What's the name of ye, anny how ?" "Ay ban Nels Swanson." "Huh! Well, it's little the loikes o' ye iver railly knows about names, Oi 'm thinkin'.

They tell me ye don't have no proper, dacent names of yer own over in Sweden,--wherever the divil that is, I dunno,--but jist picks up annything handy for to dhraw pay on." "It ban't true." "It's a loiar ye are! Bad cess to ye, ain't Oi had to be bunk-mate wid some o' ye dhirty foreigners afore now?
Ye 're _sons_, the whole kit and caboodle o' ye--Nelsons, an' Olesons, an' Swansons, an' Andersons.
Blissed Mary! an' ye call them things names?
If ye have anny other cognomen, it's somethin' ye stole from some Christian all unbeknownst to him.

Holy Mother! but ye ought to be 'shamed to be a Swade, ye miserable, slab-sided haythen." "My name ban Swanson; it ban all right, hey ?" "Swanson! Swanson! Oh, ye poor benighted, ignorant foreigner!" and Mike straightened up, slapping his chest proudly.

"Jist ye look at me, now! Oi'm an O'Brien, do ye moind that?
An O'Brien! Mother o' God! we was O'Briens whin the Ark first landed; we was O'Briens whin yer ancestors--if iver ye had anny--was wigglin' pollywogs pokin' in the mud.

We was kings in ould Oireland, begorry, whin ye was a mollusk, or maybe a poi-faced baboon swingin' by the tail.