Mr. Dooley's Philosophy Part 15

sleep till eight-wan and thin I'll wake up refrished,' I says. 'Tis ilivin o'clock whin me tired lids part f'r good an' Casey has been here to pay me eight dollars an' findin' me not up has gone away f'r another year."

"A marrid man gets th' money, Hinnissy, but a bachelor man gets th'

sleep. Whin all me marrid frinds is off to wurruk pound in' th'

ongrateful sand an' wheelin' th' rebellyous slag, in th' heat iv th'

afthernoon, ye can see ye'er onfortchnit bachelor frind perambulatin' up an' down th' shady side iv th' sthreet, with an umbrelly over his head an' a wurrud iv cheer fr'm young an' old to enliven his loneliness."

"But th' childher?" asked Mr. Hennessy slyly.

"Childher!" said Mr. Dooley. "Sure I have th' finest fam'ly in th' city.

Without scandal I'm th' father iv ivry child in Ar-rchey r-road fr'm end to end."

"An' none iv ye'er own," said Mr. Hennessy.

"I wish to h.e.l.l, Hinnissy," said Mr. Dooley savagely, "ye'd not lean against that mirror, I don't want to have to tell ye again."

THE EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG

The troubled Mr. Hennessy had been telling Mr. Dooley about the difficulty of making a choice of schools for Packy Hennessy, who at the age of six was at the point where the family must decide his career.

"'Tis a big question," said Mr. Dooley, "an' wan that seems to be worryin' th' people more thin it used to whin ivry boy was designed f'r th' priesthood, with a full undherstandin' be his parents that th'

chances was in favor iv a brick yard. Nowadays they talk about th'

edycation iv th' child befure they choose th' name. 'Tis: 'Th' kid talks in his sleep. 'Tis th' fine lawyer he'll make.' Or, 'Did ye notice him admirin' that photygraph? He'll be a gr-reat journalist.' Or, 'Look at him fishin' in Uncle Tim's watch pocket. We must thrain him f'r a banker.' Or, 'I'm afraid he'll niver be sthrong enough to wurruk. He must go into th' church.' Befure he's baptized too, d'ye mind. 'Twill not be long befure th' time comes whin th' soggarth'll christen th'

infant: 'Judge Pathrick Aloysius Hinnissy, iv th' Northern District iv Illinye,' or 'Profissor P. Aloysius Hinnissy, LL.D., S.T.D., P.G.N., iv th' faculty iv Nothre Dame.' Th' innocent child in his cradle, wondherin' what ails th' mist iv him an' where he got such funny lookin'

parents fr'm, has thim to blame that brought him into th' wurruld if he dayvilops into a sicond story man befure he's twinty-wan an' is took up be th' polis. Why don't you lade Packy down to th' occylist an' have him fitted with a pair iv eyegla.s.ses? Why don't ye put goloshes on him, give him a blue umbrelly an' call him a doctor at wanst an' be done with it?"

"To my mind, Hinnissy, we're wastin' too much time thinkin' iv th'

future iv our young, an' thryin' to larn thim early what they oughtn't to know till they've growed up. We sind th' childher to school as if 'twas a summer garden where they go to be amused instead iv a pinitinchry where they're sint f'r th' original sin. Whin I was a la-ad I was put at me ah-bee abs, th' first day I set fut in th' school behind th' hedge an' me head was sore inside an' out befure I wint home. Now th' first thing we larn th' future Mark Hannas an' Jawn D. Gateses iv our naytion is waltzin', singin', an' cuttin' pitchers out iv a book.

We'd be much betther teachin' thim th' sthrangle hold, f'r that's what they need in life."

"I know what'll happen. Ye'll sind Packy to what th' Germans call a Kindygartin, an' 'tis a good thing f'r Germany, because all a German knows is what some wan tells him, an' his grajation papers is a certy- ficate that he don't need to think anny more. But we've inthrajooced it into this counthry, an' whin I was down seein' if I cud injooce Rafferry, th' Janitor iv th' Isaac Muggs Grammar School, f'r to vote f'r Riordan--an' he's goin' to--I dhropped in on Ca.s.sidy's daughter, Mary Ellen, an' see her kindygartnin'. Th' childher was settin' ar-round on th' flure an' some was moldin' dachshunds out iv mud an' wipin' their hands on their hair, an' some was carvin' figures iv a goat out iv paste-board an' some was singin' an' some was sleepin' an' a few was dancin' an' wan la-ad was pullin' another la-ad's hair. 'Why don't ye take th' coal shovel to that little barbaryan, Mary Ellen?' says I. 'We don't believe in corporeal punishment,' says she. 'School shud be made pleasant f'r th' childher,' she says. 'Th' child who's hair is bein'

pulled is larnin' patience,' she says, 'an' th' child that's pullin' th'

hair is discovrin' th' footility iv human indeavor,' says she. 'Well, oh, well,' says I, 'times has changed since I was a boy,' I says. 'Put thim through their exercises,' says I. 'Tommy,' says I, 'spell cat,' I says. 'Go to th' divvle,' says th' cheerub. 'Very smartly answered,'

says Mary Ellen. 'Ye shud not ask thim to spell,' she says. 'They don't larn that till they get to colledge,' she says, 'an" she says, 'sometimes not even thin,' she says. 'An' what do they larn?' says I.

'Rompin',' she says, 'an' dancin',' she says, 'an' indepindance iv speech, an' beauty songs, an' sweet thoughts, an' how to make home home- like,' she says. 'Well,' says I, 'I didn't take anny iv thim things at colledge, so ye needn't unblanket thim,' I says. 'I won't put thim through anny exercise today,' I says. 'But whisper, Mary Ellen,' says I, 'Don't ye niver feel like bastin' th' seeraphims?' 'Th' teachin's iv Freebull and Pitzotly is conthrary to that,' she says. 'But I'm goin' to be marrid an' lave th' school on Choosdah, th' twinty-sicond iv Janooary,' she says, 'an' on Mondah, th' twinty-first, I'm goin' to ask a few iv th' little darlin's to th' house an',' she says, 'stew thim over a slow fire,' she says. Mary Ellen is not a German, Hinnissy."

"Well, afther they have larned in school what they ar-re licked f'r larnin' in th' back yard--that is squashin' mud with their hands-- they're conducted up through a channel iv free an' beautiful thought till they're r-ready f'r colledge. Mamma packs a few doylies an' tidies into son's bag, an' some silver to be used in case iv throuble with th'

landlord, an' th' la-ad throts off to th' siminary. If he's not sthrong enough to look f'r high honors as a middle weight pugilist he goes into th' thought departmint. Th' prisidint takes him into a Turkish room, gives him a cigareet an' says: 'Me dear boy, what special branch iv larnin' wud ye like to have studied f'r ye be our compitint profissors?

We have a chair iv Beauty an' wan iv Puns an' wan iv Pothry on th'

Changin' Hues iv the Settin' Sun, an' wan on Platonic Love, an' wan on Nonsense Rhymes, an' wan on Sweet Thoughts, an' wan on How Green Grows th' Gra.s.s, an' wan on' th' Relation iv Ice to th' Greek Idee iv G.o.d,' he says. 'This is all ye'll need to equip ye f'r th' perfect life, onless,'

he says, 'ye intind bein' a dintist, in which case,' he says, 'we won't think much iv ye, but we have a good school where ye can larn that disgraceful thrade,' he says. An' th' la-ad makes his choice, an' ivry mornin' whin he's up in time he takes a whiff iv hasheesh an' goes off to hear Profissor Maryanna tell him that 'if th' dates iv human knowledge must be rejicted as subjictive, how much more must they be subjicted as rejictive if, as I think, we keep our thoughts fixed upon th' inanity iv th' finite in comparison with th' onthinkable truth with th' ondivided an' onimaginable reality. Boys ar-re ye with me?'"

"That's at wan colledge-Th' Colledge iv Speechless Thought. Thin there's th' Colledge iv Thoughtless Speech, where th' la-ad is larned that th'

best thing that can happen to annywan is to be prisident iv a railroad consolidation. Th' head iv this colledge believes in thrainin' young men f'r th' civic ideel, Father Kelly tells me. Th' on'y thrainin' I know f'r th' civic ideel is to have an alarm clock in ye'er room on iliction day. He believes 'young men shud be equipped with Courage, Discipline, an' Loftiness iv Purpose;' so I suppose Packy, if he wint there, wud listen to lectures fr'm th' Profissor iv Courage an' Erasmus H. Noddle, Doctor iv Loftiness iv Purpose. I loft, ye loft, he lofts. I've always felt we needed some wan to teach our young th' Courage they can't get walkin' home in th' dark, an' th' loftiness iv purpose that doesn't start with bein' hungry an' lookin' f'r wurruk. An' in th' colledge where these studies are taught, its undhershtud that even betther thin gettin' th' civic ideel is bein' head iv a thrust. Th' on'y trouble with th' coorse is that whin Packy comes out loaded with loftiness iv purpose, all th' lofts is full iv men that had to figure it out on th'

farm."

"I don't undherstand a wurrud iv what ye're sayin'," said Mr. Hennesy.

"No more do I," said Mr. Dooley. "But I believe 'tis as Father Kelly says: 'Childher shudden't be sint to school to larn, but to larn how to larn. I don't care what ye larn thim so long as 'tis onpleasant to thim.' 'Tis thrainin' they need, Hinnissy. That's all. I niver cud make use iv what I larned in colledge about thrigojoomethry an'--an'-- grammar an' th' welts I got on th' skull fr'm the schoolmasther's cane I have nivver been able to turn to anny account in th' business, but 'twas th' bein' there and havin' to get things to heart without askin' th'

meanin' iv thim an' goin' to school cold an' comin' home hungry, that made th' man iv me ye see befure ye."

"That's why th' good woman's throubled about Packy," said Hennessy.

"Go home," said Mr. Dooley.

"L'AIGLON"

"Hogan's been tellin' me iv a new play he r-read th' other day," said Mr. Dooley. "'Tis be th' same la-ad that wrote th' piece they played down in th' Christyan Brothers' school last year about the man with th'

big nose, that wud dhraw a soord or a pome on e'er a man alive. This wan is called 'The Little Eagle,' an' 'tis about th' son iv Napolyon th'

Impror iv th' Fr-rinch, th' first wan, not th' wan I had th' fight about in Schwartzmeister's in eighteen hundhred an' siventy. Bad cess to that man, he was no good. I often wondher why I shtud up f'r him whin he had hardly wan frind in th' counthry. But I did, an' ye might say I'm a vethran iv th' Napolyonic Wars. I am so.

"But th' first Napolyon was a diff'rent man, an' whin he died he left a son that th' coorts tur-rned over to th' custody iv his mother, th' ol'

man bein' on th' island--th' same place where Gin'ral Crownjoy is now.

Tis about this la-ad th' play's written. He don't look to be much account havin' a hackin' cough all through the piece, but down undherneath he wants to be impror iv th' Fr-rinch like his father befure him, d'ye mind, on'y he don't dare to go out f'r it f'r fear iv catchin'

a bad cold on his chist. Th' Austhreeches that has charge iv him don't like th' idee iv havin' him know what kind iv man his father was. Whin he asks: 'Where's pah?' They say: 'He died in jail.' 'What happened in 1805?' says th' boy. 'In 1805,' says th' Austhreeches, 'th' bar-rn blew down.' 'In 1806?' says th' boy. 'In 1806 th' chimney smoked.' 'Not so,'

says th' prince. 'In 1806 me father crossed th' Rhine an' up,' he says, 'th' ar-rmed camps he marched to Augaspiel, to Lieberneck, to Donnervet.

He changed his boots at Mikelstraus an' down th' eagle swooped on Marcobrun,' he says. 'Me gran'dad fled as flees th' hen befure th' hawk, but dad stayed not till gran'pa, treed, besought f'r peace. That's what me father done unto me gran'dad in eighteen six.' At this p'int he coughs but ye sees he knew what was goin' on, bein' taught in secret be a lady iv th' stage fr'm whom manny a la-ad cud larn th' truth about his father.

"Still he can't be persuaded f'r to apply f'r th' vacant improrship on account iv his lungs, till wan day a tailor shows up to measure him f'r some clothes. Th' tailor d'ye mind is a rivolutionist in disguise, an'

has come down fr'm Paris f'r to injooce th' young man to take th'

vacancy. 'Fourteen, six, thirty-three. How'll ye have th' pants made, Impror?' says th' tailor. 'Wan or two hip pockets?' says he.

"'Two hips,' says young Napolyon. 'What do ye mean be that"?' he says.

"'Thirty-eight, siventeen, two sides, wan watch, buckle behind. All Paris awaits ye, sire.'"

"'Make th' sleeves a little longer thin this,' says th' boy. 'An' fill out th' shouldhers. What proof have I?'"

"'Wan or two inside pockets?' says th' tailor. 'Two insides. Hankerchief pocket? Wan hankerchief. Th' pants is warn much fuller this year. Make that twinty-eight instid iv twinty-siven,' he says. 'Paris shrieks f'r ye,' he says.

"'Proof,' says th' la-ad.

"'They've named a perfume afther ye, a shirt waist, a paper collar, a five cint seegar, a lot iv childer. Nay more, a breakfast dish christened f'r ye is on ivry lip. Will I forward th' soot collect?' he says.

"'No, sind th' bill to me mother,' says th' boy. 'An' meet me in th'

park at tin,' he says.

"So 'tis planned to seize th' throne, but it comes to nawthin'."

"Why's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy.

"F'r th' same reason that the Irish rivolution failed, th' polis stopped it. Th' con-spirators met in th' park an' were nailed be a park polisman. They didn't run in th' boy, but left him alone in th' place which was where his father wanst fought a battle. As he shtands there coughin' he begins to hear voices iv soops that followed th' ol' Impror.