e
a curtly affectionate greeting, and walk over to where Mrs. Hennessy
could be seen reading the "Key of Heaven" beside the parlor stove.

ON CRIMINALS.

"Lord bless my sowl," said Mr. Dooley, "childher is a gr-reat
risponsibility,--agr-reat risponsibility. Whin I think iv it, I praise
th' saints I niver was married, though I had opporchunities enough whin
I was a young man; an' even now I have to wear me hat low whin I go down
be Cologne Sthreet on account iv th' Widow Grogan. Jawn, that woman'll
take me dead or alive. I wake up in a col' chill in th' middle iv th'
night, dhreamin' iv her havin' me in her clutches.

"But that's not here or there, avick. I was r-readin' in th' pa-apers iv
a lad be th' name iv Scanlan bein' sint down th' short r-road f'r near a
lifetime; an' I minded th' first time I iver see him,--a bit iv a
curly-haired boy that played tag around me place, an' 'd sing 'Blest
Saint Joseph' with a smile on his face like an angel's. Who'll tell what
makes wan man a thief an' another man a saint? I dinnaw. This here boy's
father wur-rked fr'm morn till night in th' mills, was at early mass
Sundah mornin' befure th' alkalis lit th' candles, an' niver knowed a
month whin he failed his jooty. An' his mother was a sweet-faced little
woman, though fr'm th' County Kerry, that nursed th' sick an' waked th'
dead, an' niver had a hard thought in her simple mind f'r anny iv Gawd's
creatures. Poor sowl, she's dead now. May she rest in peace!

"He didn't git th' shtreak fr'm his father or fr'm his mother. His
brothers an' sisters was as fine a lot as iver lived. But this la-ad
Petey Scanlan growed up fr'm bein' a curly-haired angel f'r to be th'
toughest villyun in th' r-road. What was it at all, at all? Sometimes I
think they'se poison in th' life iv a big city. Th' flowers won't grow
here no more thin they wud in a tannery, an' th' bur-rds have no song;
an' th' childher iv dacint men an' women come up hard in th' mouth an'
with their hands raised again their kind.

"Th' la-ad was th' scoorge iv th' polis. He was as quick as a cat an' as
fierce as a tiger, an' I well raymimber him havin' laid out big Kelly
that used to thravel this post,--'Whistlin'' Kelly that kep' us awake
with imitations iv a mockin' bur-rd,--I well raymimber him scuttlin' up
th' alley with a score iv polismin laborin' afther him, thryin' f'r a
shot at him as he wint around th' bar-rns or undher th' thrucks. He
slep' in th' coal-sheds