he thried to live down to it be runnin' f'r congress, but it was no go.
No matther where he wint among his counthrymen in England some wan wud
find out he was bor-rn in New York an' th' man that ownded th' house
where he was spindin' th' night wud ast him if he was a cannibal an' had
he anny Indyan blood in his veins. 'Twas like seein' a fine lookin' man
with an intel-lecjal forehead an' handsome, dar-rk brown eyes an'
admirin' him, an' thin larnin' his name is Mudd J. Higgins. His accint
was proper an' his clothes didn't fit him right, but he was not bor-rn
in th' home iv his dayscindants, an' whin he walked th' sthreets iv
London he knew ivry polisman was sayin': 'There goes a man that pretinds
to be happy, but a dark sorrow is gnawin' at his bosom. He looks as if
he was at home, but he was bor-rn in New York, Gawd help him.'

[Illustration]


"So this poor way-worn sowl, afther thryin' ivry other rimidy fr'm
dhrivin' a coach to failin' to vote, at las' sought out th' rile high
clark iv th' coort an' says he: 'Behold,' he says, 'an onhappy man,' he
says. 'With millyons in me pocket, two hotels an' onlimited credit, 'he
says, 'me hear-rt is gray,' he says. 'Poor sowl,' says th' clark iv th'
coort, 'What's ailin' ye'?' he says. 'Have ye committed some gr-reat
crime?' he says. 'Partly,' says Willum Waldorf Asthor. 'It was partly me
an' partly me folks,' he says. 'I was,' he says, in a voice broken be
tears, 'I was,' he says, 'bor-rn in New York,' he says. Th' clark made
th' sign iv th' cross an' says he: 'Ye shudden't have come here,' he
says. 'Poor afflicted wretch,' he says, 'ye need a clargyman,' he says.
'Why did ye seek me out?' he says. 'Because,' says Willum Waldorf
Asthor, 'I wish,' he says, 'f'r to renounce me sinful life,' he says. 'I
wish to be bor-rn anew,' he says. An' th' clark bein' a kind man helps