How Matters are Managed.

Thames Star, Volume XI, Issue 3511, 27 March 1880, Page 2

How Matters are Managed.

Irish Town, Dear Misther Editber, Sub,—l rite those few lines hopin' they may find you well, as this lares me at the present, thanks be tv God, ir coorse. Yell be wondherin' who in the wprld I am. So as we mite as well cum aquaneted at wonst, be yer lare me name's TimDoolan: Tim or the rale ould schtok. Well, in me meandherins about I cums across lots ut peepel that likes to get a bit ut advice, fur shure 'tis well none that I cums frum a nolligabil family. Weil, sur, 'tother day as I was a pore shauKn about who shud I dhrop across bud me ould frind Sandy Brody, ir coors; Sandy and me is ould oroniei. Top ir the mornia' to je

Misther Brody, sis I (for ye see being , as how he's County Chareman 'twudent luk well to say Handy, like ould times). Ech! Tim, duel, seg he, but yer the mon 'am specrin' aifther. Begorra, siz I, well \ met, and what's in the wind aroon. Nae» i thing muckle, siz he, but cum laddie ! we'll gang to Mahoney's an' hare a dhrap 1 an' a crack aboot auld times. (Now, Misther Edither, don't ax me tv thry no more Skoch, as I aint used to id, bein' born of Irish parients. So yell get the resht in the rale rirnskkellar.) Well, ar coors, in we goes. Wbat'll ye have, Tim, siz he; cum now, the besht in the house. Same as yersel', San—that's beggin' yer pardon, Misther Brody, siz I. Oh, dhrop the Misther, Tim, siz he, an' let it be auld times. Agreed to, siz I; 'ye wur alays ft dacint bye, San"—that's Misther Brody, siz I, fur ye see 'twudent be dacint to make too free all tv wonst—bud the same as yersel', avick. Och! Tim, me bye, siz he, I'm a Timplar. O, the Lord help ye, siz I; when did that misfortune cum over ye. 'Tis no wandher, aric machree, ye'd be in thribbelashun. Ye want a dhrop UT the crather tv cumfart ye. „ Yerra la me alone, man, siz he, sbure since me last turip to Wilhntun, the very life an'jowl is pesthered out o' me. Shure ther'g naethin' bud fiten' and squabbelin' in all quarters, an' I am doin' me Tery best tv get more muney frum the Gurernmint tv keep uz abur wather (an bechune^Mn' me we'r Terry short ay the nadefa! at prisint); an' ain't I goin' fur a thrip to Matty Matty next week to put the cumhither on auld Wittycur, and sum mpre mimbers that's shure tv be there, an* pint out to 'urn the buttiful raysoorsis ur the County, an' tell 'urn what a murdherin' shame 'tis they won't push on the railway. Sum ur urn be's graulin about the Pump, an 9 sum ut urn iz fur redoocin' the sallerys, an' God noes tisn't a dacint lirin' at prisint; an' more ut the blaggards, saym' we'r squandhering munny on the rodes an' not keepin' conthractorg to the speshifikashuns. Och, leathershin! sez I, iz that 'a all ? That all siz he, an' isn't that ennuff tv brake auny man's hart; shure I'm a gettin' iz thin iz a mach wud frettin'. Azy, siz I, shure I thot ye bed more gumshum nor that— divil a won ut me ever wud lit on that I'd get intu a fiustherificashun fur the like ut a thrifel ur that soort. Square, ould Billy, siz I! fur shore he oant't cum tv the skrach, an' give the Callydony to Captin Stony, fur liiz hart is in it; an' more be token—he'll be the best man in the long run. Well, siz he, an* how about the sallerys ? Why, ye born omadthaun! siz I, can't ye kape the axcheky up selling the skurittees, an' gir' Addam annutber rode fur Onnymury, and all yer thrubbils is orer. Well, Tim, sez he, bud yer the noin' bye, sez he. Go azy, man, siz I, shure ar I waz yon I'd put the cumhither on urn intirely; haven't they all got fish to fry, maohree ? The Lord spare ye tv me, arourneen this morning, ye have tuck the load ar me heart this day, but, agra, thirs one thing more I'd like ye to insinse me intu. Well, asthore, sez I, in fur a lam in fur a ram, out wud id, and ir I can't put ye sthrate me name's not Tim. Well, siz he, wer' pestherd in counsel day afther day wud fetthers from Tapu, and sure wedun more fur that mangy hole nor. they'd pay in rates for a sinsherry, thracks to Wakkawaw, thracks to Merkerry Bay, dhray road to Waiomo, and peaciri* here an' pachin' there, an* what,wud ■. coorts of inkiry, an' meael' an' the conn* sellers an' the injuneer thrarellin' 'backards an' forrerds', an' forrige fur til*: cattle, be. japers, ■ half the rerinu iz swamped. Whisbpur, sez I, dv ye. not enny one there wanted a job an'didn't get it P At coorse I do, lez he, but diril a baubee he'll see while my name iz Sandy. " Who iz he at all P siz I. Well, siz he, I don't like to menshiu names, as I ain't shure, but I'm thinkin' he's a Mao. So in rayson he's a cunthryman ut me own. Divil a shin, siz I, a nod's as good as a wink fur a blind hors. I had a glass at Mick Mulligan's wud him last week, an' I'm the bye. Well, yell get, him chape, siz I, shure, be the way, and no harum. Ye mite find him a little azy conthract, an' shet his mouth for irer more, amen. . Tim, sez he, me fealios is too much disturbed to expriss me sintimints to ye on this occaßhnn, but here's me hand, ma yanchelan dhass, an we'll toasht Timpliry intu whishkey fur Auld Lang Syne. Be me sowl, I seccunded the motion agin, an cead mille failthe. Yell be wontherin' Misther Eddither, why I kep this news so. long in me pussesshun, I didn't aquainten ye afore, bud on seccund konsidtherashun, I thote I'd wtte an tee how things ud work, an if twas aeeordin' to me expectasbuns, I mite give some of me frinds io the Burrow, or the Harbour Boord a hint, an maybe get some remunerasbun fur that same, as me thribbet isn't lookin' well at the prisint.- Well* surr, I'm the prowd bye this day, for I met Sandy yistherday, an he toldt me I was a born' praffit, an he's now as happy as a king, an to —— wid Timpliry. He's thinkin' ar conrartin' the kurnil to his ruse. So ar you noa any won wants a rinkle, jest refer em to Yours truly, Tim Dooian, Irish Town. March 25th. ;