Where Greek Meets Greek

“The back iv me hand to thim!” said
Michael Madigan. “’Tis little I do be
understandin’ me own countrymin
these days. ’Tis a worra for me that
I can niver be readin’ the papers or
maybe I’d be understandin’ better.
What might the latest news be?”

His friend looked perplexed and
scratched his head.

“’Tis little I can be makin’ iv it these
days,” he said. “The rayport in the
paper do say that they be fightin’ in
Limerick.”

“Who do be fightin’?” asked Madi-
gan.

“The Irish,” replied his friend.

“Shure, don’t I know that,” said
Madigan. “But who do they be fightin’
WID?”

“The Irish,” replied his friend.
“Wud yeh have a little since?” said
Madigan, impatiently. “Who do the
Irish be fightin’ WID?”

“The Irish,” replied his friend.
“I have yet meanin’ now,” said Madi-
gan. “’Tis the Black North min they
do be fightin’ wid.”

“It is not,” replied his friend.

“Thin, what the divvil,” said Madi-
gan. “What the divvil do it be all
about? Yes say that the Irish do be
fightin’, which is a natcheril an
honorable thing fer anny Irishmin to
do. But yez won’t be after tellin me
who they do be fightin’ wid.”

“The Irish,” answered his friend.
“Shure ’tis all I can make iv it. They
be fightin’ there up in Limerick an’
other places, an’ the green’s agin the
green, an’ not a bit iv orange in the
whole lot iv it.”

“Nor a Saxon?” asked Madigan.
“I see no minshun iv anny,” answer-
ed his friend.

The old man sucked his pipe and
thought hard for a space.

“Listen to me,” he said at length.
“Listen here to me. If Ireland have not
gone mad entirely I know what’s hap-
pened. There do be no Irish left in Ire-
land. Shure, man, they have all immi-
grated, an’ ’tis the Spaniards or the
Mexicans or wan of them dago nations
do be populatin’ the dear ould isle these
days. Read me no more. Ireland is
no longer Ireland to me, an’ the likes
iv me. Give me good ole Bungaree.
Wud yeh be havin’ a taste?”