ye?' he says. 'Well,' he says,
'I'll take no chances,' he says. 'Sind f'r th' desk sergeant,' he
says. 'I'm goin' to plead guilty an' turn informer,' he says. 'Tis
lucky f'r Cleveland me uncle died befure he r-run f'r President. He'd
've had wan vote less.

"I'll niver forget th' night me uncle Mike come back fr'm Canada. Ye
know he was wan iv th' most des'prit Fenians that iver lived; an',
whin th' movement begun, he had to thread on no wan's shadow befure he
was off f'r th' battle. Ivry wan in town knew he was goin'; an' he
wint away with a thrunk full iv bottles an' all th' good wishes iv th'
neighborhood, more be reason iv th' fact that he was a boistherous man
whin he was th' worse f'r wear, with a bad habit iv throwin' bricks
through his neighbors' windys. We cud see him as th' thrain moved out,
walkin' up an' down th' aisle, askin' iv there was anny Englishman in
th' car that 'd like to go out on th' platform an' rowl off with him.

"Well, he got up in New York an' met a lot iv other des'prite men like
himsilf, an' they wint across th' bordher singin' songs an' carryin'
on, an' all th' militia iv New York was undher ar-rms; f'r it 'd been
just like thim to turn round an' do their fightin' in New York. 'Twas
little me uncle Mike cared where he fought.

"But, be hook or crook, they got to where th' other Fenians was, an'
jined th' army. They come fr'm far an' near; an' they were young an'
old, poor lads, some iv thim bent on sthrikin' th' blow that 'd break
th' back iv British tyranny an' some jus' crazed f'r fightin'. They
had big guns an' little guns an' soord canes an' pitchforks an'
scythes, an' wan or two men had come over armed with baseball bats.
They had more gin'rals thin ye cud find in a Raypublican West Town
convintion, an' ivry private was at laste a colonel. They made me
uncle Mike a brigadier gin'ral. 'That 'll do f'r a time,' says he;
'but, whin th' fun begins, I'll pull Dorney off his horse, an' be a
major gin'ral,' he says. An' he'd 've done it, too, on'y they was no
fightin'.

"They marched on, an' th' British run away fr'm thim; an', be hivins,
me uncle Mike cud niver get a shot at a redcoat, though he searched
high an' low f'r wan. Thin a big rain-storm come, an' they was no
tents to protect thim; an' they set aroun', shiverin' an' swearin'. Me
uncle Mike was a bit iv a politician; an' he organized a meetin' iv
th' lads that had come over with him, an' sint a comity to wait on th'
major gi