RUDYARD KIPLING.


"I think," said Mr. Dooley, "th' finest pothry in th' wurruld is wrote
be that frind iv young Hogan's, a man be th' name iv Roodyard Kipling.
I see his pomes in th' pa-aper, Hinnissy; an' they're all right.
They're all right, thim pomes. They was wan about scraggin' Danny
Deever that done me a wurruld iv good. They was a la-ad I wanst knew
be th' name iv Deever, an' like as not he was th' same man. He owed me
money. Thin there was wan that I see mintioned in th' war news wanst
in a while,--th' less we f'rget, th' more we raymimber. That was a
hot pome an' a good wan. What I like about Kipling is that his pomes
is right off th' bat, like me con-versations with you, me boy. He's a
minyit-man, a r-ready pote that sleeps like th' dhriver iv thruck 9,
with his poetic pants in his boots beside his bed, an' him r-ready to
jump out an' slide down th' pole th' minyit th' alarm sounds.

"He's not such a pote as Tim Scanlan, that hasn't done annything since
th' siege iv Lim'rick; an' that was two hundherd year befure he was
bor-rn. He's prisident iv th' Pome Supply Company,--fr-resh pothry
delivered ivry day at ye'er dure. Is there an accident in a grain
illyvator? Ye pick up ye'er mornin' pa-aper, an' they'se a pome about
it be Roodyard Kipling. Do ye hear iv a manhole cover bein' blown up?
Roodyard is there with his r-ready pen. ''Tis written iv Cashum-Cadi
an' th' book iv th' gr-reat Gazelle that a manhole cover in anger is
tin degrees worse thin hell.' He writes in all dialects an' anny
language, plain an' fancy pothry, pothry f'r young an' old, pothry be
weight or linyar measuremint, pothry f'r small parties iv eight or tin