an, he tells it near and far,

'Over an' over th' story: 'Beware iv th' gran' flimflam,
There is no thruce with Gazabo, th' line that looks like a lamb.'

"That's a good pome, too," said Mr. Dooley; "an' I'm goin' to sind it
to th' nex' meetin' iv th' Anglo-Saxon 'liance."

LORD CHARLES BERESFORD.

"I see be th' pa-apers," said Mr. Dooley, "that Lord Char-les
Beresford is in our mist, as Hogan says."

"An' who th' divvle's he?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"He's a Watherford man," said Mr. Dooley. "I knowed his father
well,--a markess be thrade, an' a fine man. Char-les wint to sea
early; but he's now in th' plastherin' business,--cemintin' th'
'liance iv th' United States an' England. I'll thank ye to laugh at
me joke, Mr. Hinnissy, an' not be standin' there lookin' like a
Chinny-man in a sthreet-car."

"I don't know what ye mean," said Mr. Hennessy, softly.

"Lord Charles Beresford is a sort iv advance agent iv th' White Man's
Burden Thrajeedy Company,--two little Evas, four hundherd millyon
Topsies, six hundherd millyon Uncle Toms. He's billin' the' counthry
f'r th' threeyumphial tour iv th' Monsther Aggregation. Nawthin' can
stop it. Blood is thicker than wather; an' together, ar-rm in ar-rm,
we'll spread th' light iv civilization fr'm wan end iv th' wurruld to
th' other, no matther what you an' Schwartzmeister say, Hinnissy.

"Be hivins, I like th' way me kinsmen acrost th' sea, as th' pa-apers
say, threat us. 'Ye whelps,' says Lord Char-les Beresford an' Roodyard
Kipling an' Tiddy Rosenfelt an' th' other Anglo-Saxons. 'Foolish an'
frivolous people, cheap but thrue-hearted an' insincere cousins,' they
says. ''Tis little ye know about annything. Ye ar-re a disgrace to
humanity. Ye love th' dollar betther thin ye love annything but two
dollars. Ye ar-re savage, but inthrestin'. Ye misname our titles. Ye
use th' crool Krag-Jorgensen instead iv th' ca'm an' penethratin'
Lee-Metford. Ye kiss ye'er heroes, an' give thim wurruk to do. We
smash in their hats, an' illivate thim to th' peerage. Ye have
desthroyed our language. Ye ar-re rapidly convartin' our ancesthral
palaces into dwellin'-houses. Ye'er morals are loose, ye'er dhrinks
ar-re enervatin' but pleasant, an' ye talk through ye'er noses. Ye
ar-re mussy at th' table, an' ye have no religion. But ye ar-re whelps
iv th' ol' line. Those iv ye that ar-re not our brothers-in-law we
welcome as brothers. Ye annoy us so much ye must be mimbers iv our own
fam