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The Daily Dispatch: March 22, 1861., [Electronic resource], A fortunate Ruffian. (search)
A fortunate Ruffian.
--New York sang songs of joy, a few weeks since, over the conviction of Billy Mulligan, the most notorious and desperate of her ruffians.
But Billy, after having been sent to the Penitentiary, has obtained a new trial from the Court of Appeals, and is again out on bail.
He was sentenced for "an attempt to discharge a loaded pistol with intent to kill," &c. The Court held that, because the pistol was not cocked at the time he presented it at the officer, the prisoner was wrongfully convicted.
The Daily Dispatch: may 29, 1861., [Electronic resource], The character of the war before us. (search)
An Irish discussion.
--A contractor who was building a tunnel on a certain Ohio railroad observed, one morning, that the face of a member of his gang had its surface all spotted with bruises and plasters.
"Ah!
Jimmy," said he, "what have you been doing?"
"Not very much, sur," answered Jimmy, "I was just down at Billy Mulligan's last night, sur, an' him an' me we had a bit av a discompose wide shticks."
The story of Billy Mulligan.
--Billy Mulligan was a broth of a boy in Killarney, and could toss off his poteen and whirl his shillalah aid the best ov the bog. When the war in America broke out, says Billy, says he, "it's a hero and a patriot IBilly Mulligan was a broth of a boy in Killarney, and could toss off his poteen and whirl his shillalah aid the best ov the bog. When the war in America broke out, says Billy, says he, "it's a hero and a patriot I'll be, begorras," and so he borrows from one and anither and starts across the blisses old ocean, and av a fine morning puts himself right afore old King Lincoln, as bowled as a lion.
"It's meself," says Billy, "which will crack the crowns of those veling to Missouri as fast as steam could take him, and a Colonel's commission in his pocket.
"Billy," says the King to Mulligan "don't write, but put it through — put it through." "Begorra," says Billy, "it's meself that won't write, for divil a le nd army, and sent every ragamuffin of 'em home with a foot-mark in the rear; but Billy himself, and all his staff, they shut up in a black hole, where he now lies, wid plenty of water, but no whiskey at all; and this is the story of Billy Mulligan.