"War ye uver in Parish, Oi dunno?"
"Is id me in Parish, Mrs. Magoogin?"
"Yis, you, Mrs. McGlaggerty. 'Twas to yersel' Oi was shpakin'."
"Me in Parish—the rale polly-boo-pancake Paris, Oi shuppose ye mane, Mrs. Magoogin?"
"Oy, the same, me frind."
"Well, Oi was never there, thanks be to gudness."
"An' no more was Oi, me frind; but Oi hope there was no harrum in axin' ye," said the Widow Magoogin. "An' how Oi kem to ax ye was jisht this, d'ye see: The Montmorincy McGues acrass th' way had a fallin' out wud aich other in the back yard two noights ago lasht Winsda', an' they med that mooch av a rooction that foor polaicemin was called in be the naybors, an' they had to shplit Micky Montmorincy McGue's nose in three halves an' opin'd a hole in his wife Cordaylia's head that ye kud pit a taycup into before they'd be quoiet an' lave the daycint payple livin' on aither soide av thim go to shleep. The polaice tuk Micky to th' shtation house an' begorrah the Joodge sint him to th' Oisland fur noinety days. Now, d'ye know fwhat the Montmorincy McGues ar' givin' out? They're tellin' ivrybody that Micky's gone over to th' Parish Uxposition be the rekusht av the King an' Queen av France, an' that he'll have a room all to himself in the palace av the Tooriloories, wud wall paper an inch thick an the walls an' oice water to wash his hands in an' a naygur to loight his poipe fur him an' howld it fwhoile he shmokes. Mrs. Montmorincy McGue throied to give me the sthiff about Micky an' the Parish Uxposition, but we hear ducks, Mrs. McGlaggerty. That's an owld gag av th' sassoi'ty folks, Mrs. McGlaggerty, to partind they're goin' to Europe fwhin they're only tin maile out in th' counthry puyin' foive dollars a waik fur boord, an' Oi'm rale sarry to know that the payple av Cherry Hill ar' takin' to id. Oi thawt Oi'd pit ye an to th' gag, Mrs. McGlaggerty, bekase wan of these byootiful blyue Danube days mebbe ye'll be hearin' that Mrs. Berdie Magoogin an' her accomplished daughther, Mrs. Arethusy Dinkelshpiel, has gone to Parish to intertain th' jook av Rockaway Cheese, an' fwhin ye do ye kin pit it down as a fact that yer frind an' naybor, the daycint widdy woman that's now shpakin' to ye, has kicked the shtuffin' out av a little banty-legged Ditchman that was wanst her son-in-law, but that talked too mooch about th' koind av poi an' cake that his ould freckle-haired mother ushed to make, thet kin no more shpake th' Inglish languidge c'reckly than a pig can say his pray'rs. Remim'er that, now, Mrs. McGlaggerty!"
John J. Jennings.