“ABOUT THIM OIRISH THROUBLES.”

Otago Daily Times, Issue 18348, 12 September 1921, Page 9

“ABOUT THIM OIRISH THROUBLES.”

TO T7TK BDITOK Sib,—l think the following extract from the London Express of July 17 kut not only very accurately describes the attitude of the rank and file Sinn Feiner, but it may help to brighten tip the deadly dull correspondence on the subject of Ireland which is at present going on in your columns with resulting boredom to the bulk of your readers and the detriment of your circulation.—l am, etc., Bored Stiff. Diinectin, September 9.

(With, apologies to Peter Finley Dunne.) “What the diwle have ye been doin’ to yerself?” asked Mr Hooley, as he gazed critically at the damp and dishevelled figure of Mr Finnegan. “Oi know ye too well to imagine fer a minute that y© got into that condition of perspirashun at yer worruk.” There was a long pause wnile Mr Finnegan’s glass mounted higher and higher, balanced! for a moment on the bridge of his nose, and then was deppsited with wistful reluctance on the counter. He wiped hia mouth with the back of his band.

“What’s that? Oh, yis, Oi was helpin’ to receive Do Valera.”

"Weil, yo were in big business," said Mr Hooley acornfnlly. ■'Here’s yon with two daughters old enough to he mar-rid, if they didn’t look so much loiko their pa, poor gurls, and ye go off at the risk of gittin’ sunstroke, or loein’ yer job, or bein’ arrested, so that ye can jine a mob of other lunatics yellin’ and wavin’ and crowdin’ around, till a lot of English polioemin hare to save the Prisidint of the Oirish Republic from bein' crushed to death by his I’yal but insane supporters. Oi’m ashamed of ye.” Mr Finnegan’s eyes grew big with reproach and bewilderment.

“But don|t ye want peace in Oiroland?” “Share Oi want peace in Oireland. So does iviry sinsible man the work! over. Do Valera and Lloyd George and Moichael Collins and Sir Edward Carson and mesilf—we all want it. The foighters thimsilves want it. They want it so bad they’re willin’ to kill one another to procure it. But the question is, will they take it whin they git it? There is somethin’ in the air of Oireland which is fatal to snakes and the spirit of harmony.” Mr Hooley gazed through the window in a mood of milrl reminiscetice.

“It’s hard on the wimmin, Jawn,” said Mr Finnegan, after a pause. Mr Hnoley’s face became solemn, and be wiped a glass with meticulous and unnecessary care.

“It is that,” he admitted with a sigh. “Oi’m. only a poor crabbid ould bachelor with no woman in the world to care if Oi have a. oowld in the head or a button on mo shirt, but it' gives me heart-sthrings a quar© twist to think of thim poor Cray lures kneelin.’ in tli© dust say in’ the Rosary for peace. God help thiml Oi hope they’ll got it. Foightin’s always hard cm the wimmin.” ! “Well, it’s toiroo wo paid pome afctintion to thim," said Mr Finnegan. “It is,” said Mr Hooky grimly. "But y« won’t. Ye won’t because ye’re a woild, ferocious, foire-entin’ male. Ye won’t because have a furious passion fer destruction and rourdter. The red lust of battle is in yor blood, Finnegan, as it is in iviry healthy Oirisliman’s. No, there’s po use in ye lookin’ snrproised and indignant. Oi know rc, y© unrepintant ould swashbuckler! Y© may giv© yer family and Father Flaherty the imprission that ye’re a meek, middle-aged man who wouldn’t say boo to a canary, but ye can’t fool mo, y© red-eyed ould ravashur! It’s fellas loike you that keep sinsible Oirishmin loik© mo and Do Valera and Carson wanderin’ what the diwlo we’re to do to restrain yer evil passions. Go along homo with ye now. It’s closin’ to ; me.’’ Mr Hooley gently but, with authority shoved the astonished and speechless Finnegan out and shut the door. There was a gleam in his eye as ho shot the bolt. “Foightin’ is a sad sort of pleasure,” ho said to himself, "but, as thim young novelists say, it’s vurry intriguin’. They need pence in Oireland, but Oi hope they won't overdo it.”