dhreams wud make Fitzsimmons feel poor. But ne'er a wan iv thim was
printed in th' pa-apers."

   "'Tis so with me frinds, th' hands acrost th' sea. They wint to sleep
an' had a dhream. An' says they: 'We will sind down to South Africa thim
gallant throops that have won so manny hard-fought reviews,' they says,
'captained,' they says, 'be th' flower iv our aristocracy,' they says.
'An' whin th' Boers come out ar-rmed with rollin' pins an' bibles,' they
says, 'We'll just go at thim,' they says, 'an' walk through thim an'
that night we'll have a cotillyon at Pretoria to which all frinds is
invited,' they says. An' so they deposit their intellects in th' bank at
home, an' th' absent-minded beggars goes out in thransports iv
pathreetism an' pothry. An' they'se a meetin' iv th' cabinet an' 'tis
decided that as th' war will on'y las' wan week 'twill be well f'r to
begin renamin' th' cities iv th' Thransvaal afther pop'lar English
statesmen—Joechamberlainville an' Rhodesdorp an' Beitfontein. F'r they
have put their hands to th' plough an' th' sponge is squeezed dhry, an'
th' sands iv th' glass have r-run out an' th' account is wiped clean."

   "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

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