tin ton iv ha-ard coal into a
cellar f'r a quarther iv a dollar. Th' lad afoot invies th' dhriver, an'
th' dhriver invies me; an' I might invy big Cleveland if it wasn't f'r
th' hivinly smell iv this here noggin. An' who does Cleveland invy?
Sure, it'd be sacreliege f'r me to say.

"Me ol' father, who was as full iv sayin's as an almanac, used to sink
his spoon into th' stirabout, an' say, 'Well, lads, this ain't bacon an'
greens an' porther; but it'll be annything ye like if ye'll on'y think
iv th' Cassidys.' Th' Cassidys was th' poorest fam'ly in th' parish.
They waked th' oldest son in small beer, an' was little thought of. Did
me father iver ask thim in to share th' stirabout? Not him. An' he was
the kindest man in th' wurruld. He had a heart in him as big as a lump
iv turf, but he'd say, 'Whin ye grow up, take no wan's sorrows to
ye'ersilf,' he says. ''Tis th' wise man that goes through life thinkin'
iv himsilf, fills his own stomach, an' takes away what he can't ate in
his pocket.' An' he was r-right, Jawn. We have throubles enough iv our
own. Th' wurruld goes on just th' same, an' ye can find fifty men to say
th' lit'ny f'r ye to wan that'll give ye what'll relieve a fastin' spit.
Th' dead ar-re always pop'lar. I knowed a society wanst to vote a
monyment to a man an' refuse to help his fam'ly, all in wan night. 'Tis
cowld outside th' dure, ye say, but 'tis war-rum in here; an' I'm
gettin' in me ol' age to think that the diff'rence between hivin an'
hell is no broader"--

Mr. Dooley's remarks were cut short by a cry from the back room. It was
unmistakably a baby's cry. Mr. McKenna turned suddenly in amazement as
Mr. Dooley bolted.

"Well, in the name of the saints, what's all this?" he cried, following
his friend into the back room. He found the philosopher, with an
expression of the utmost sternness, sitting on the side of his bed, with
a little girl of two or three in his arms. The philosopher was
singing:----

Ar-rah rock-a-bye, babby, on th' three top:
Whin th' wind blo-ows, th' cradle ull r-rock;
An', a-whin th' bough breaks, th' cradle ull fa-a-a-ll,
An' a-down ull come babby, cradle, an' all.

Then he sang:----

In th' town iv Kilkinny there du-wilt a fair ma-aid,
In th' town iv Kilkinny there du-wilt a fair ma-aid.
She had cheeks like th' roses, an' hair iv th' same,
An' a mouth like ripe sthrawburries burrid in crame.

He rocked the child to and fro, and its crying ceased