'Tis th' same name, a good ol' Meath name in th' days gone by;
an' be th' same token I have in me head that this here Count Taaffe,
whether he's an austrich or a canary bur-rd now, is wan iv th' ol'
fam'ly. There's manny iv thim in Europe an' all th' wurruld beside.
There was Pat McMahon, th' Frinchman, that bate Looey Napoleon; an'
O'Donnell, the Spanish juke; an' O'Dhriscoll an' Lynch, who do be th'
whole thing down be South America, not to mention Patsy Bolivar. Ye
can't go annywhere fr'm Sweden to Boolgahria without findin' a Turk
settin' up beside th' king an' dalin' out th' deek with his own hand.
Jawn, our people makes poor Irishmen, but good Dutchmen; an', th' more
I see iv thim, th' more I says to mesilf that th' rale boney fide
Irishman is no more thin a foreigner born away from home. 'Tis so.
"Look at thim, Jawn," continued Mr. Dooley, becoming eloquent. "Whin
there's battles to be won, who do they sind for? McMahon or Shurdan or
Phil Kearney or Colonel Colby. Whin there's books to be wrote, who
writes thim but Char-les Lever or Oliver Goldsmith or Willum Carleton?
Whin there's speeches to be made, who makes thim but Edmund Burke or
Macchew P.
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