'The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the ould days. A draf from Connemara--a draf' from Portsmouth--a draf' from Kerry, an' that was a blazin' bad draf'--here, there and iverywhere--but the large av thim was Oirish--Black Oirish. Now there are Oirish an' Oirish. The good are good as the best, but the bad are wurrst than the wurrst. 'Tis this way. They clog together in pieces as fast as thieves, an' no wan knows fwhat they will do till wan turns informer an' the gang is bruk. But ut begins again, a day later, meetin' in holes an' corners an' swearin' bloody oaths an' shtickin' a man in the back an' runnin' away, an' thin waitin' for the blood-money on the reward papers--to see if ut's worth enough. Those are the Black Oirish, an' 'tis they that bring dishgrace upon the name av Oireland, an' thim I wud kill--as I nearly killed wan wanst. 'But to reshume. My room--'twas before I was married--was wid twelve av the scum av the earth--the pickin's av the gutter--mane men that wud neither laugh nor talk nor yet get dhrunk as a man shud. They thried some av their dog's thricks on me, but I dhrew a line round my cot, an' the man that thransgressed ut wint into hospital for three days good. 'O'Hara had put his spite on the room--he was my Colour Sargint--an' nothin' cud we do to plaze him. I was younger than I am now, an' I tuk what I got in the way av dressing down and punishment-dhrill wid my tongue in my cheek. But it was diff'rint wid the others, an' why I cannot say, excipt that some men are borrun mane an' go to dhirty murdher where a fist is more than enough. Afther a whoile, they changed their chune to me an' was desp'rit frien'ly--all twelve av thim cursin' O'Hara in chorus. '“Eyah,” sez I, “O'Hara's a divil an' I'm not for denyin' ut, but is he the only man in the wurruld? Let him go. He'll get tired av findin' our kit foul an' our 'coutrements onproperly kep'.” '“We will _not_ let him go,” sez they. '“Thin take him,” sez I, “an' a dashed poor yield you will get for your throuble.” '“Is he not misconductin' himself wid Slimmy's wife?” sez another. '“She's common to the rig'mint,” sez I. “Fwhat has made ye this partic'lar on a suddint?” '“Has he not put his spite on the roomful av us? Can we do anythin' that he will not check us for?” sez another. '“That's thrue,” sez I. '“Will ye not help us to do aught,” sez another--“a big bould man like you.” '“I will break his head upon his shoulthers av he puts hand on me,” sez I. “I will give him the lie av he says that I'm dhirty, an' I wud not mind duckin' him in the Artillery troughs if ut was not that I'm thryin' for my shtripes.” '“Is that all ye will do?” sez another. “Have ye no more spunk than that, ye blood-dhrawn calf?”