AMONG THE FENIANS.
WISHING to post myself on one of the
most current topics of the day, I,
Mark, hunted up an old friend,
Dennis McCarthy, who is editor of the new
Fenian journal in San Francisco, The Irish
People. I found him sitting on a sumptuous
candle-box, in his shirt-sleeves, solacing himself
with a whiff at the national dhudeen or
caubeen or whatever they call it—a clay pipe
with no stem to speak of. I thought it might
flatter him to address him in his native tongue,
and so I bowed with considerable grace and
said:
“Arrah!”
And he said, “Be jabers!”
“Och hone!” said I.
“Mavourneen dheelish, acushla machree,”
replied The McCarthy.
“Erin go bragh,” I continued with vivacity.
“Asthore!” responded The McCarthy.
“Tare an' ouns!” said I.
“Bhe dha husth; fag a rogarah lums!” said
the bold Fenian.
“Ye have me there, be me sowl!” said I, (for
I am not “up” in the niceties of the language,
you understand; I only know enough of it to
enable me to “keep my end up” in an ordinary
conversation.)
