August 30, 1863
MASS MEETINGS (text not available)
THE FIRE (text not available)
We shipped ten thousand dollars in silver bars to the Sanitary Fund yesterday. But I cannot write to-day; I have no more animation than a sick puppy. However, I suppose I ought to inform the public about a circumstance which happened in the Court House this morning, and which was a most
The Union League holds its meetings in the District Court Room on certain nights
during the week; on Sundays the services of the First Presbyterian Church are
held in the same apartment. This morning an Irish member of the League, who
had been drinking a good deal, came reeling down the street, and as he passed
the Court House, he chanced to look in; he saw the Rev. Mr. White (who had just
sat down after the first prayer,) occupying the pulpit - the place of the President
of his society; he also saw familiar faces among the congregation, and he concluded
at once that the Union League was in session. With drunken promptness, he marched
in at once, as soon as his mind was made up. He reached the centre of the room
in safety, and supported himself in an unstable manner by resting one hand upon
the railing; with the other he removed from his mouth a cigar, one-half of which
was chewed to mush; he spat, - partly on the floor, and principally on his chin
- then hiccoughed, with such startling emphasis as to jerk his hat to the back
part of his head; after which he gave the sign of salutation, and said: "Misrer
Pres'zent: They been imposing on me at the mine, but d__n my thiev'n soul but
I'll get even wid 'em, you know! [Sensation.] The fo'man o' Th' Pride o' the
West has dis-dis-ch-(hic!)-airged me, bekase I'm a bloody d__d Blaick Republikin!
" Seeing a familiar face in the congregation, he addressed his remarks
to the owner of it, pointing there with his dilapidated cigar: "D'ye know
me, Kuhrnel, an' " - [Voice: "But my good friend" -- ] "Be
d__d to yer good friend! an' can't ye see it's meself that has the flewr? Ah!
now, there's ould John A. Collins, an' h-(hic!) -e's wan o' the principal brethetin.
I'll tell ye the whole of the dhirty thievin' saircumstance, ye see." By
this time, men, women, children and parson were smothering with suppressed laughter,
as the dancing eyes that looked out over white handkerchiefs plainly testified.
Col. Collins rose to his feet, blushing like a lobster, and succeeded in making
the persecuted Irishman understand that he was not telling his troubles to the
Union League, but to the First Presbyterian Church. The information stunned
him. He stood a moment gathering again the ideas which had been scattered by
this bombshell, and then backed himself out of the house, bowing repeatedly,
and ejaculating: "Ladies and gentlemen, I beg yer pairdon. I thought 'twas
the Union Laig. I did, upon my sowl; but I beg yer pairdon, ladies and gintlemen
- I beg yer pairdon!" They used to go to Goldsmith's church to laugh, and
remain to pray; but the Presbyterians here reversed the thing this morning.
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