"I went into Mr. Delmonico's eatin-house the other night, and I saw my fren Mr. Terence McFadden, who is a elekent and enterprisin deputy Centre.  He was sittin at a table, eatin a canvas-back duck.  Poultry of that kind, as you know, is rather high just now.  I think about five dollars per Poult.  And a bottle of green seal stood before him. "'How are you, Mr. McFadden?' I said. "'Oh, Mr. Ward!  I am miserable--miserable!  The wrongs we Irishmen suffers!  Oh, Ireland!  Will a troo history of your sufferins ever be written?  Must we be ever ground under by the iron heel of despotic Briton?  But, Mr. Ward, won't you eat suthin?' "'Well,' I said 'if there's another caanvas-back and a spare bottle of that green seal in the house, I wouldn't mind jinin you in bein ground under by Briton's iron heel.' "'Green turtle soup, first?' he said. "'Well, yes.  If I'm to share the wrongs of Ireland with you, I don't care if I do have a bowl of soup.  Put a bean into it,' I said to the waiter.  'It will remind me of my childhood days, when we had 'em baked in conjunction with pork every Sunday mornin, and then all went up to the village church, and had a refreshin nap in the fam'ly pew.' "Mr. McFadden, who was sufferin so thurily for Ireland, was of the Mahony wing.  I've no doubt that some ekally patriotic member of the Roberts wing was sufferin in the same way over to the Mason-Dory eatin-house. "They say, feller-citizens, soon you will see a Blow struck for Irish liberty!  We hain't seen nothin BUT a Blow, so far--it's bin all blow, and the blowers in New York won't git out of Bellusses as long as our Irish frens in the rooral districks send 'em money. "Let the Green float above the red, if that'll make it feel any better, but don't you be the Green.  Don't never go into anything till you know whereabouts you're goin to. "This is a very good country here where you are.  You Irish hav enjoyed our boons, held your share in our offices, and you certainly have done your share of our votin.  Then why this hulla-balloo about freein Ireland?  You do your frens in Ireland a great injoory, too; because they b'lieve you're comin sure enuff, and they fly off the handle and git into jail.  My Irish frens, ponder these things a little.  'Zamine 'em closely, and above all find out where the pusses go to." I sot down.  There was no applaws, but they listened to me kindly.  They know'd I was honest, however wrong I might be; and they know'd too, that there was no peple on arth whose generosity and gallantry I had a higher respect for than the Irish, excep when they fly off the handle.  So, my feller citizens, let me toot my horn. But Squire Thaxter put his hand onto my hed and said, in a mournful tone of vois, "Mr. Ward, your mind is failin.  Your intellect totters!  You are only about sixty years of age, yet you will soon be a drivelin dotard, and hav no control over yourself."