n'ral. 'Dorney,' says me uncle Mike, f'r he was chairman iv
th' comity, 'Dorney,' he says, 'me an' me associated warriors wants to
know,' he says. 'What d'ye mane?' says Dorney. 'Ye brought us up
here,' says me uncle Mike, 'to fight the British,' he says. 'If ye
think,' he says, 'that we come over,' he says, 'to engage in a six
days' go-as-you-please walkin' match,' he says, 'ye'd betther go an'
have ye'er head looked into,' he says. 'Have ye anny British around
here? Have ye e'er a Sassenach concealed about ye'er clothes?' he
says. 'We can't do annything if they won't stand f'r us,' says Dorney.
'Thin,' says me uncle Mike, 'I wash me hands iv th' whole invasion,'
he says. 'I'll throuble ye f'r me voucher,' he says. 'I'm goin back to
a counthry where they grow men that 'll stand up an' fight back,' he
says; an' he an' his la-ads wint over to Buf-falo, an' was locked up
f'r rivolution.

"Me uncle Mike come home on th' bumpers iv a freight car, which is th'
way most rivolutioners come home, excipt thim that comes home in th'
baggage car in crates. 'Uncle Mike,' says I to him, 'what's war like,
annyhow?' 'Well,' says he, 'in some rayspicts it is like missin' th'
last car,' he says; 'an' in other rayspicts 'tis like gettin' gay in
front iv a polis station,' he says. An', by dad, whin I come to think
what they call wars nowadays, I believe me uncle Mike was right. 'Twas
different whin I was a lad. They had wars in thim days that was wars."

THE RULING CLASS.

"I see be th' pa-apers," said Mr. Dooley, "that arnychy's torch do be
lifted, an' what it means I dinnaw; but this here I know, Jawn, that
all arnychists is inimies iv governmint, an' all iv thim ought to be
hung f'r th' first offence an' bathed f'r th' second. Who are they,
annyhow, but foreigners, an' what right have they to be holdin'
torchlight procissions in this land iv th' free an' home iv th' brave?
Did ye iver see an American or an Irishman an arnychist? No, an' ye
niver will. Whin an Irishman thinks th' way iv thim la-ads, he goes on
th' polis force an' dhraws his eighty-three-thirty-three f'r throwin'
lodgin'-house bums into th' pathrol wagon. An' there ye a-are.

"I niver knowed but th' wan arnychist, an' he was th' divvle an' all
f'r slaughtherin' th' rich. He was a Boolgahrian man that lived down
be Cologne Sthreet, acrost th' river; but he come over to Bridgeport
whin he did have his skates on him, f'r th' liftenant over there was
again arnych