"And my motto is, major, let them what's dead, stay dead! But since its not mysel is to spake the addriss, but Dan Dooley, who, by the Virgin, is an alderman, a gintleman, and the friend of Father Fogarty-" Seeing there was an old score to be wiped out between Mr. Councilman Finnigan and the major, Mr. Alderman Dan Dooley, who was the tallest of the four flabby men, and a whiskey visaged gentleman of ponderous parts, now came fussily forward, and after exchanging many bows and compliments with the major, saying how extremely glad he was to welcome him to the city, introduced him to his son in law, Councilman Dennis Blennerhasset, a frisky little man, with a cocked up nose, and an expression of countenance in which no man with half an eye could fail to read in what land he drew his first breath, if, indeed, the rich brogue with which he returned the major's salutation had not already revealed it. Having, long since, resolved not to have my veracity as a historian impeached, I must not forget to state here, (and I warn every pugnacious critic to be careful how he points his lance at me,) that Alderman Dennis Dooley, although the firm friend of Father Fogarty, was said to be the ablest editor on the Evening Express, which for its profundity of logic, and purity of style, was truly a marvel in journalism. As for Councilman Blennerhasset, no man could bring aught against his capacity for mixing compounds of deleterious liquors, which he sold to the decaying humanity of his district; and, being what was considered a modest man, the notion came into his head that he was born for the high office of Councilman the very day he married the daughter of Alderman Dooley. Mr. Councilman Blennerhasset spoke of himself as we the common council, we the elected to do you honor on this great occasion; we the representatives of this great and glorious metropolis. Having accommodated the we a sufficient number of times to satisfy us that he had the whole city nicely tucked away in the pocket of his shabby coat, he turned round to introduce Alderman Barney O'Toole, who, as a man and a gentleman, could do more off hand fighting than any other man in the board, and was the fourth of the flabby men. But that distinguished politician and gentleman, who had been seven times sentenced for smashing the skulls of his adversaries, was not at hand, having, while Mr. Blennerhasset was thickening the compliments, winked me down into the cabin, where he drew from his pocket a luminous bottle of old Bourbon whiskey, and in the most friendly manner offered to pledge me in numerous glasses.