pierpont
Morgan and Ickleheimer Thalmann, and putting it in the hands of such
men. What do you think about it?"

"I think," said Mr. Dooley, "that Cassidy lied."

ON A FAMILY REUNION.

"Why aren't you out attending the reunion of the Dooley family?" Mr.
McKenna asked the philosopher.

"Thim's no rel-ations to me," Mr. Dooley answered. "Thim's farmer
Dooleys. No wan iv our fam'ly iver lived in th' counthry. We live in th'
city, where they burn gas an' have a polis foorce to get on to. We're no
farmers, divvle th' bit. We belong to th' industhreel classes. Thim must
be th' Fermanagh Dooleys, a poor lot, Jawn, an' always on good terms
with th' landlord, bad ciss to thim, says I. We're from Roscommon.
They'se a Dooley family in Wixford an' wan near Ballybone that belonged
to th' constabulary. I met him but wanst. 'Twas at an iviction; an',
though he didn't know me, I inthrajooced mesilf be landin' him back iv
th' ear with a bouldher th' size iv ye'er two fists together. He didn't
know me aftherwards, ayether.

"We niver had but wan reunion iv th' Dooley fam'ly, an' that was tin
years ago. Me cousin Felix's boy Aloysius,--him that aftherwards wint to
New York an' got a good job dhrivin' a carredge f'r th' captain iv a
polis station,--he was full iv pothry an' things; an' he come around wan
night, an' says he, 'D'ye know,' he says, ''twud be th' hite iv a good
thing f'r th' Dooleys to have a reunion,' he says. 'We ought to come
together,' he says, 'an' show the people iv this ward,' he says, 'how
sthrong we are,' he says. 'Ye might do it betther, me buck,' says I,
'shovellin' slag at th' mills,' I says. 'But annyhow, if ye'er mind's
set on it, go ahead,' I says, 'an' I'll attind to havin' th' polis
there,' I says, 'f'r I have a dhrag at th' station.'

"Well, he sint out letthers to all th' Roscommon Dooleys; an' on a
Saturdah night we come together in a rinted hall an' held th' reunion.
'Twas great sport f'r a while. Some iv us hadn't spoke frindly to each
other f'r twinty years, an' we set around an' tol' stories iv Roscommon
an' its green fields, an' th' stirabout pot that was niver filled, an'
th' blue sky overhead an' th' boggy ground undherfoot. 'Which Dooley was
it that hamsthrung th' cows?' 'Mike Dooley's Pat.' 'Naw such thing:
'twas Pat Dooley's Mike. I mane Pat Dooley's Mike's Pat.' F'r 'tis with
us as with th' rest iv our people. Ye take th' Dutchman: he has as manny
na