Squire Thaxter interrupted me.  The Squire feels the wrongs of Ireland deeply, on accounts of havin onct courted the widder of a Irish gentleman who had lingered in a loathsum dunjin in Dublin, placed there by a English tarvern-keeper, who despotically wanted him to pay for a quantity of chops and beer he had consoom'd.  Besides, the Squire wants to be re-elected Justice of the Peace. "Mr. Ward," he said, "you've bin drinkin.  You're under the infloo'nce of licker, sir!" Says I, "Squire, not a drop of good licker has passed my lips in fifteen years. [Cries of "Oh, here now, that won't do."] "It is troo," I said.  "Not a drop of good licker has passed my lips in all that time.  I don't let it pass 'em.  I reach for it while it's goin by!" says I.  "Squire, harness me sum more!" "I beg pardon," said the Squire, "for the remark; you are sober; but what on airth are you drivin at?" "Yes!" I said, "that's just it.  That's what I've bin axin myself during the entire evenin.  What is this grate meetin drivin at?  What's all the grate Finian meetins drivin at all over the country? "My Irish frens, you know me well enuff to know that I didn't come here to disturb this meetin.  Nobody but a loafer will disturb any kind of a meetin.  And if you'll notice it, them as are up to this sort of thing, allers come to a bad end.  There was a young man--I will not mention his name--who disturb'd my show in a certain town, two years ago, by makin remarks disrespectful of my animals, accompanied by a allosan to the front part of my hed, which, as you see, it is Bald--sayin,--says this young man, 'You sandpaper it too much, but you've got a beautiful head of hair in the back of your neck, old man.'  This made a few ignent and low-mindid persons larf; but what was the fate of that young man?  In less than a month his aunt died and left him a farm in Oxford county, Maine!  The human mind can pictur no grater misfortun than this. "No, my Irish frens, I am here as your naber and fren.  I know YOU are honest in this Finian matter. "But let us look at them Head Centers.  Let us look at them rip-roarin orators in New York, who've bin tearin round for up'ards a year, swearin Ireland shall be free. "There's two parties--O'McMahoneys and McO'Roberts.  One thinks the best way is to go over to Canady and establish a Irish Republic there, kindly permittin the Canadians to pay the expenses of that sweet Boon; and the other wants to sail direck for Dublin Bay, where young McRoy and his fair young bride went down and was drownded, accordin to a ballad I onct heard.  But there's one pint on which both sides agree--that's the Funs.  They're willin, them chaps in New York, to receive all the Funs you'll send 'em.  You send a puss tonight to Mahony, and another puss to Roberts.  Both will receive 'em.  You bet.  And with other pusses it will be sim'lar.