AT CLANCY'S WAKE.

SCENE--_Room in the house of the lamented Clancy. The curtains are
pulled down. A perfume of old roses and whisky hangs in the air. A
weeping woman in black it seated at a table in the centre. A group of
wide-eyed children are sobbing in a corner. Down the side of the room is
a row of mourning friends of the family. Through an open door can be
seen, half hidden in shadows, the silver and black of a coffin._

WIDOW--Oh, wirra, wirra, wirra!

CHILDREN--B-b boo-hoo-hoo!

FRIENDS (_conversing in low tones_)--Yis, Moike Clancy was a foine mahn,
sure! None betther! No, I don't t'ink so. Did he? Sure, all th'
elictions! He was th' bist in the warrud! He licked 'im widin an inch of
his loife, aisy, an' th' other wan a big, shtrappin' buck of a mahn, an'
him jes' free of th' pneumonia! Yis, he did! They carried th' warrud by
six hunder! Yis, he was a foine mahn. None betther. Gawd sav' 'im!

(_Enter_ Mr. SLICK, _of the "Daily Blanket," shown in by a maid-servant,
whose hair has become disarranged through much tear-shedding. He is
attired in a suit of grey check, and wears a red rose in his
buttonhole._)

Mr. SLICK--Good afternoon, Mrs. Clancy. This is a sad misfortune for
you, isn't it?

WIDOW--Oh, indade, indade, young mahn, me poor heart is bruk.

Mr. SLICK--Very sad, Mrs. Clancy. A great misfortune, I'm sure. Now,
Mrs. Clancy, I've called to--

WIDOW--Little did I t'ink, young mahn, win they brought poor Moike in
that it was th' lasht!

Mr. SLICK (_with conviction_)--True! True! Very true, indeed. It was a
great grief to you, Mrs. Clancy. I've called this morning, Mrs. Clancy,
to see if I could get from you a short obituary notice for the _Blanket_
if you could--

WIDOW--An' his hid was done up in a rag, an' he was cursin' frightful. A
damned Oytalian lit fall th' hod as Moike was walkin' pasht as dacint as
you plaze. Win they carried 'im in, him all bloody, an' ravin' tur'ble
'bout Oytalians, me heart was near bruk, but I niver tawt--I niver
tawt--I--I niver--(_Breaks forth into a long, forlorn cry. The children
join in, and the chorus echoes wailfully through the rooms._)

Mr. SLICK (_as the yell, in a measure, ceases_)--Yes, indeed, a sad, sad
affair. A terrible misfortune. Now, Mrs. Clancy--

WIDOW (_turning suddenly_)--Mary Ann. Where's thot lazy divil of a Mary
Ann? (_As the servant appears._) Mary Ann, bring th' bottle! Give th'
gintlemin a dhrink!... Here's to Hiven savin' yez