"Th' Honorable Joe Choate, dillygate fr'm th' United States, moved that in future wars enlisted men shud not wear ear-rings. Carried, on'y Italy votin' no.
"Th' conference thin discussed blowin' up th' inimy with dinnymite, poisinin' him, shootin' th' wounded, settin' fire to infants, bilin' prisoners-iv-war in hot lard, an' robbin' graves. Some excitemint was created durin' th' talk be th' dillygate fr'm th' cannybal islands who proposed that prisoners-iv-war be eaten. Th' German dillygate thought that this was carryin' a specyal gift iv wan power too far. It wud give th' cannybal islands a distinct advantage in case iv war, as Europeen sojers were accustomed to horses. Th' English dillygate said that while much cud be said against a practice which personally seemed to him rather unsportsmanlike, still he felt he must reserve th' right iv anny cannybal allies iv Brittanya to go as far as they liked. Th' Hon'orable Joe Choate moved that in future wars no military band shud be considered complete without a base-dhrum. Carrid.
"Th' entire South American dillygation said that no nation ought to go to war because another nation wanted to put a bill on th' slate. Th' English dillygate was much incensed. 'Why, gintlemen', says he, 'if ye deprived us iv th' right to collect debts be killin' th' debtor ye wud take away fr'm war its entire moral purpose. I must ask ye again to cease thinkin' on this subjick in a gross mateeryal way an' considher th' moral side alone,' he says. Th' conference was much moved be this pathetic speech, th' dillygate fr'm France wept softly into his hankerchef, an' th' dillygate fr'm Germany wint over an' forcibly took an open-face goold watch fr'm th' dillygate fr'm Vinzwala.
"Th' Hon'rable Joe Choate moved that in all future wars horses shud be fed with hay wheriver possible. Carrid. A long informal talk on th' reinthroduction iv scalpin' followed. At last th' dillygate fr'm Chiny arose an' says he: 'I'd like to know what war is. What is war annyhow?' 'Th' Lord knows, we don't,' says th' chairman. 'We're all profissors iv colledges or lawyers whin we're home,' he says. 'Is it war to shoot my aunt?' says th' dillygate fr'm Chiny. Cries iv 'No, no.' 'Is it war to hook me father's best hat that he left behind whin he bashfully hurrid away to escape th' attintions iv Europeen sojery?' he says. 'Is robbery war?' says he. 'Robbery is a nicissry part iv war,' says th' English dillygate. 'F'r th' purpose iv enfoorcin' a moral example,' he says.
"'Well,' says old Wow Chow, 'I'd like to be able to go back home an' tell thim what war really is. A few years back ye sint a lot iv young men over to our part iv th' wurruld an' without sayin' with ye'er leave or by ye'er leave they shot us an' they hung us up be our psyche knots an' they burned down our little bamboo houses. Thin they wint up to Pekin, set fire to th' town, an' stole ivry thing in sight. I just got out iv th' back dure in time to escape a jab in th' spine fr'm a German that I niver see befure. If it hadn't been that whin I was a boy I won th' hundred yards at th' University iv Slambang in two hours an' forty minyits, an' if it hadn't happened that I was lightly dhressed in a summer overskirt an' a thin blouse, an' if th' German hadn't stopped to steal me garters, I wudden't be here at this moment,' says he. 'Was that war or wasn't it?' he says. 'It was an expedition,' says th' dillygate fr'm England, 'to serve th' high moral jooties iv Christyan civvylization.' 'Thin,' says th' dillygate fr'm Chiny, puttin' on his hat, 'I'm f'r war,' he says. 'It ain't so rough,' he says. An' he wint home."
TURKISH POLITICS
"Well, sir," said Mr. Dooley, "onaisy lies th' crown on anny king's head these days. Th' time was whin it was me ambition or wan iv thim to be a king. Arly in life I'd committed the youthful folly iv bein' born outside iv th' counthry an' so I cuddent be Prisidint. But it don't make anny diff'rence what counthry a king comes from so long as he don't come fr'm th' counthry where he's king. 'No natives need apply,' is th' motto. If a counthry is so bad off that it has to have a king, they sind a comity down to Ellis Island an' pick out a good healthy Scandinavyan, make him throw away his wooden shoes an' leather cap, an' proclaim him king, Definder iv th' Faith. Kings are th' on'y assisted immygrants that are let in. Th' King iv England is German, th' King iv Italy is a Sardine, th' King iv Sweden is a Fr-rinchman, an' all th' other kings an' queens are Danes excipt th' King iv Denmark, an' th' Lord knows what he is.
"So ye see, Hinnissy, there's nawthin' in th' Constitution to prevint me fr'm bein' a king, an I looked forward to th' time whin I'd turn th' Illinye Cinthral deepo into a rile palace an' rule me subjicks, ye'ersilf among thim, with a high hand. I'd be a just but marciful monarch. No wan that come to th' palace wud go away empty handed. I'd always lave thim a little something. Divvle a bit iv a cabinet I'd have, but I'd surround mesilf with th' best thrained flattherers that cud be hired f'r love or money, an' no wan wud tell me th' truth, an' I'd live an' die happy. I'd show these modhern kings how a king ought to behave. Ye wudden't see Martin I, iv beloved mim'ry, runnin' around like a hired entertainer, wan day doin' th wurruk iv a talkative bricklayer at th' layin' iv a cornerstone, another day presidin' over a bankit iv th' Amalgamated Society iv Mannyfacthrers iv Hooks-an'-Eyes or racin' horses with Boots Durnell an' Charlie Ox or waitin' out in th' rain f'r a balloon to come down that's stuck on a church steeple forty miles away. No, sir, I'd niver appear in public but wanst a year, an' thin I'd blindfold me lile subjicks so that they'd stay lile. An' I'd niver open me mouth excipt to command music an' dhrink. But th' low taste iv kings has rooned th' business as a pursoot f'r gintlemen, an' to-day I'd think twict befure takin' th' job. 'Tis as preecaryous as a steeple jack's, an' no more permanent thin a Rosenfelt holdover undher Taft. If a king goes out an' looks haughty some wan iv his subjicks fires a gas pipe bomb at him, an' if he thries to be janial he's li'ble to be slapped on th' back in th' paddock an' called 'Joe.'
"Look at me frind, Abdul Hamid. Whin I dhreamed iv bein' king, sometimes I let me mind run on till I had mesilf promoted to be Sultan iv Turkey. There, me boy, was a job that always plazed me. It was well paid, it looked to be permanent, and I thought it about th' best situation in th' wurruld. Th' Sultan was a kind iv a combination iv pope an' king. If he didn't like ye, he first excommunicated ye an' thin he sthrangled ye. There, thinks I to mesilf, there he sets, th' happy old ruffyan, on a silk embroidered lounge, in his hand-wurruked slippers, with his legs curled up undher him, a turban on his head, a crooked soord in his lap, a pitcher iv sherbet (which is th' dhrink in thim parts) at his elbow, a pipestem like a hose in his hand, while nightingales whistle in th' cypress threes in th' garden an' beautiful Circassyan ladies dance in front iv him far fr'm his madding throng iv wives, as th' pote says.