Squire Thaxter interrupted me. The Squire feels the wrongs of
Ireland deeply, on accounts of havin onct courted the widder of a
Irish gentleman who had lingered in a loathsum dunjin in Dublin,
placed there by a English tarvern-keeper, who despotically wanted
him to pay for a quantity of chops and beer he had consoom'd.
Besides, the Squire wants to be re-elected Justice of the Peace.
"Mr. Ward," he said, "you've bin drinkin. You're under the
infloo'nce of licker, sir!"

Says I, "Squire, not a drop of good licker has passed my lips in
fifteen years.

[Cries of "Oh, here now, that won't do."]

"It is troo," I said. "Not a drop of good licker has passed my lips
in all that time. I don't let it pass 'em. I reach for it while
it's goin by!" says I. "Squire, harness me sum more!"

"I beg pardon," said the Squire, "for the remark; you are sober; but
what on airth are you drivin at?"

"Yes!" I said, "that's just it. That's what I've bin axin myself
during the entire evenin. What is this grate meetin drivin at?
What's all the grate Finian meetins drivin at all over the country?

"My Irish frens, you know me well enuff to know that I didn't come
here to disturb this meetin. Nobody but a loafer will disturb any
kind of a meetin. And if you'll notice it, them as are up to this
sort of thing, allers come to a bad end. There was a young man--I
will not mention his name--who disturb'd my show in a certain town,