"An' what's th' Boer doin' all this time? What's me frind th' Boer
doin'. Not sleepin', Hinnissy, mind ye. He hasn't anny dhreams iv
conquest. But whin a man with long whiskers comes r-ridin' up th' r-road
an' says: 'Jan Schmidt or Pat O'Toole or whativer his name is, ye're
wanted at th' front,' he goes home an' takes a rifle fr'm th' wall an'
kisses his wife an' childher good-bye an' puts a bible in th' tails iv
his coat an' a stovepipe hat on his head an' thramps away. An' his wife
says: 'Good-bye, Jan. Don't be long gone an' don't get shooted.' An' he
says: 'Not while I've got a leg undher me an' a rock in front iv me,' he
says. I tell ye, Hinnissy, ye can't beat a man that fights f'r his home
an' counthry in a stovepipe hat. He might be timpted f'r to come out
fr'm cover f'r his native land, but he knows if he goes home to his wife
with his hat mussed she won't like it, an' so he sets behind a rock an'
plugs away. If th' lid is knocked off he's fatally wounded."

"What's th' raysult, Hinnissy? Th' British marches up with their bands
playin' an' their flags flyin'. An' th' Boers squat behind a bouldher or
a three or set comfortable in th' bed iv a river an' bang away. Their
on'y thradition is that it's betther to be a live Boer thin a dead hero,
which comes, perhaps, to th' same thing. They haven't been taught f'r
hundherds iv years that 'tis a miracle f'r to be an officer an' a
disgrace to be a private sojer. They know that if they're kilt they'll
have their names printed in th' pa-apers as well as th' Markess iv
Doozleberry that's had his eyeglass shot out. But they ain't lookin' f'r
notoriety. All they want is to get home safe, with their counthry free,
their honor protected an' their hats in good ordher. An' so they hammer
away an' th' inimy keeps comin', an' th' varyous editions iv th' London
pa-apers printed in this counthry have standin' a line iv type
beginnin', 'I regret to state.'"