kin' a dhraw
at an opeem pipe an' r-readin' a Fr-rinch novel. Th' touch iv a woman's
hand wudden't help this here abode iv luxury. Wanst, whin I was away,
th' beautiful Swede slave that scrubs out me place iv business broke
into th' palachal boodoor an' in thryin' to set straight th' ile
paintin' iv th' Chicago fire burnin' Ilivator B, broke a piece off a
frame that cost me two dollars iv good money.' If they knew that th'
on'y furniture in me room was a cane-bottomed chair an' a thrunk an'
that there was nawthin' on th' flure but oilcloth an' me clothes, an'
that 'tis so long since me bed was made up that it's now a life-size
plaster cast iv me, I'd be dhragged to th' altar at th' end iv a chain.

"Speakin' as wan iv th' few survivin' bachelors, an old vethran that's
escaped manny a peril an' got out iv manny a difficult position with
honor, I wish to say that fair woman is niver so dangerous as whin she's
sorry f'r ye. Whin th' wurruds 'Poor man' rises to her lips an' th'
nurse light comes into her eyes, I know 'tis time f'r me to take me hat
an' go. An' if th' hat's not handy I go without it.

"I bet ye th' idee iv taxin' bachelors started with th' dear ladies. But
I say to thim: 'Ladies, is not this a petty revenge on ye'er best
frinds? Look on ye'er own husbands an' think what us bachelors have
saved manny iv ye'er sisters fr'm. Besides aren't we th' hope iv th'
future iv th' instichoochion iv mathrimony? If th' onmarrid ladies ar-re
to marry at all, 'tis us, th' bold bachelors, they must look forward to.
We're not bachelors fr'm choice. We're bachelors because we can't make a
choice. Ye all look so lovely to us that we hate to bring th' tears into
th' eyes iv others iv ye be marryin' some iv ye. Considher our
onforchnit position an' be kind. Don't oppress us. We were not meant f'r
slaves. Don't thry to coerce us. Continue to lay f'r us an' hope on. If
ye tax us there's hardly an old bachelor in th' land that won't fling
his five dollars acrost th' counter at th' tax office an' say: 'Hang th'
expense.'"

THE RISING OF THE SUBJECT RACES

"Ye'er frind Simpson was in here awhile ago," said Mr. Dooley, "an' he
was that mad."

"What ailed him?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"Well," said Mr. Dooley, "it seems he wint into me frind Hip Lung's
laundhry to get his shirt an' it wasn't ready. Followin' what Hogan
calls immemoryal usage, he called Hip Lung such names as he cud remimber
and thried to dhrag him around th'