“The episodes of conflict, of legislative struggle, of school-board clash and educational campaign of which that life was made up, all have the enduring interest that clings to scenes which are lighted up by a true light — things which have been seen in their passage by the eye of genius. Not by their own virtue, but by this vision do they live. Howe’s central thesis is thus given in his own words by Sanborn, being quoted from a report of the Massachusetts State Board of Charities, 1866:

‘The attempt to reduce to its lowest point the number of the dependent, vicious and criminal classes, and tenderly provide for those who cannot be lifted out of them, is surely worthy the best effort of a Christian people. But that the work may be well done, it must be by the people themselves, directly, and in the spirit of Him who taught that the poor ye shall always have with you — that is, near you — in your heart and affections, within your sight and knowledge; and not thrust far away from you, and always shut up alone by themselves in almshouses, or reformatories, that they may be kept at the cheapest rate by such a cold abstraction as a state government. The people cannot be absolved from these duties of charily which require knowledge of and sympathy with sufferers; and they should never needlessly delegate the power of doing good. There can be no vicarious virtue; and true charity is not done by deputy.'” (John Jay Chapman, Learning and Other Essays)

Available at: https://iwpbooks.me/collections-of-translations

• 195 English Translations of Horace’s Carpe Diem (PDF)
• 220 English Translations of Horace’s Integer Vitae (PDF)
• 156 English Translations of Horace’s Aequam Memento (PDF)
• 209 English Translations of Horace’s Otium Divos (PDF)
• 239 English Translations of Horace’s Donec Gratus Eram (PDF)
• 181 English Translations of Horace’s Diffugere Nives (PDF)

“In the light of this description the analogy so passively received nowadays, of the mind as computer, is manifestly fallacious. A computer does not think, it feels nothing, and what it is said to ‘know’ — bits of information all cast in the digital mode — has no fringe. Nor has it a memory, only storage room. On any point called for, the answer is all or none. Vagueness, intelligent confusion, original punning on words or ideas never occur, the internal hookups being unchangeable; they were determined once for all by the true minds that made the machine and the program. When plugged in, the least elaborate computer can be relied on to work to the fullest extent of its capacity; the greatest mind cannot be relied on for the simplest thing; its variability is its superiority. Homer nods, Shakespeare writes twaddle, Newton makes mistakes, you and I have been known to talk nonsense. But they and we can (as the phrase goes) surpass ourselves, invent, discover, create. The late John von Neumann, mathematician, logician, and inventor of game theory, would not allow one to liken the mind to a computer. He knew how his mind worked and he understood his computer. So goodbye to all the bright remarks, in fiction and conversation, about programming oneself to pass an interview.” (Jacques Barzun, A Stroll with William James)

“Quite simply: it is a book one wants to reread. It can stand rereading because it is very full — of ideas and feelings, of scenes and persons real or imagined, of strange accidents and situations and judgments of behavior: it is a world in itself, like and unlike the world already in our head. For this reason, this fullness, it may well be ‘hard to get into’. But it somehow compels one to keep turning the page, and at the end the wish to reread is clear and strong: one senses that the work contains more than met the eye the first time around.” (Jacques Barzun, Begin Here: The Forgotten Conditions of Teaching and Learning)

“Vice,” said Mr. Dooley, “is a creature of such heejous mien, as Hogan says, that th’ more ye see it th’ betther ye like it. I’d be afraid to enther upon a crusade again vice f’r fear I might prefer it to th’ varchous life iv a rayspictable liqour dealer. But annyhow th’ crusade has started, an’ befure manny months I’ll be lookin’ undher th’ table whin I set down to a peaceful game iv solytaire to see if a polisman in citizens’ clothes ain’t concealed there.

“Th’ city iv Noo York, Hinnissy, sets th’ fashion iv vice an’ starts th’ crusade again it. Thin ivrybody else takes it up. They ’se crusades an’ crusaders in ivry hamlet in th’ land an’ places that is cursed with nawthin’ worse thin pitchin’ horseshoes sinds to th’ neighborin’ big city f’r a case iv vice to suppress, We’re in th’ mist iv a crusade now, an’ there is n’t a polisman in town who is n’t thremblin’ f’r his job.

“As a people, Hinnissy, we’re th’ greatest crusaders that iver was — f’r a short distance. On a quarther mile thrack we can crusade at a rate that wud make Hogan’s frind, Godfrey th’ Bullion look like a crab. But th’ throuble is th’ crusade don’t last afther th’ first sprint. Th’ crusaders drops out iv th’ procission to take a dhrink or put a little money on th’ ace an’ be th’ time th’ end iv th’ line iv march is reached th’ boss crusader is alone in th’ job an’ his former followers is hurlin’ bricks at him fr’m th’ windows iv policy shops. Th’ boss crusader always gets th’ double cross. If I wanted to sind me good name down to th’ ginerations with Cap. Kidd an’ Jesse James I’d lead a movement f’r th’ suppression iv vice. I wud so.

“Ye see, Hinnissy, ’tis this way: th’ la-ads ilicted to office an’ put on th’ polis foorce is in need iv a little loose change, an’ th’ on’y way they can get it is to be negotyatin’ with vice. Tammany can’t raise anny money on th’ churches; it won’t do f’r thim to raid a gints’ furnishin’ sthore f’r keepin’ disorderly neckties in th’ window. They’ve got to get th’ money where it’s comin’ to thim an’ ’tis on’y comin’ to thim where th’ law an’ vile human nature has a sthrangle holt on each other. A polisman goes afther vice as an officer iv th’ law an’ comes away as a philosopher. Th’ theery iv mesilf, Hogan, Croker, an’ other larned men is that vice whin it’s broke is a crime an’ whin it’s got a bank account is a necessity an’ a luxury.

“Well, th’ la-ads goes on usin’ th’ revised statues as a sandbag an’ by an’ by th’ captain iv th’ polis station gets to a pint where his steam yacht bumps into a canoe iv th’ prisidint iv th’ Standard Ile Comp’ny an’ thin there’s th’ divvle to pay. It’s been a dull summer annyhow an’ people ar-re lookin’ f’r a change an’ a little divarsion, an’ somebody who doesn’t raymimber what happened to th’ last man that led a crusade again vice, gets up an’, says he: ‘This here city is a verytable Sodom an’ it must be cleaned out,’ an’ ivrybody takes a broom at it. Th’ churches appints comities an’ so does th’ Stock Exchange an’ th’ Brewers’ Society an’ afther awhile other organizations jumps into th’ fray, as Hogan says. Witnesses is summoned befure th’ comity iv th’ Amalgamated Union iv Shell Wurrukers, th’ S’ciety f’r th’ Privintion iv Good Money, th’ Ancient Ordher iv Send Men, th’ Knights iv th’ Round Table with th’ slit in th’ centhre; an’ Spike McGlue th’ burglar examines thim on vice they have met an’ what ought to be done tow’rd keepin’ th’ polis in nights. Thin th’ man that objects to canary bur-rds in windows, sthreet-music, vivysection, profanity, expensive fun’rals, open sthreet cars an’ other vices, takes a hand an’ ye can hear him as well as th’ others. Vice is th’ on’y thing talked iv at th’ church socyables an’ th’ mothers’ meetin’s; ’tis raysolved be th’ Insomnya Club that now’s th’ time to make a flyin’ wedge again th’ divvlish hurdy gurdy an’ meetin’s are called to burn th’ polis in ile f’r not arrestin’ th’ criminals who sell vigitables at th’ top iv their lungs. Some wan invints an anti-vice cocktail. Lectures is delivered to small bodies iv preachers on how to detect vice so that no wan can palm off countherfeit vice on thim an’ make thim think ’tis good. Th’ polis becomes active an’ whin th’ polis is active ’tis a good time f’r dacint men to wear marredge certy-ficates outside iv their coats. Hanyous monsthers is nailed in th’ act iv histin’ in a shell iv beer in a German Garden; husbands waits in th’ polis station to be r-ready to bail out their wives whin they ’re arrested f’r shoppin’ afther four o’clock; an’ there’s more joy over wan sinner rayturned to th’ station thin f’r ninety an’ nine that’ve rayformed.

“Th’ boss crusader is havin’ th’ time iv his life all th’ while. His pitcher is in th’ papers ivry mornin’ an’ his sermons is a directhry iv places iv amusement. He says to himsilf ‘I am improvin’ th’ wurruld an’ me name will go down to th’ ginerations as th’ greatest vice buster iv th’ cinchry. Whin I get through they won’t be enough crime left in this city to amuse a sthranger fr’m Hannybal Missoury f’r twinty minyits,’ he says. That’s where he’s wrong. Afther awhile people gets tired iv th’ pastime. They want somewhere to go nights. Most people ain’t vicious, Hinnissy, an’ it takes vice to hunt vice. That accounts f’r polismen. Besides th’ horse show or th’ football games or something else excitin’ divarts their attintion an’ wan day th’ boss crusader finds that he’s alone in Sodom. ‘Vice ain’t so bad afther all. I notice business was betther whin ’t was rampant,’ says wan la-ad. ‘Sure ye’re right,’ says another. ‘I haven’t sold a single pink shirt since that man Markers closed th’ faro games,’ says he. ‘Th’ theaytre business ain’t what it was whin they was more vice,’ says another. ‘This ain’t no Connecticut village,’ he says. ‘An’ ’tis no use thryin’ to inthrajooce soomchury ligislation in this impeeryal American city,’ he says, ‘where people come pursooed be th’ sheriff fr’m ivry corner iv th’ wurruld,’ he says. ‘Ye can’t make laws f’r this community that wud suit a New England village,’ he says, ‘where,’ he says, ‘th’ people ar-re too uncivilized to be immoral,’ he says. ‘Vice,’ he says, ‘goes a long way tow’rd makin’ life bearable,’ he says. ‘A little vice now an’ thin is relished be th’ best iv men,’ he says. ‘Who’s this Parkers, annyhow, intherferin’ with th’ liberty iv th’ individooal, an’,’ he says, ‘makin’ it hard to rent houses on th’ side sthreets,’ he says. ‘I bet ye if ye invistigate ye’ll find that he’s no betther thin he shud be himsilf,’ he says. An’ th’ best Parkers gets out iv it is to be able to escape fr’m town in a wig an’ false whiskers. Thin th’ captain iv th’ polis that’s been a spindin’ his vacation in th’ disthrict where a man has to be a Rocky Mountain sheep to be a polisman, returns to his old place, puts up his hat on th’ rack an’ says, ‘Garrity, if annybody calls ye can tell him to put it in an anvelope an’ leave it in me box. An’ if ye’ve got a good man handy I wisht ye’d sind him over an’ have him punch th’ bishop’s head. His grace is gettin’ too gay.’

“An’ there ye ar-re, Hinnissy. Th’ crusade is over an’ Vice is rampant again. I’m afraid, me la-ad, that th’ frinds iv vice is too sthrong in this wurruld iv sin f’r th’ frinds iv varchue. Th’ good man, th’ crusader, on’y wurruks at th’ crusade wanst in five years, an’ on’y whin he has time to spare fr’m his other jooties. ‘Tis a pastime f’r him. But th’ definse iv vice is a business with th’ other la-ad an’ he nails away at it, week days an’ Sundays, holy days an’ fish days, mornin’, noon an’ night.”

“They ought to hang some iv thim pollyticians,” said Mr. Hennessy angrily.

“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “I don’t know. I don’t expict to gather calla lillies in Hogan’s turnip patch. Why shud I expict to pick bunches iv spotless statesmen fr’m th’ gradooation class iv th’ house iv correction.”

(Mr. Dooley’s Opinions)

”I’ve been up to th’ top iv th’ very highest buildin’ in town, Hinnissy, an’ I wasn’t anny nearer Hivin thin if I was in th’ sthreet. Th’ stars was as far away as iver. An’ down beneath is a lot iv us runnin’ an’ lapin’ an’ jumpin’ about, pushin’ each other over, haulin’ little sthrips iv ir’n to pile up in little buildin’s that ar-re called sky-scrapers but not be th’ sky; wurrukin’ night an’ day to make a masheen that’ll carry us fr’m wan jack-rabbit colony to another an’ yellin’, ‘Pro-gress!’ Pro-gress, oho! I can see th’ stars winkin’ at each other an’ sayin’: ‘Ain’t they funny! Don’t they think they’re playin’ hell!’

”No, sir, masheens ain’t done much f’r man. I can’t get up anny kind iv fam’ly inthrest f’r a steam dredge or a hydhraulic hist. I want to see sky-scrapin’ men. But I won’t. We’re about th’ same hight as we always was, th’ same hight an’ build, composed iv th’ same inflammable an’ perishyable mateeryal, an exthra hazardous risk, unimproved an’ li’ble to collapse. We do make pro-gress but it’s th’ same kind Julyus Caesar made an’ ivry wan has made befure or since an’ in this age iv masheenery we’re still burrid be hand.”

(Mr. Dooley on Machinery)

By Michael Monahan, 1908

The only art I boast is this —
I too have laughed with all the crowd,
When the rich wonder of your wit
Challenged their plaudits loud;

And then, the jester’s role aside,
A finer spirit have I known,
A man with sorrow, too, acquaint,
A brother — yes, mine own.

A look into the merry eyes —
Lo! here are tears unshed
That do not ask a kindred soul
To leave their fountain head.

For you have more than Falstaff’s mirth,
Nor less than Hamlet’s teen;
“Wilt weep for Hecuba ” — and then
With laughter shake the scene.

One of God’s players playing out
With zest a weary part,
Teaching the sad world how to smile
With strokes of genial art;

Launching the scorn that blasts the knave,
The jest that flays the fool,
And by the right divine of wit
Giving a nation rule,

Laugh on, laugh on, dear Wit and Sage,
The roaring crowds above;
Yet keep for your own chosen few
The Poet of their love.

“Well, Chas Wagner has been havin’ th’ fine old time over here,” said Mr. Dooley.

“Is that th’ man that wrote th’ music?” asked Mr. Hennessy.

“No,” said Mr. Dooley; “that was Cal. This is Chas Wagner, an’ he’s th’ author iv th’ two hundherd thousandth book that Prisidint Rosenfelt has read since th’ first iv Novimber. ‘Tis called Th’ Simple Life. He cudden’t find it in France, so he come lookin’ f’r it among th’ simple an’ pasthral people in this counthry.

“He found it. He come over in a large but simple ship iv twinty thousan’ simple horse-power, an’ landed in th’ simple village iv New York, where he was met be a comity iv simple little village lads an’ lasses an’ escorted to th’ simple Waldorf an’ installed in a room simply decorated in purple plush. That avenin’ he attinded a meetin’ iv th’ Fifth Avnoo Female Simplicity Club. A lady wearin’ a collar iv dimons, whose value was simply fabulous, recited passages fr’m Th’ Simple Life. Afther this a simple supper iv terrapin an’ champagne was sarved. He thin took a simple Pullman thrain to Wash’nton, where he attinded a rayciption at which a lady iv th’ diplomatic core — which is all that is left iv diplomacy, nowadays — poked th’ wife iv a Congressman with a lorgnette f’r goin’ into supper ahead iv her. Later he was rayceived be th’ simple prisidint, who said to him: ‘Chas,’ he says, ‘I’ve been preachin’ ye’re book to me counthrymen,’ he says. ‘Simplicity an’ a sthrong navy is th’ watchword iv this administhration,’ he says.

“Since thin Chas has been whoopin’ up th’ simple life. They’ve showed him ivrything simple we have. He’s seen th’ subway, th’ dhrainage canal, th’ Stock Exchange, Tom Lawson, Jawn D. Rockefellar, an’ Mrs. Chadwick. He’s looped th’ loops, shot th’ shoots, had a ride in a pathrol-wagon, played th’ races, an’ met Dave Hill. Th’ las’ seen iv him he was climbin’ into a private car in a fur-lined coat an’ a plug hat. Whin he goes home to his simple life in Paris he’s goin’ to have a ticker put in his study. He is undherstood to favor sellin’ copper on bulges.

“I haven’t read his book, but Hogan says it’s a good wan, an’ I’m goin’ to read it afther I’ve read th’ Bible an’ Emerson, which Mike Ahearn ricommended to me th’ year iv th’ big fire. Th’ idee is that no matther what ye ar-re, ye must be simple. If ye’re rich, be simply rich; if ye’re poor, be simply poor; if ye’re nayether, be nayether, but be simple about it. Ye don’t have to be gin’rous to be simple. He makes a sthrong pint iv that. It isn’t nicissry to open ye’er purse, says Chas. If ye’re a miser, be a simple miser. It ain’t issintial to be poor to be simple. A poor man walkin’ th’ sthreet is far less simple thin a rich man lollin’ back in his carriage an’ figurin’ out simple inthrest on his cuff. Th’ poor man is envious iv th’ rich man, but th’ rich man is not envious iv th’ poor man. If ye’re a flower, says he, be a flower; if ye’re a bur-rd, be a bur-rd; if a horse, a horse; if a mule, a mule; if a hummin’-bur-rd, a hummin’bur-rd; if a polecat, a polecat; if a man, a man. But always be simple, be it ever so complex.

“Th’ on’y thing Hogan an’ I can’t make out fr’m th’ book is what is simplicity. I may be a simpleton, Hinnissy, but I don’t know. Father Tom Burke was forty years writin’ a book on ‘simplicity,’ an’ he niver got beyond th’ first sintince, which was: ‘It is simply impossible to define simplicity.’ It ain’t simple to be poor, it ain’t simple to be without clothes, it ain’t simple to be pious or sober. Ye’re pretty simple to believe all I tell ye, but ye may not be as simple as I think an’ hope. A lie may be as simple as th’ thruth. Th’ fact iv th’ matther is that th’ rale thruth is niver simple. What we call thruth an’ pass around fr’m hand to hand is on’y a kind iv a currency that we use f’r convenience. There are a good manny countherfeiters an’ a lot iv th’ countherfeits must be in circulation. I haven’t anny question that I take in manny iv thim over me intellechool bar ivry day, an’ pass out not a few. Some iv th’ countherfeits has as much precious metal in thim as th’ rale goods, on’y they don’t bear th’ govermint stamp.

“What th’ divvle is simplicity, annyhow? Simple is a foolish wurrud whin ye come to think it over. Simple, simple, simple. It’s a kind iv a mixture iv silly an’ dimple. I don’t know how to go about bein’ simple. Th’ Lord didn’t make me that way. I can imagine simplicity, but I can’t just put me hand on it. No more can Chas Wagner. Tell me, Chas how to lead th’ simple life. Tell me, Thaydore Rosenfelt, simple soul, what I must do. I’ll go as far as ye like. Hand out th’ receipt. I’ll make mesilf a simple man if I have to bake in a slow oven to do it. What ‘ll I do? Throw away th’ superflooties, says Hogan out iv Chas, his book. But what ar-re th’ superflooties? I’ll turn out th’ ilicthric light, shut off th’ furnace, an’ desthroy th’ cash raygister be which complex’ macheen I keep mesilf fr’m robbin’ mesilf. But am I anny more simple because I’m holdin’ out on mesilf with frozen fingers be a tallow dip? Was th’ wurruld iver anny more simple thin it is to-day? I doubt it. I bet ye there was a good dale iv talk about Adam an’ Eve dhressin’ ostentatiously an’ havin’ th’ King of Biljum’s ancesthor to supper with thim.

Hogan was readin’ me out iv a book th’ other day about th’ simple fathers iv th’ counthry. It was a turr’ble shock to me. This fellow says that Robert Morris, who I supposed sacrificed his fortune f’r liberty injooced th’ govermint to pay good money f’r bad; Jawn Adams wanted to make a kingdom iv th’ counthry; while as f’r George Wash’nton, he acted like a coal-oil Jawnny whin he wint to th’ White House, an’ his wife put on insuff’rable airs an’ had such bad table manners that this here pathrite was compelled to lave th’ room an’ run home to put it down in his diary.

“An’ there ye ar-re. Th’ more I think th’ less simple simplicity becomes. Says Wagner via Hogan, a man shud be like a lamp, an’ th’ more light he sheds th’ betther man he is. That’s th’ throuble with ivrybody that thries to advise me to be somethin’ I ain’t. Whin I run him into a corner an’ say: ‘Come on now an’ make good. Show me th’ way,’ he tells me I’m a lamp, or a three, or a snowflake blown be th’ winds, or a bur-rd in a gilded cage, or a paint-brush, or a ship, or something else. But says I: ‘I’m none iv these fine things. I’m a kind iv a man, an’ I’m not mintioned in th’ botany or th’ mail ordher list. Tell me what I must do.’ An’ he looks me in th’ eye an’ says he: ‘Be a man.’ An’ there ye ar-re. If a man’s a lamp it’s because he smokes, don’t show up well in th’ sunlight, an’ will wan day be blown out. There ar-re other simple uses f’r lamps besides givin’ light, which is wan iv th’ poorest things they do nowadays. Rothschild thrades in thim, th’ German imp’ror thinks they ar-re on’y useful to throw at his inimies, an’ my business is to fill thim with karosene.

“No, sir, they ain’t anny simple life. There’s on’y life. It’s a kind iv an obstacle race. Sinnin’, repintin’; sinnin’, repintin’. Some can jump high; some can’t jump at all. Thim that jump highest have farthest to fall. Those that go farthest are ruled off f’r foulin’. A man’s no more thin a man, an’ he has as many things in him, anny wan iv thim li’ble to go wrong without a moment’s notice, as all th’ injines, tools, lamps, an’ other hardware figures iv speech in a prize pome. He has to make his clumsy repairs while undher full headway. Lucky man if he staggers into port without havin’ caused too manny shipwrecks on th’ way over. It isn’t th’ most succissful passage that has caused th’ most shipwrecks.

“Ye see, Hinnissy, I’m a kind iv a Chas Wagner mesilf, only betther. He gets his out iv a Fr-rinch head, an’ I got mine out iv th’ Third Reader that a little boy left in here who come f’r a pint iv simple refreshmint f’r his father’s complex thirst.”

“I don’t think ye know such a lot about it,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“I know more about th’ sample life,” said Mr. Dooley.

(Dissertations by Mr. Dooley)

Mr. Dooley was reading from a paper.

“‘We live,’ he says, ‘in an age iv wondhers. Niver befure in th’ histhry iv th’ wurruld has such progress been made.’

“Thrue wurruds an’ often spoken. Even in me time things has changed. Whin I was a la-ad Long Jawn Wintworth cud lean his elbows on th’ highest buildin’ in this town. It took two months to come here fr’m Pittsburg on a limited raft an’ a stage coach that run fr’m La Salle to Mrs. Murphy’s hotel. They wasn’t anny tillygraft that I can raymimber an’ th’ sthreet car was pulled be a mule an’ dhruv be an engineer be th’ name iv Mulligan. We thought we was a pro-grissive people. Ye bet we did. But look at us today. I go be Casey’s house tonight an’ there it is a fine storey-an’-a-half frame house with Casey settin’ on th’ dure shtep dhrinkin’ out iv a pail. I go be Casey’s house to-morrah an’ it’s a hole in th’ groun’. I rayturn to Casey’s house on Thursdah an’ it’s a fifty-eight storey buildin’ with a morgedge onto it an’ they’re thinkin’ iv takin’ it down an’ replacin’ it with a modhren sthructure. Th’ shoes that Corrigan th’ cobbler wanst wurruked on f’r a week, hammerin’ away like a woodpecker, is now tossed out be th’ dozens fr’m th’ mouth iv a masheen. A cow goes lowin’ softly in to Armours an’ comes out glue, beef, gelatine, fertylizer, celooloid, joolry, sofy cushions, hair restorer, washin’ sody, soap, lithrachoor an’ hed springs so quick that while aft she’s still cow, for’ard she may be annything fr’m huttons to Pannyma hats. I can go fr’m Chicago to New York in twinty hours, but I don’t have to, thank th’ Lord. Thirty years ago we thought ’twas marvelous to be able to tillygraft a man in Saint Joe an’ get an answer that night. Now, be wireless tillygraft ye can get an answer befure ye sind th’ tillygram if they ain’t careful. Me friend Macroni has done that. Be manes iv his wondher iv science a man on a ship in mid-ocean can sind a tillygram to a man on shore, if he has a confid’rate on board. That’s all he needs. Be mechanical science an’ thrust in th’ op’rator annywan can set on th’ shore iv Noofoundland an’ chat with a frind in th’ County Kerry.

“Yes, sir, mechanical science has made gr-reat sthrides. Whin I was a young man we used to think Hor’ce Greeley was th’ gr-reatest livin’ American. He was a gran’ man, a gran’ man with feathers beneath his chin an’ specs on his nose like th’ windows in a diver’s hemlet. His pollyticks an’ mine cudden’t live in th’ same neighborhood but he was a gran’ man all th’ same. We used to take th’ Cleveland Plain Daler in thim days f’r raycreation an’ th’ New York Thrybune f’r exercise. ‘Twas considhered a test iv a good natured dimmycrat if he cud read an article in th’ Thrybune without havin’ to do th’ stations iv th’ cross aftherward f’r what he said. I almost did wanst but they was a line at th’ end about a frind iv mine be th’ name iv Andhrew Jackson an’ I wint out an’ broke up a Methodist prayer meetin’. He was th’ boy that cud put it to ye so that if ye voted th’ dimmycrat tickit it was jus’ th’ same as demandin’ a place in purgytory. Th’ farmers wud plant annything fr’m a ruty baga to a congressman on his advice. He niver had money enough to buy a hat but he cud go to th’ sicrety iv th’ threasury an’ tell him who’s pitcher to put on th’ useful valentines we thrade f’r groceries.

“But if Hor’ce Greeley was alive today where’d he be? Settin’ on three inches iv th’ edge iv a chair in th’ outside office iv me frind Pierpont Morgan waitin’ f’r his turn. In th’ line is th’ Imp’ror iv Germany, th’ new cook, th’ prisidint iv a railroad, th’ cap’n iv th’ yacht, Rimbrandt th’ painther, Jawn W. Grates, an’ Hor’ce. Afther awhile th’ boy at th’ dure says: ‘Ye’re next, ol’ party. Shtep lively f’r th’ boss has had a Weehawken Peerooginy sawed off on him this mornin’ an’ he mustn’t he kep’ waitin’.’ An’ th’ iditor goes in. ‘Who ar-re ye?’ says th’ gr-reat man, givin’ him wan iv thim piercin’ looks that whin a man gets it he has to be sewed up at wanst. ‘I’m ye’er iditor,’ says Hor’ce. ‘What’s ye’er spishilty?’ ‘Tahriff an’ th’ improvemint iv th’ wurruld,’ says Hor’ce. ‘See Perkins,’ says Pierpont, an’ th’ intherview is over. Now what’s made th’ change? Mechanical Science, Hinnissy. Some wan made a masheen that puts steel billets within th’ reach iv all. Hince Charlie Schwab.

“What’s it done f’r th’ wurruld? says ye. It’s done ivrything. It’s give us fast ships an’ an autymatic hist f’r th’ hod, an’ small flats an’ a taste iv solder in th’ peaches. If annybody says th’ wurruld ain’t betther off thin it was, tell him that a masheen has been invinted that makes honey out iv pethrolyum. If he asts ye why they ain’t anny Shakesperes today, say: ‘No, but we no longer make sausages he hand.’

“‘Tis pro-gress. We live in a cinchry iv pro-gress an’ I thank th’ Lord I’ve seen most iv it. Man an’ boy I’ve lived pretty near through this wondherful age. If I was proud I cud say I seen more thin Julyus Caesar iver see or cared to. An’ here I am, I’ll not say how old, still pushin’ th’ malt acrost th’ counther at me thirsty counthrymen. All around me is th’ refinemints iv mechanical janius. Instead iv broachin’ th’ beer kag with a club an’ dhrawin’ th’ beer through a fassit as me Puritan forefathers done, I have that wondher iv invintive science th’ beer pump. I cheat mesilf with a cash raygisther. I cut off th’ end iv me good cigar with an injanyous device an’ pull th’ cork out iv a bottle with a conthrivance that wud’ve made that frind that Hogan boasts about, that ol’ boy Archy Meeds, think they was witchcraft in th’ house. Science has been a gr-reat blessin’ to me. But amidst all these granjoors here am I th’ same ol’ antiquated combination iv bellows an’ pump I always was. Not so good. Time has worn me out. Th’ years like little boys with jackknives has carved their names in me top. Ivry day I have to write off something f’r deprecyation. ‘Tis about time f’r whoiver owns me to wurruk me off on a thrust. Mechanical science has done ivrything f’r me but help me. I suppose I ought to feel supeeryor to me father. He niver see a high buildin’ but he didn’t want to. He cudden’t come here in five days but he was a wise man an’ if he cud’ve come in three he’d have stayed in th’ County Roscommon.

“Th’ pa-apers tells me that midical science has kept pace with th’ hop-skip-an’-a-jump iv mechanical inginooty. Th’ doctors has found th’ mickrobe iv ivrything fr’m lumbago to love an’ fr’m jandice to jealousy, but if a brick bounces on me head I’m crated up th’ same as iv yore an’ put away. Rockyfellar can make a pianny out iv a bar’l iv crude ile, but no wan has been able to make a blade iv hair grow on Rockyfellar. They was a doctor over in France that discovered a kind iv a thing that if ’twas pumped into ye wud make ye live till people got so tired iv seein’ ye around they cud scream. He died th’ nex’ year iv premachure ol’ age. They was another doctor cud insure whether th’ flex’ wan wud be a boy or a girl. All ye had to do was to decide wud it be Arthur or Ethel an’ lave him know. He left a fam’ly iv unmarredgeable daughters.

“I sometimes wondher whether pro-gress is anny more thin a kind iv a shift. It’s like a merry-go-round. We get up on a speckled wooden horse an’ th’ mechanical pianny plays a chune an’ away we go, hollerin’. We think we’re thravellin’ like th’ divvle but th’ man that doesn’t care about merry-go-rounds knows that we will come back where we were. We get out dizzy an’ sick an’ lay on th’ grass an’ gasp: ‘Where am I? Is this th’ meelin-yum?’ An’ he says: ‘No, ’tis Ar-rchey Road.’ Father Kelly says th’ Agyptians done things we cudden’t do an’ th’ Romans put up sky-scrapers an’ aven th’ Chinks had tillyphones an’ phony-grafts.

“I’ve been up to th’ top iv th’ very highest buildin’ in town, Hinnissy, an’ I wasn’t anny nearer Hivin thin if I was in th’ sthreet. Th’ stars was as far away as iver. An’ down beneath is a lot iv us runnin’ an’ lapin’ an’ jumpin’ about, pushin’ each other over, haulin’ little sthrips iv ir’n to pile up in little buildin’s that ar-re called sky-scrapers but not be th’ sky; wurrukin’ night an’ day to make a masheen that’ll carry us fr’m wan jack-rabbit colony to another an’ yellin’, ‘Pro-gress!’ Pro-gress, oho! I can see th’ stars winkin’ at each other an’ sayin’: ‘Ain’t they funny! Don’t they think they’re playin’ hell!’

“No, sir, masheens ain’t done much f’r man. I can’t get up anny kind iv fam’ly inthrest f’r a steam dredge or a hydhraulic hist. I want to see sky-scrapin’ men. But I won’t. We’re about th’ same hight as we always was, th’ same hight an’ build, composed iv th’ same inflammable an’ perishyable mateeryal, an exthra hazardous risk, unimproved an’ li’ble to collapse. We do make pro-gress but it’s th’ same kind Julyus Caesar made an’ ivry wan has made befure or since an’ in this age iv masheenery we’re still burrid be hand.”

“What d’ye think iv th’ man down in Pinnsylvanya who says th’ Lord an’ him is partners in a coal mine?” asked Mr. Hennessy, who wanted to change the subject.

“Has he divided th’ profits?” asked Mr. Dooley.

(Observations by Mr. Dooley)

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘Cassidy,’ I says, ‘ye’ve been up again what th’ pa-apers call hawt finance,’ I says. ‘What th’ divvle’s that?’ says he. ‘Well,’ says I, ‘it ain’t burglary, an’ it ain’t obtainin’ money be false pretinses, an’ it ain’t manslaughter,’ I says. ‘It’s what ye might call a judicious seliction fr’m th’ best features iv thim ar-rts,’ I says.” (Mr. Dooley’s Philosophy)