Local Colour

LARRY’S LETTER

                                                                                                                                HOGAN’S ALLEY, Jan. 24.

DEER TIM. –

            Tis meself that got into a nice little row the other day, when a chap comes up to me on the street an’ says he to me, says he, “A happy new year to ye, Mr. Finn.”  “The same to yerself an’ a grate many ov thim,” says I.  “Are ye going to selebrate?” says he.  “I don’t moind if I do,” says I.  “Nuts or crackers,” says he.  “I’m not particular,” says I.  Wid that, Tim, he puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out a few little red fire crackers an’ a few Chinese nuts an’ hands thim over to meself wid a cigar.  Twas only then I caught on to what he was after in wishing me a happy new year – that day the Chinese was selebrating their 27,252^nd anniversary ov the deth ov the 32^nd emperor.  Begorra, Tim, but me Irish got up, for I could see the chap was wanting to take a rise out ov meself, an’ I made up me moind to get even wid him.  I put the cigar in me mouth, an’ axed me frend for a match to loight it wid.  Whoile he was fumbling in his pocket looking for won, he axidentally pulled the business end ov a package ov the fire crackers out.  Meself struck the match, an’ says to him, “Do ye see that young lady beyant calling ye?”  He turns ‘round to look, an ov course I touched the match to the firecrackers in his pocket, lit me cigar an’ walked away – out ov danger.  I didn’t go many steps before the fuse burned to the powder, an’ howly smoke ye should hear the explosion an’ see that chap jump!  I could account for the high jump if it was in his coat-tail pocket the crackers was, but when he come down all-fours on the ice, Porcupine Billy swares that he counted 14 revolushuns in less than a minut.  A big crowd gathered, an’ began to make fun ov him, an’ the chief comes up an’ says he to the chap, says he, “If yer going to selebrate yer new year ye’ll have to go to some other part of town.”  “Twas Larry Finn what done it,” says the chap.  “He was only Joss-ing ye,” says the chief.  Twasn’t very long, Tim, till meself began to feel rale sick.  Bad look from that Chinese cigar, Tim, but didn’t it make meself sick?  With respects to ye, I threw up everything but me political principles.  Never smoke a Chinese new yuear cigar unless ye swallow a Chinese firecracker before it.  Ye moight as well drink a bottle of milk widout  swallowing a sheet ou blotting paper to soak it up.

            Begorra, Tim, but the Chinese were having a grate time of it entoirely, on their new year.  They start in be froightening the devil away from thim, an’ they howled that the only thing that’ll do that is firecrackers, an’ they keep firing away at the crackers as long as they think there’s any soign of the owld gintleman round.  If noise’ll frighten him out ov Nelson he won’t put in an appearance here for the next twelve months.  They calls the owld boy Joss, but Wong Foo tells me he’s all the same as our divil.  If he’s not he’s a near relation ov his, an’ is in just the same line ov business.  Wong Foo invited meself an’ a couple ov the boys down to see him on their new year’s noight, an’ ov coorse we went.  Well, Tim, he had all sorts ov things there – ateing an’ drinking galore.   “You smokee,” says he to me.  “Oh, yis,” says I.  “The cigar I smoked yistorday gave me a pain there that I’ll never forget, an’ if he was there I’ve got rid ov him an’ all belonging to him?”  “What foree?” says Wong Foo.  “I don’t know,” says I, “but I was just thinking that there’s a few ov me friends that I’d loike to see the divil  knocked out of, an’ if ye just give me a few ov thim Joss-exterminators you’’ be doing thim a charity.”  Well, Tim, he gave meself a fistful ov the cigars, an’ I intend giving them to a few ov the boys that’s been keeping company wid his satanic majesty as long as I knows them.  I was going to send ye won yerself, but I don’t suppose twould operate in owld Ireland.  When Wong Foo seen that he couldn’t get me to smoke a cigar he seemed to get offended, an’ meself explained to him that I had won ov them an’ that it did its work foine.  “I’ll smoke a poipe wid ye,” says I, “to show there’s no ill-will,” an’ wid that he brought meself into a little room at the back where there was two or three chaps fast asleep an’ a few others smoking.  Here he hands meself the quarest looking poipe I evir seen, an’ tells me to take a sait on the bunk an’ have a few drags, an’ wid that he left me.  After the first few drags meself began to feel merry, then drowsay, then sleepy, an’ then – I don’t know what happened, for I fell ded asleep, an’ commenced to drame ov all the quarest things ye could imagine.  I was sleigh-riding, was dansing, was elected an alderman, freed Ireland after a hard foight, was talking to me best girl, was digging goold in the Klondyke, was riding up in the hevens in Porcupine Bill’s flying machine, was coasting up an’ down the Hall street toboggan slide wid Mickey Burns.  Oh such drames.

                        Jingle, jingle, jingle went the sleigh bells,

                        As we glided o’er the crystal-sparkling snow,

                        And the twinkling stars in heaven’s dome above us

                        Shed their jeweled light as speeding on we go.

The sleigh riding was grand – in me drame, an’ the dancing, it was foine.  Barney’s fiddle seemed to sing as we walst round:

                        Life, life, where are thy pleasures found?

                                    Here, here, tripping along,

                        Heart light with hope and joy ever crowned

                                    Singing their happiest song.

Twas when I was toired dansing in me drame that I was elected an’ alderman an’ made me maiden speech.

                        Citizens of Nelson fair, pray harken to my voice,

                        You’ve made of me an alderman, and happy is your choice,

                        For neath this vest which now I wear responsive throbs a heart

                        To all your joys and sorrows, and peace I will impart

                        Where now contentious discord reigns and envy is installed.

                        Banished will all evil be, since me to power you’ve called,

                        With the deepest sense of sorrow on our streets I oft behold

                        A variety of animals straying from the fold:

                        Horse, cows and even sheep I’ve perambulating found,

                        Why is it thus?  The reason is, we have not got a pound.

Begorra, Tim, but I’m getting sleepy again, so here’s to ye till next week.

                                                                                                LARRY FINN