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´╗┐Title: Mr. Punch's Irish Humour
Author: Various, Keene, Charles
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Mr. Punch's Irish Humour" ***

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  Edited by J. A. HAMMERTON

  Designed to provide in a series
  of volumes, each complete in itself,
  the cream of our national humour,
  contributed by the masters of
  comic draughtsmanship and the
  leading wits of the age to "Punch,"
  from its beginning in 1841 to the
  present day

    [Illustration: Mr Punch as Irishman]


    [Illustration: "Sure, Pat, and why are ye wearin' ye'r coat buttoned
    up loike that on a warm day loike this?"

    "Faith, ye'r riverence, to hoide the shirt oi haven't got on!"]





  G. D. ARMOUR, E. T. REED, H. M.

    [Illustration: Irishman with shamrock]





_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages fully illustrated_


    [Illustration: Donkey cart carrying family and dog]


(_By way of Introduction_)

  [Illustration: Ragged Irishman standing]

No PUNCH artist has done more with Irish humour than Charles Keene.
Well over a third of the PUNCH drawings on this subject are from his
pencil. Most of the PUNCH artists have made good use of it, Phil May
and Mr. Raven-Hill in particular.

Some of MR. PUNCH'S jokes against the Fenians, Home Rule, and Irish
disloyalty have a bitterness that is quite unusual with him, but none
of these are included in our pages, and he has at other times handled
the same topics with his customary geniality and good-humoured satire.
He makes the most of the Irishman's traditional weakness for "##bulls"
whisky, fighting, and living with his pigs, but he gets an immense
amount of variety out of these themes, and does not neglect to touch
upon other typically Irish characteristics. If you have examples of the
Irishman's blunderings, you have examples also of his ready wit and his
amazing talent for blarney.

We have thus in the present volume a delightful collection of Irish
wit and high spirits. The happy-go-lucky characteristic of Pat is
especially prominent in many of the jokes, and interpreting MR. PUNCH'S
attitude towards the Irishman as one of admiration for his many
excellent qualities, instead of regarding him as the "but" for English
jokes, too often the notion of comic writers, the editor has sought to
represent MR. PUNCH as the friend of Pat, sometimes his critic, but
always his good humoured well-wisher, who laughs at him now and then,
but as often with him.

  [Illustration: Mr Punch striding purposefully]


  [Illustration: Mr Punch, with quill pen, bowing to reader]

THE IRISH YOLK.--In the name of the profit--eggs! Irish co-operators
have already made giant strides in the production of milk and butter,
and now the Irish Co-operative Agency has decided, so says the _Cork
Daily Herald_, to "take up the egg trade." We hope the egg-traders
won't be "taken up," too; if so, the trade would be arrested just when
it was starting, and where would the profit be then? "It is stated
that many Irish eggs now reach the English market dirty, stale, and
unsorted," so that wholesale English egg-merchants have preferred to
buy Austrian and French ones. Ireland not able to compete with the
foreigner! Perish the thought! A little technical education judiciously
applied will soon teach the Irish fowl not to lay "shop 'uns."

       *       *       *       *       *

TANTALUS.--_Irish Waiter (to Commercial Gent, who had done a good
stroke of business already)._ "Brikfast! Yessir. What'll ye have, yer
honour--tay or coffee?"

_Commercial Gent (hungry and jubilant)._ "Coffee and fried sole and
mutton cutlet to follow!"

_Waiter (satirically)._ "Annything ilse, surr?"

_Commercial Gent._ "Yes, stewed kidneys. Ah and a savoury omelette!"

_Waiter._ "Yessir. Annything----"

_Commercial Gent._ "No, that will do----"

_Waiter (with calm contempt)._ "And do ye expict to foind the loikes o'
them things here? Sure, ye'll get what yez always got--bacon an' iggs!"

       *       *       *       *       *

the street all night, but for all that there was no disturbance."

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Mr. MacSimius._ "Well, Oi don't profess to be a
  particularly cultivated man meself; but at laste me progenitors were
  all educated in the hoigher branches!"]


DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I perceive that there is a movement on foot, initiated
by the patriot Doogan, M.P., for teaching the Irish language to the
youthful Redmonds and Healeys of the Emerald Isle. I am sorry that the
Government has not acquiesced in the motion. I, myself, would bring in
a measure compelling all Hibernian Members of Parliament to denounce
(they never speak) in their native tongue. Just fancy the rapture with
which they would inveigh in a language incapable of comprehension by a
single Sassenach! And what a mighty relief to the other legislators!
If necessary, the Speaker might be provided with an Anglo-Irish
dictionary, or possibly a new post (open to Nationalists only) might be
created, viz., Interpreter for Ireland.

Trusting that my suggestion may be supported by you,

  I am, yours obediently,


  _The College, Torkington-on-the-Marsh_.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Usher (the Court having been much annoyed by the
  shuffling of feet)._ "Will ye hould yer tongues up there with yer feet
  in the gallery!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Landlord (to his agent, who has been to London as
  a witness)._ "And did ye mix much in society, Murphy?"

  _Mr. Pat Murphy._ "Mix is it? Faix I did that, every night of the whole
  time, and they said they'd niver tasted anything like it!"]

  [Illustration: "Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Murphy?
  You look all broken up!" "Well, yer 'anner, I wint to wan iv thim
  'shtop-the-war' meetings lasht noight!"]


Every goose thinks his wife a duck.

No news in a newspaper isn't good news.

Manners make the gentleman, and the want of them drives him elsewhere
for his shooting.

A miss is as good as a mile of old women.

Too many cooks spoil the broth of a boy.

It's foolish to spoil one's dinner for a ha'porth of tarts.

There are as fine bulls in Ireland as ever came out of it.

Necessity has no law, but an uncommon number of lawyers.

Better to look like a great fool, than to be the great fool you look.

A soft answer may turn away wrath, but in a Chancery suit, a soft
answer is only likely to turn the scales against you.

One fortune is remarkably good until you have had another one told you.

Don't halloa until you have got your head safe out of the wood,
particularly at Donnybrook Fair.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Lady (looking at new cob)._ "How does he go, Patrick?"

  _Irish Groom._ "The very best, m'lady! Sure it's only now and then he
  touches the ground in odd spots."]

       *       *       *       *       *

Men of straw don't make the best bricks.

It's a narrow bed that has no turning.

When money is sent flying out of the window it's poverty that comes in
at the door.

The pig that pleases to live must live to please.

One man may steal a hedge, whereas another daren't even as much as look
at a horse.

Short rents make long friends--and it holds good equally with your
landlord and your clothes.

The mug of a fool is known by there being nothing in it.

You may put the carte before the horse, but you can't make him eat.

Money makes the gentleman, the want of it the blackguard.

When wise men fall out, then rogues come by what is not their own.

       *       *       *       *       *

A BITTER BAD FRUIT.--A patriotic Irishman, expatiating eloquently upon
the Lodge disturbances that were so repeatedly taking place in his
country, exclaimed wildly: "By Jove, sir, you may call the Orange the
Apple of Discord of Ireland."

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Irate Station-master._ "What the divil are ye waitin'

  _Engine-driver._ "Can't ye see the signals is against me?"

  _Station-master._ "Is it the signals? Sure now, ye're gettin' mighty

  [Illustration: _Paddy._ "Where will I catch the express for Dublin?"

  _Station-master._ "Ye'll catch it all over ye if ye don't get off the
  line mighty quick!"]

  [Illustration: A REGULAR TURK.--_Adjutant._ "Well, sergeant, how's your
  prisoner getting on?" _Sergeant of the Guard._ "Bedad, sor, he's the
  vi'lentest blaggyard I iver had to do wid! We're all in tirror iv our
  loives! Shure we're obliged to feed him wid fixed bay'nits!"]


    Bedad, 'twas meself was as plaised as could be
    When they tould me the vote had bin given to me.
    "St. Pathrick," ses Oi, "Oi'm a gintleman too,
    An' Oi'll dine ivry day off a grand Oirish stew."

    The words was scarce seen slippin' off of me tongue
    When who but the Colonel comes walkin' along!
    "Begorrah, 'tis callin' he's afther, the bhoy,
    Oi'm a gintleman now wid a vingeance," ses Oi.

    The Colonel come in wid an affable air,
    An' he sat down quite natteral-loike in a chair.
    "So, Rory," ses he, "'tis a vote ye've got now?"
    "That's thrue though ye ses it," ses Oi, wid a bow.

    "Deloighted!" ses he, "'tis meself that is glad,
    For shure ye're desarvin' it, Rory, me lad.
    An' how are ye goin' to use it?" ses he,
    "Ye could scarcely do betther than give it to me."

    Oi stared at the Colonel, amazed wid surprise.
    "What! Give it away, sorr?--Me vote, sorr?" Oi cries
    "D'ye think that Oi've waited ontil Oi am gray,
    An' now Oi'm jist goin' to give it away?"

    The Colonel he chuckled, an' "Rory," ses he.
    But "No, sorr," Oi answers, "ye don't diddle me."
    Thin he hum'd an' he haw'd, an' he started agin,
    But he'd met wid his equal in Rory O'Flynn.

    Thin the smoile died away, an' a frown come instead,
    But for all that he tould me, Oi jist shook me head,

    [Illustration: NOT QUITE THE SAME THING.--_Merciful Traveller._ "Your
    little horse has been going well. When do you bait him?" _Pat._ "Ah,
    shure, it's been a purty livel road, sor: but Oi'l have to bate him
    goin' up Sloggin Derry Hill, sor!"]

    An' he gnawed his moustache, an' he cursed an' he swore,
    But the more that he argued, Oi shook it the more.

    Thin he called me a dolt an' an ignorant fool,
    An' he said that Oi ought to go back to the school,
    An' he flew in a rage an' wint black in the face,
    An' he flung in a hullaballoo from the place.

    Bedad, Oi was startled. Him beggin' me vote,
    An' he'd three of his own too!--The gradiness o't!
    Ye could scarcely belave it onless it was thrue,
    An' him sittin' oop for a gintleman too!

    Was it betther he thought he could use it than Oi?
    Begorrah, Oi'll show he's mistaken, me bhoy.
    Oi'll hang it oop over me mantelpace shelf,
    For now that Oi've got it, Oi'll kape it meself.

       *       *       *       *       *

IRISH METEOROLOGY.--There surely must be some constant cause existing
whose agency maintains the chronic disaffection of Ireland. Perhaps it
is some disturbing element ever present in the atmosphere. That may
possibly be a predominance of O'Zone.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Old Gentleman (who has not hurried over his Dinner, and has just
got his Bill.)_ "Waiter, what's this? I'm charged here twopence for
stationery. You know I've had none----"

_Irish Waiter._ "Faix! yer honour, I don't know. Y'ave been sittin'
here a long t-h-ime, anyhow!!"

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: THE CONSEQUENCE OF THE CHAIR.--_Chairman of the
  Home-Rule Meeting._ "'The chair' will not dispute the point with
  Misther O'Pummel----" _The O'Pummel._ "'The chair' had betther
  not, onless he loikes to stip out, and take his coat off!!"
  [_Confusion--exeunt fighting._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HEADLESS MAN AGAIN.--_Stock-jobber (to new Irish clerk, who is
working out the Bull and Bear list)._ "Hullo, why do you write "B"
against your results?"

_Clerk._ "Shure, sir, that's for "Bull," to distinguish them from

       *       *       *       *       *

VERY IRISH RENDERING OF AN OLD SONG.--"'Tis my _day_light on a shiny

       *       *       *       *       *

A TASTE OF THE TIMES.--_Mr. Molony, Irish Farmer (to Mr. Flynn, the
Agent)._ "Sure, I've come to ask yer honner to say a word to the
masther for me, for the Black Boreen haulding."

_Agent._ "No, Molony, the masther won't take a tenant without capital."

_Mr. Molony._ "And is it capital? Sure, I've three hundred pounds in
the bank this minit!"

_Agent._ "Oh, I thought I saw your name to that petition for a
reduction of rents, as you were all starving!"

_Mr. Molony._ "Tare an' agers! Mr. Flynn, darlin'! Is the petition gone
to the masther yet? If your honner could just give me a hoult av it,
that I may sthrike my name out!"

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Tourist._ "Have you not got Scotch whiskey?"

  _Waiter (in an Irish hotel)._ "No, sorr, we don't kape it. And them as
  does only uses it to water down our own!"]

  [Illustration: "AS CLEAR AS MUD."--_Irish Waiter._ "An' will yer 'anner
  have an inside kyar or an outside kyar?" _Inexperienced Saxon._ "Oh,
  an outside car, of course; I don't want a covered conveyance; I want
  to see the country." _Irish Waiter._ "Oh, shure, nayther of 'em's
  covered." (_Closing door and preparing for a luminous explanation._)
  "It's this way, it is, sir. They call 'em inside kyars bekase the
  wheels is outside, an' they call 'em outside kyars by rason the wheels
  is inside!!"]

  [Illustration: A GOOD LISTENER.--_Reverend Gentleman._ "Well, Tim, did
  you leave the letter at the squire's?" _Tim._ "I did, your riv'rence. I
  b'lieve they're having dinner company to-day----" _Reverend Gentleman_
  (_angrily_). "What business had you to be listening about? How often
  have I told you----" _Tim._ "Plaze your riv'rence, I only listened with
  my nose!!"]

  [Illustration: _O'Brien._ "Oh, murther aloive! Barney, come and help
  me! Pat has fallen into the mortar, and he's up to the ankles!"
  _McGeorge._ "Och, if he's only up to the ankles, he can walk out."
  _O'Brien._ "Oh, bedad, but he's in head first!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Pat (to Bashful Bridget)._ "Look up, Bridget me
  darlin'. Shure an' I'd cut me head off ony day in the week for a sight
  of yer beautiful eyes!"]


  _Host._ "Michael, didn't I tell you to decant the best claret?"

  _Michael._ "You did, sorr." _Host._ "But this isn't the best."

  _Michael._ "No, sorr; but it's the best you've got!"]

  [Illustration: "THE HARP IN THE AIR"

  _Irish Gentleman (who has vainly endeavoured to execute a jig to the
  fitful music of the telegraph wires)._ "Shure! whoiver y'are ye can't
  play a bit! How can a jintleman dance--(_hic!_)--iv ye don't kape

       *       *       *       *       *

The Cockney who said he valued Switzerland for its mountain hair has a
supporter in a writer in the _Irish Independent_, who remarks: "There
are many mountains in the country now bare and desolate, whose brows,
if whiskered with forests, would present a striking appearance."

       *       *       *       *       *

GEOGRAPHICAL CATECHISM.--_Q._ What do we now call the Isle of Patmos?

_A._ Ireland.

       *       *       *       *       *

REFRESHMENT FOR MAN AND BEAST.--_Traveller in Ireland (who has been
into a shebeen)._ "But are you not going to bait the horse?"

_Pat._ "Is it bate him? Sure, and didn't I bate him enough coming

       *       *       *       *       *

_Irish Gent (paying debt of honour.)_ "There's the sovereign ye kindly
lint me, Brown. I'm sorry I haven't been able----"

Saxon (_pocketing the coin_). "Never thought of it from that day to----
By Jove! 'forgot all about it----"

_Irish Gent._ "Bedad! I wish ye'd tould me that before!"

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Surgeon (examining in the practical methods of reviving
  the apparently drowned)._ "Now, how long would you persevere in those
  motions of the arms?" _Bluejacket (from the Emerald Isle)._ "Until he
  was dead, sir!"]

  [Illustration: _Squire (rather perplexed)._ "Hullo, Pat! Where did you
  get the hare?" _Pat._ "Shure, surr, the cr'atur' was wand'rin' about,
  an' I thought I'd take't to the 'Wanes'!" _Squire._ "But did the keeper
  see you?" _Pat._ "Bliss yer honour, I've been lookin' for him iver
  since I caught it!!"]

  [Illustration: WAITING FOR THE LANDLORD.--_Ribbonman (getting
  impatient)._ "Bedad, they ought to be here by this toime! Sure,
  Tirince, I hope the ould gintleman hasn't mit wid an accidint!!!"]


(SCENE--_Westland Row Station, Dublin_)

_British Swell to Native Inhabitant_ (_loq._). "Haw, haw, pray will you
direct me the shortest way to Baggot Street, haw?"

_Native Inhabitant._ "Baggit Street, yer honor, yis, yer honor, d' see
that sthreet just forninst ye? Well, goo oop that, toorn nayther to
yer right nor to yer lift, till ye khoom to the foorst toorn, and when
ye khoom to the foorst toorn, don't toorn down that ayther, but walk
sthrait on and that'll lade ye to the place _Igs-actly_."

_Supercilious Saxon._ "Haw, thank yaw, haw!" (_And walks off more
mystified than ever._)

       *       *       *       *       *

IRISH VACCINATION.--Professor Gamgee says that, owing to the vagrant
cur nuisance, "Hydrophobia in man is increasing in Ireland." This fact
is one which hom[oe]opathy may suggest some reason for not altogether
deploring. The canine _virus_ and the vaccine may be somewhat
analogous; and, if like cures like, many a happy cure may be effected
by a mad dog biting a rabid Irishman.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Irishman (whose mate has just fallen overboard with
  the bucket while swabbing decks)._ "Plaze, captin, do ye rimimber that
  Scotchie ye tuk aboard the same toime as ye did me? I mane him wot had
  the lot o' good character papers, an' me that niver had a blissid wan?"

  _Captain._ "Well?"

  _Irishman._ "Well--_he's off wid yer pail!_"]

  [Illustration: "Just make it a couple of shillings, captain

  "Eighteenpence then, major!"--"No!"

  "Och thin, colonel darling, just threppence for a glass o'
  whiskey!"--"_No_, I tell you!"

  "Git out wid ye thin, ye boa conshthructor, sure an' I know'd ye all
  the toime!"

    [_N.B._--_The fare is the head of an eminent firm of furriers in
     Kilconan Street, and cultivates a martial appearance_

  [Illustration: CIRCUMLOCUTORY.--_The Parson (who likes to question the
  boys, now and then, in a little elementary science)._ "Now, can any of
  you tell me--Come, I'll ask you, Donovan,--What is salt?"

  _Irish boy._ "Iv y' plaze, sir,--it's--it's"--(_after a desperate
  mental effort_)--"it's the stuff that--makes a p'taytor very nasty 'v
  ye don't ate 't with 't!"]


    Och! Piggy dear, an' did ye hear
      The thraitors what they say?
    The rint is due, an' oh! 'tis you,
      Me darlin', that's to pay.
    So you, whose squale is music rale
      To me--the rascals hint
    That you must doi, an' plaise, for whoy?--
      The landlord wants his rint!

    But no, me jew'l! Oi'm not so cru'l,
      To kill an' murther dead
    The chum that's ate out ov me plate,
      An' shared the fam'ly bed.
    Oi would be loike a fool to stroike
      A frind to plaise a foe--
    If one must doi, why then, says Oi,
      The landlord, he must go.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Master._ Spell "Patriotism."

_Scholar._ P-a-t, "Pat;" r-i-o-t, "riot;" i-s-m "ism."

_Master._ Now spake it together.

_Scholar._ Pat-riot-ism.

_Master._ Ah, then, it's the good boy you are entirely.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Irishman (who has run up a score at the inn, to
  firemen)._ "Play on the slate, bhoys!"]

  [Illustration: AN IRISH DIFFICULTY.--_Pat ("the morning after," reading
  prescription)._ "'Dissolve wan of the powdhers in half a tumbler of
  wather, an' th' other powdher in another half tumbler of wather. Mix,
  an' dhrink whoile efferveshin'.' What'll Oi do? Whoy the div'l didn't
  he say which Oi was to mix furrst?"]

  [Illustration: _The Colonel._ "Mr. Moriarty, I received this morning a
  most offensive anonymous letter, and, from certain indications, I am
  compelled reluctantly to ask you if you know anything about it."

  _Moriarty._ "An anonymous letter? Whoy, _Oi'd scorn to put my name to
  such a thing_."]

  [Illustration: QUITE ANOTHER THING

  _Paddy_ (_the loser_). "Arrah g'long! I said I'd lay you foive to wan,
  but I wasn't goin' to bet my ha'f-crown agin your tath'rin little

    [_Exeunt fighting._

  [Illustration: MAKING THINGS PLEASANT.--_Irishman_ (_to English
  Sportsman_). "Is it throuts? Be jabers, the watther's stiff wid 'em!!!"

    [_"Regardless of strict truth, in his love of hyperbole and generous
    desire to please," as our friend recorded in his diary after a blank


  "Can I go a yard nearer on my side, as I've lost the sight of me one
  eye intirely?"

  [Illustration: _"Pat" Junior (in answer to question by Saxon Tourist)._
  "There's foive of us, yer honour, an' the baby."

  _Saxon._ "And are you the eldest?"

  _"Pat" Junior._ "I am, yer honour--at prisent!!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Groom._ "Will ye send up two sacks of oats an' a
  bundle av hay."

  _Voice from Telephone._ "Who for?"

  _Irish Groom._ "The harse, av coorse, ye fool!"]

  [Illustration: INS AND OUTS

  _Irish Innkeeper (to "Boots," &c.)._"H'where's Biddee? Out, is she? Bad
  luck to the hussy! She'll go out twinty toimes for wonce she'll come

  [Illustration: "IRISH"

  _Polite Young Man._ "Perhaps you feel a draught, madam?"

  _Old Lady._ "No, sir, not this side. I'm always careful to sit with my
  back facing the engine!"]

  [Illustration: WOKE UP

      "'Tis the voice of the sluggard,
      I heard him complain."--_Watts._

  _Boots._ "Eight o'clock, surr!"

  _Voice (from the deeps)._ "Why didn't ye tell me that before, confound


The following regulations, to be observed in the Irish Parliament when
it meets on College Green, are under consideration:--

1. The Speaker shall not speak except when he is talking.

2. Such terms as "thief of the wurruld," "spalpeen," "nager,"
"villian," "polthroon," "thraytor," "omadhawn," &c., and such epithets
as "base," "brutal," "bloody-minded," and others named in the schedule
to these regulations, shall be considered unparliamentary, except when
used in the heat of debate.

3. An Annual Budget shall be presented to the House once a quarter.

4. Shilelaghs, revolvers, and pikes, shall not be introduced into the
House, except when accompanied by a Member.

5. A Member shall be bound to attend every debate. A Member, however,
shall be excused if he gets up in his place in the House and announces
that he would be present were he not ill at home in bed.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: SCENE--_An Irish Station. Fair Day_

  _Porter._ "An what the divil are ye doin', tying that donkey up there?"

  _Pat (slightly under the influence, taking his new purchase home)._
  "Shure an' I've a perfect right to! Haven't I taken a ticket for the

       *       *       *       *       *

6. A quorum shall consist of forty Members. Should a count-out be
demanded, Members who have been engaged in personal altercation, shall
be included unless they are sufficiently conscious to utter "Erin go
Bragh!" thrice distinctly.

7. Duels will be strictly forbidden. Should any Member, however, think
proper to break this rule, it will be considered a breach of privilege
if he does not invite the Speaker and the whole House to see the fun.

8. There will be only one Speaker; but two or more Members may be
elected to the post.

9. Only one Member shall address the House at a time, except when two
or more wish to speak at once, in which case they shall not interrupt
each other.

10. A Member when addressing the House shall not wear his hat unless he
has got it on his head before rising, when he shall remove it on any
Member directing the Speaker's attention to the fact.

11. Under no consideration whatever will the consumption of any spirits
be permitted in the House. This rule does not apply to whiskey, gin,
brandy, and the French liqueurs.

12. As only the most elegant Dublin English will be spoken in the
House, no Provincial brogue can be tolerated. To this rule there will
be no exception.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Irish Nurse._ "Now thin, mum, wake up an' take yer
  sleepin' dhraught!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

PAT'S TRUE BREAKFAST CHRONOMETER.--"Sure, me stomach in the early
morning is as good as a watch to me. I always know when _it wants
'something to ate.'_"

       *       *       *       *       *

A BROAD HINT.--_English Traveller (to Irish Railway Porter labelling
luggage)._ "Don't you keep a brush for that work, porter?"

_Porter._ "Shure, your honour, our tongues is the only insthruments
we're allowed. But they're asy kep' wet, your honour?"

  [_Hint taken!_

       *       *       *       *       *

IRISH HOUSEKEEPING.--_Bachelor._ "Mary, I should like that piece of
bacon I left at dinner yesterday."

_Irish Servant._ "Is it the bit o' bhacon thin? Shure I took it to
loight the fhoires!"

       *       *       *       *       *

  SLIGO).--_First Factory Lad._ "Dom'nick, did ya get e'er a bite at
  all?" _Second Ditto._ "Sorra wan, Pat. Only wan small wan!" _First
  Ditto._ "Yerrah! Lave it there, an' come home. Shure you'll get more
  than that in bed!"]

  [Illustration: EXPENDED.--_Guest._ "Will you give me a little
  champagne?" _Hibernian Waiter._ "Shumpane, sor? Bedad, I've had none
  meself this two hours!"]

  [Illustration: "OPPRISSION."--_Landlord._ "Tut-t-t! 'O'bless my soul!
  This must be seen to, Flannigan! The cabin positively isn't fit to live
  in! Why, you're ankle-deep in----" _Pat._ "Och sure, sor, it's a mighty
  convanient house, an' that's an iligant spring in the flure, sor. No
  throuble to go outside for watter whatever!!"]

  [Illustration: RATHER TOO LITERAL.--_Country Gentleman (in a rage)._
  "Why, what have you been up to, you idiot? You've let him down,
  and----" _New Groom._ "Yes, yer honner, ye tould me to break him; an'
  bruk he is, knees an' all, worse luck!"]

  [Illustration: "READY, AYE READY!" _Officer "Royal Irish."_ "Why were
  you late in barracks last night, Private Atkins?"

  _Private Atkins._ "Train from London was very late, sir."

  _Officer._ "Very good. Next thime the thrain's late, take care y' come
  by an earlier one!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Dealer._ "Ach, begorra, would ye run over the
  cushtomers? Sure, it's scarce enough they are!"]

  [Illustration: SUPEREROGATION.--_Humanitarian._ "Couldn't you manage to
  put a little more flesh on your poor horses' bones? He's frightfully

  _Car-driver._ "Bedad, surr, what's the use o' that? The poor baste can
  hardly carry what he's got a'ready!"]

  [Illustration: _Mrs. O'Brady._ "Shure oi want to bank twinty pounds.
  Can I draw it out quick if I want it?"

  _Postmaster._ "Indade, Mrs. O'Brady, you can draw it out to morrow if
  you give me a wake's notice!"]

  [Illustration: _It is necessary in some parts of Ireland for carmen
  to have their names legibly written on the tailboard of the car.
  Inspector._ "What's the meanin' of this, Pat? Your name's o-bliterated."

  _Pat._ "Ye lie--it's O'Brien!"]


(_From the forthcoming History of Parliament_)

One blow and Ireland sprang from the head of her Saxon enslaver a new
Minerva! Proudly and solemnly she then sat down to frame a Republic
worthy of Plato and Pat. Her first president had been a workhouse
porter and a night watchman. He was, therefore, eminently fitted both
for civil and military administration. The speech of President Pat on
opening Congress develops his policy and his well-digested plans of
legislative reform. Here are a few choice quotations:--

 The key-stone of Government is the blarney stone.

 Political progress may always be accelerated by a bludgeon.

 Our institutions must be consolidated by soft soap and whacks.

 The people's will is made known by manifesto, and by many fists too.

  [Illustration: _Clerk._ "Return?"

  _Pat._ "Phwat for ud Oi be wantin' a returrn ticket when Oi'm here

 Every man shall be qualified to sit in Congress that is a 10 lb.
 pig-holder, provided that the pig and the member sleep under the same

 Members of Congress will be remunerated for their public services.
 Gentlemen wearing gloves only to have the privilege of shaking the
 president's hand. The unwashed to be paid at the door.

 Pipes will not be allowed on the Opposition benches, nor may any
 member take whiskey until challenged by the president.

 Under no circumstances will a member be suffered to sit with his
 blunderbuss at full-cock, nor pointed at the president's ear.

 Our ambassadors will be chosen from our most meritorious postmen, so
 that they may have no difficulty in reading their letters.

 The Foreign Office will be presided over by a patriotic editor who has
 travelled in New South Wales and is thoroughly conversant with its

 Instead of bulwarks, the island will be fortified by Irish bulls; our
 military engineers being of opinion that no other horn-works are so
 efficient or necessary.

 To prevent heart-burnings between landlord and tenant, a Government
 collector of rents will be appointed, and tenant-right shall include a
 power to shoot over the land, and at any one on it.--_Punch_, 1865.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: THE TRIUMPHS OF TEMPER.--_Fare (out of patience at the
  fourth "jib" in a mile)._ "Hi, this won't do! I shall get out!"

  _Cabby (through the trap, in a whisper)._ "Ah thin, sor, niver mind
  her! Sit still! Don't give her the satisfaction av knowin' she's got
  rid av ye!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"MASTER'S away from home, sir. Would you please to leave your name?"

"Faix, an' what should I be lavin' me name forr, bedad! when he knows
me quite well?"

       *       *       *       *       *

RATHER MIXED.--The following is from _The Irish Times_ on
"Landslips":--"To feel the solid earth rock beneath his feet, to have
his natural foothold on the globe's surface swept, so to speak, out of
his grasp, is to the stoutest heart of man terrifying in the extreme."

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM IRELAND.--Good name for an auctioneer's wife--Biddy.

       *       *       *       *       *


    Shure multiplication--of chiefs--_is_ vexation,
      But faix, there is fun in substhraction.
    Addition will you knit with me as one unit,
      And unity flabberghasts faction.
    As for rule o' three!--betther one, and that me!
      The wise, and the sthrong, and the clever!
    But till _Oi_'m up top, and all over the shop,
      I'll cry, "Long division for iver!"

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: ECONOMY.--_Pat._ "And ye say, if I take this one, I'll
  save ha'f the fuul? Bedad!"--(_struck with a bright idea_)--"I'll take
  a pair of 'em--and save it all--!!"]

  [Illustration: _Fisherman (beginner)._ "Don't you think, Peter, I've
  improved a good deal since I began?"

  _Peter (anxious to pay a compliment)._ "You have, sorr. But sure it was
  aisy for _you_ to improve, sorr!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Bag Carrier (commenting on the crack shot of the
  party)._ "Sure, thin, and I do not think much av him! Ivery lot o'
  birds he'll be afther firin' both barrels of his gun, and divil a one
  he kills but two!"]

  [Illustration: GROVES OF BLARNEY.--"And it's a perfect miracle the
  sounds ye manage to extract from that old tin kettle, Miss Cecilia;
  sure we don't hear the dumb notes at all!"]

  [Illustration: A MISUNDERSTANDING.--_His Master._ "Did you take those
  boots of mine to be soled, Larry?"

  _Irish Valet._ "I did, sor, and see the thrifle the blag'yard gave me
  for'm!--'said they were purty nigh wore through!!"]

  [Illustration: IRISH INGENUITY.--_Saxon Tourist._ "What on earth
  are you lowering the shafts for?" (_He has just found out that this
  man[oe]uvre is gone through at every ascent._)

  _Car-Driver._ "Shure, yer 'onner, we'll make 'm b'lave he's goin' down

  [Illustration: TRANSPOSITION.--_Irish Sergeant._ "Mark time! Change
  your stip, that man!"

  _Recruit._ "If ye plaze surr----"

  _Sergeant._ "Silence--an' fall out at oncet an' change your feet!"]


  _Itinerant Photographer (from under the cloth)._ "Will you keep quiet?
  How do you suppose----"

  _Subject (who is evading the focus)._ "Be jabers, man! will I sit still
  to be shot at?!!"]

  [Illustration: "IN EXTREMIS."--Pat. "Do ye buy rags and bones here?"

  _Merchant._ "We do, surr."

  _Pat._ "Thin, be jabers! put me on the schkales!!"]

  [Illustration: THE VERDICT.--_First Irishman (waiting in the
  corridor--to his friend, rushing in from the Court)._ "What's Tim got?"

  _Second Irishman (in a breathless whisper)._ "For loife!"

  _First Irishman._ "For loife!" (_With emotion._) "Och shure, he won't
  live half the thoime!!"]

  [Illustration: _One of the Finest Pisantry (in custody, having had a
  shillelagh difference with a fellow-countryman)._ "Shure! Mayn't Oi see
  me frind aff b' the thrain, sorr?"]

  [Illustration: _Lady_. "I was awfully sorry, professor, I was unable to
  come to your lecture last night. Were there many there?"

  _The Professor_ (_Irish_). "Um--well--not so many as I expected. But I
  never thought there would be!"]


Lay your scene principally in Galway, and let your chief characters
be the officers of a regiment of Dragoons. Represent them as habitual
drunkards, as duellists, and as practical jokers; but take care to
exclude from their tricks everything like wit. Introduce as frequently
as possible, with the necessary variation only of time, place, and
circumstance, a tipsy brawl, with a table oversetting in the midst of
it, and a ragamuffin with a great stick in his hand, capering thereon.
Do not omit to mention the bottles and glasses that whistle, during
this performance, about his ears, nor the chairs and fire-irons which
are used by the surrounding combatants; and under the table fail not
to place your comic character; for instance, your priest. Upset mail
coaches, and make horses run away with their riders continually: and be
careful, having bribed some clever artist to prostitute his talents,
to have all these intellectually humorous scenes illustrated, in that
your readers may fully appreciate the only jokes they are likely to
understand. Put "an affair of honour" into about every other chapter;
and for the credit and renown of your country, you being an Irishman,
exhibit it as conducted with the most insensate levity. Indeed, in
furtherance of this object, depict your countrymen in general as a set
of irrational, unfeeling, crazy blockheads; only, not having sense
enough to be selfish, as lavish and prodigal in the extreme. Never mind
your plot, but string adventure upon adventure, without sequence or
connexion; just remembering to wind up with a marriage. For example,
your hero may shoot some old gentleman through the head--or hat--and
run away with his niece, an heiress. Whenever you are at a loss for
fun--that is, when you find it impracticable to tumble or knock one
another down--throw yourself on your brogue, and introduce--"Arrah!
now, honey, be aisy." "Long life to yer honour, sure, and didn't I?"
"Is it praties, ye mane?" "Sorrow a bit." "_Musha!_" "_Mavourneen!_"
and the like phrases (having the interjectional ones printed in
italics, that their point may be the more obvious), which you will find
excellent substitutes for wit. Your tale, thus prepared, take it to
some publisher, and let him serve it up monthly to the unintelligent
portion of the public with puff sauce.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Irish Manservant (who has been requested by a guest
  to procure him a bluebottle for fishing purposes--returning from his
  quest)._ "If ye plaze, sorr, would a green soda-water bottle be what
  ye're wantin'?"]

NEW AIR FOR ORANGE BANDS.--"Down, down, derry, down!"

       *       *       *       *       *

WHO were the original bogtrotters? The _Fen_ians.

       *       *       *       *       *

HIBERNIAN ORDER.--An Irish correspondent informs us that in Tipperary
tumult is the order of the day.

       *       *       *       *       *

ADVICE TO IRISH TENANTS.--Instead of taking "just a drain"--"Just take
to draining."

       *       *       *       *       *


MR. PUNCH, SIRR,--Why wouldn't you "fix" Irish _tinants_? Sure Irish
_landlords_ is in a divil of a fix already.

  Your constant reader, RORY O'MORE.

       *       *       *       *       *

A DISCLOSURE which can only be made in words certainly "tending to a
breach of the peace":--One Irishman disclosing his religion to another.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Tourist (who has just given Pat a drink from his
  flask)._ "That's a drop of good whiskey--eh, Pat?"

  _Pat._ "Faith, ye may well say that, sorr. Shure, it wint down my
  t'roat loike a torchlight procession!"]


  _Irish Doctor (who was a great believer in a little "playful
  badinage")._ "Oh dear! oh dear! an' what a tarrible depressin' soight
  ye've gone an' made ov yersilf! What is ut now, is ut a '_tableau
  v[e]evant_' ye're playin' at, or what?"

    [_Further attendance dispensed with._

  [Illustration: A FAILURE!

  _Irish Contributor (at a "check")._ "By the powers--'wish I hadn't
  bought this thype-writer-r--'t cann't spell a bit!"]

  [Illustration: _Editor of Libellous Rag (who has just received a
  terrific but well-deserved kick)._ "Dud you mane thot?"

  _Colonel McMurder._ "Yis, Oi _dud_, you thunderin' villain!"

  _Editor._ "Oh, very well, thot's all _roight_. Oi t'ought it moight av
  been wan o' thim prac-ta-cle jokes!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Emigrant (emerging from the steerage, feebly)._
  "Where's the sails? What is it makes the ship go along?"

  _Fellow Passenger._ "This ain't no sailing ship. This is a steam ship,
  this is. Fifteen thousand horse-power."

  _Irish Emigrant._ "Fifteen thousand horses! Think of that, now! And
  where's the _shtablin'_?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW FORM OF D.T.--_The Irish Curate_ (_to the New Vicar_). "That poor
man, sir, has always got a skeleton just in front of him that follows
him about wherever he goes!"

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM the _Cork Constitution_:--"The friends of a respectable young
widow want to get her housekeeping in a respectable widower's family;
understands her business." There seems a certain want of _finesse_ in
this latter statement.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE IRISH BULL IN INDIA.--For sale.--Eleven elephants, male and female,
priced low to effect speedy sale. Full particulars from Pat Doyle, No.
11, Brooking Street, Rangoon. _Note._--Four of the above have been
sold.--(From the _Rangoon Gazette_.)

       *       *       *       *       *

CONFUSION OF IDEAS.--The man who said that he was so particular about
his bacon that he never ventured on a rasher without first seeing the
pig which had supplied it, must have been an Irishman.

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Mr. O'Rorke (who has been quarrelling with a visitor)._
  "Now, remember, Jane, the next time you let that man in you're to shut
  the door in his face!"]

  [Illustration: _Policeman (examining broken window)._ "Begorra, but
  it's more sarious thin Oi thought it was. It's broke on _both sides_!"]

  [Illustration: "PRIMA FACIE."--_Magistrate._ "The evidence shows that
  you threw a stone at this man."

  _Mrs. O'Hooligan._ "Faith, then, the looks o' the baste shows better 'n
  that, yer honour. They shows I 'it 'im!"]

  [Illustration: _During hot weather. Sudden shower of rain.--Irish
  Visitor._ "Ah, now this _is_ welcome! An hour's rain like this will do
  more good in five minutes than a week of it!"]

  [Illustration: SCENE--_Cottage in West of Ireland during a rainstorm._

  _Tourist._ "Why don't you mend those big holes in the roof?"

  _Pat._ "Wud your honour have me go out an' mend it in all this rain?"

  _Tourist._ "No. But you could do it when it is fine."

  _Pat._ "Shure, your honour, there's no need to do it thin!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"NOT KILT, BUT SPACHELESS"--At Clonakilty Sessions the other day, the
following evidence was given:--

 "Patrick Feen was examined, and stated he resided at Dunnycove, parish
 of Ardfield.... Gave defendant's brother a blow of his open hand and
 knocked him down for fun, and out of friendship. (_Laughter._)"

What a good-natured, open-handed friend Mr. Patrick Feen must be! John
Hegarty, the person assaulted, corroborated the account, and added--

 "When he was knocked down, he stopped there. (_Laughter._)"

In fact, he "held the field," and "remained in possession of the
ground." Who will now say that the old humour is dying out in Erin?

       *       *       *       *       *

A CONSTANT DROPPING.--_Father Sullivan (watching Murphy of the
Blazers, who has again come to grief at a wall)._ Bedad, he'll soon
have quarried a gap in ivery wall in Galway. He goes no faster than
Donovan's hearse, and he falls over ivery obsthacle he encounthers.

_Father O'Grady._ Faith, ye're right there. Murphy cavat lapidem non vi
sed saypy cadendo!

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: "DE PROFUNDIS."--_Pat (after a sip)._ "An' which did ye
  put in first--the whisky or the wather?"

  _Domestic._ "The whisky, av coorse."

  _Pat._ "Ah thin maybe I'll be coming to 't bye-'n-bye!"]

  [Illustration: LUCID!--_Irish Sergeant (to squad at judging-distance
  drill)._ "Now, ye'll pay the greates of attintion to the man at eight
  hundred yr-rds: becase, if ye can't see 'm, ye'll be deceived in his

  [Illustration: HIBERNIAN VERACITY.--_Paterfamilias (with his family in
  Ireland)._ "Have you any West India pickles waiter?"

  _Paddy._ "We've not, sor."

  _Paterfamilias._ "No hot pickles of any description?"

  _Paddy._ "No; shure they're all cowld, sor."]


    _Old Poet_

  _Inquisitive Tourist._ "And how do you find the crops this year,

  _Murphy._ "How do I find the crops is it? Sure, your honour, 'tis by
  digging for 'em, any way!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

gold:--"Marry an heiress."

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: THE WRONGS OF IRELAND

  _Bloated Saxon._ "But surely, is it not the fact that of late years the
  number of absentees among the Irish landholders is not so large as----"

  _Irish Guest._ "Oi big y'r par-r-d'n, sor! 'Give ye me wor-rd 'f
  honour-r me unhappee countree _swa-ar-rms_ with 'm 't th' pris'nt

       *       *       *       *       *

ALL BLACKS ALL FORLORN.--_Irishman (on hearing of the high prices
offered for tickets for a big football match)._ Sure, thin, everybody
'll be after sellin' their tickets and it's nobody there at all there
'll be!

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Nurse._ "Bridget, come here and see a French baby born
  in Dublin."

  _Bridget._ "Poor little darlint! It's a great perplexity you'll be to
  yourself, I'm thinkin', when you begin shpeakin'!"]

  [Illustration: "RELAPSE."--_Squire._ "Why, Pat, what are you doing,
  standing by the wall of the public-house? I thought you were a

  _Pat._ "Yes, yer honnor. I'm just listenin' to them impenitent boys
  drinking inside!"]


Tony Gowan is advertised of having lost "a pig with a very long tail,
and a black spot on the tip of its snout that curls up behind."

A cow is described as "very difficult to milk, and of no use to anyone
but the owner, with one horn much longer than the other."

John Hawkins is alluded to as having "a pair of quick grey eyes, with
little or no whiskers, and a Roman nose, that has a great difficulty in
looking any one in the face."

Betsy Waterton is accused of having "absconded with a chest of drawers
and a cock and hen, and has red hair and a broken tooth, none of which
are her own."

The manager of the savings' bank at Dunferry, near Goofowran, is spoken
of in these terms: "He had on, when last seen, a pair of corduroy
trousers with a tremendous squint rather the worse for wear, besides
an affected lisp, which he endeavours to conceal with a pair of gold

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Mrs. O'Flannigan (to husband, who has had india-rubber
  heels to his boots)._ "Now you sound just like a policeman walking;
  for, bedad, I can't hear you at all, at all!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A burglar has his portrait taken in the following manner:--"He has
little or no hair, but black eyes on a turned-up nose, which is dyed
black to conceal its greyness."

       *       *       *       *       *

"THIS BOLDNESS BRINGS RELIEF."--_Massinger. Irish "Boy" (to benevolent
Old Gentleman)._ "Maybe yer honour'll give a poor boy something. Sure,
it's a dissolute orphin, and deaf and dumb, I am!"

_Absent-minded Old Gentleman (putting his hand in his pocket)._ "Poor

       *       *       *       *       *

A DUBLIN grocer advertises his butter thus:

  Best Danish      1_s._ 2_d._
  Best Creamery    1_s._ 3_d._
  No Better        1_s._ 4_d._

       *       *       *       *       *

MORE "REVENGE FOR THE UNION."--_Saxon Tourist (at Irish Railway
Station)._ "What time does the half-past eleven train start, Paddy?"

_Porter._ "At thrutty minutes to twilve--sharrup, sor!"

  [_Tourist retires up, discomfited._

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Mrs. Malone._ "Why, Pat, what's that ye've got? Is it
  Moriarty that's insulted ye?"

  _Pat._ "He has, begorrah! But he'll have to wait a week!"]


  _The Rector._ "Now, my good man, if you go up to the harvest field, I
  am sure you will get work."

  _Tramping Tim._ "Bedad, sor, it's not work I'm wantin', it's

       *       *       *       *       *

"LUCUS A NON," &c.--_Visitor._ "How long has your master been away?"

_Irish Footman._ "Well, sorr, if he'd come home yistherday, he'd a'
been gone a wake to-morrow but ev he doesn't return the day afther,
shure he'll a' been away a fortnight next Thorsday"!!

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: ECONOMY OF LABOUR

  _Young Softroe (who is trying to pick up bargains in polo ponies)._
  "Nice pony, but seems inclined to rest that foreleg, don't you know."

  _Irish Coper._ "And wasn't that phwat I was tellin' ye now! That's a
  little horse that's always got a leg to spare. Sure, isn't that the
  very wan he's restin' now against the time he'll be wantin' ut?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

_Zoological Specialist (gazing at solitary sea-lion in the Dublin
Zoo)._ Where's his mate?

_Irish Keeper._ He has no mate, sorr. We just fade him on fish.

       *       *       *       *       *

A POINT TO THE GOOD.--SCENE--_Immediately after a Point-to-Point
Race_--_Friend (to Rider of Winner)._ "By Jove, old chap, that was a
close race! Thought you were beaten just on the post."

_Rider_ (_Irish_). "Faith, me boy, that dimonstrates the advantage of a
big horse; for, if ye saw the tail of him a thrifle behind, shure the
other end of him was a wee bit in front?"

       *       *       *       *       *

CONFESSION IN CONFUSION.--_Priest._ "Now, tell me, Doolan, truthfully,
how often _do_ you go to chapel?"

_Pat._ "Will, now, shure, oi'll till yer riv'rince the trut'. Faix, I
go as often as I can avoid!"

       *       *       *       *       *

_School Inspector (anxious to explain the nature of a falsehood)._ Now,
supposing I brought you a canary, and told you it was blue, what would
that be?

_Student (with taste for natural history)._ Please, sir, a tomtit.

       *       *       *       *       *

IRISH ITEM.--There have been floods in Cork. Cork, as usual, kept
afloat notwithstanding.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: ALLOPATHY.--_Paddy (he has brought a prescription to the
  chemist, who is carefully weighing a very minute portion of calomel)._
  "Oi beg yer pardon, sor, but y'are mighty nare wid that mid'cine!
  And--(_coaxingly_)--I may tell ye--'tis for a poor motherliss child!!"]


  _Pat (to clerk)._ "Surr! I sint tin shillings to me brother through the
  post, an' he tills me"--(_fuming_)--"he niver got 't!!"

  _Clerk (calmly)._ "At what office did you get the order?"

  _Pat._ "Shure, thin, it was to yoursilf I gave the money, an' be jabers
  I've got yer receipt for 't!" (_Produces money order in a fury._) "Look
  at that, now!!"]

  [Illustration: INCORRIGIBLE!

  _Irish Attorney (to his clerk, who has taken the blue ribbon, and has
  been "celebrating the event")._ "I'll not stand it, surr! Wid yer
  plidges! Instid o' takin' plidges ye're always breakin', ye'd better
  make no promises at-all-at-all--and kape 'em!!"]

  [Illustration: THE WONDERS OF SCIENCE.--_The Principal (from the City,
  through the telephone, to the foreman at the "Works")._ "How do you get
  on, Pat?"

  _Irish Foreman (in great awe of the instrument)._ "Very well, sir. The
  goods is sent off."

  _The Principal (knowing Pat's failing)._ "What have you got to drink

  _Pat (startled)._ "Och! look at that now! It's me breath that done


      "Age cannot wither--nor custom stale
      His infinite variety"!

  _Paddy (to fellow-passenger)._ "Oi'm siventy years of age, and ivery
  wan o' my teeth as perfect as the day I was born, sor!"]

  [Illustration: _Mr. Moriarty._ "Look here, Ada, how much longer, for
  goodness sake, are ye goin' to be dressin' yourself?"

  _Voice from the heights._ "Only ten minutes, dear!"

  _Mr. Moriarty._ "Well, all I can say is, if I've got to wait here ten
  minutes, I'll--I'll be off this blessed moment!"]

  [Illustration: _Mick ("boots" at the Ballyragg Hotel, knocking at
  visitor's door at four a.m.)._ "Fwhat toime wud ye wish to be called
  this morrnun', sorr?"]



The season of spring gives us lamb and violets, salmon and patron
saints. St. David and St. Patrick are commemorated in March, St. George
only waits until April. (Of this last-named saint a very careful notice
has for some time been in preparation, to include six autobiographical
anecdotes of his boyish days, a selection from his unpublished
correspondence with his laundress, and an authentic portrait of his
chief antagonist--the Dragon.)

  [Illustration: SUNDAY AT THE ZOO.--"Excuse me, sorr; but can ye direct
  me to the goin' out intrance?"]

St. Patrick's Day! the heart leaps up with uncontrolled delight, and a
flood of popular airs comes rushing o'er the brain. What reminiscences
of by-gone days invade the territory of the mind! All the population
of Dublin, headed by the Lord-Lieutenant and Ulster King-at-Arms,
abroad at daybreak, looking for four-leaved shamrocks in the Ph[oe]nix
Park, and singing Moore's _Melodies_ in unison; an agreeable mixture
of whiskey and water provided in unlimited quantities in every market
town in Ireland, the expense of the water being defrayed out of
the Consolidated Fund; the Lord Mayor of Dublin presented with a new
shillelagh of polished oak, bound with brass, purchased by the united
contributions of every grown-up citizen bearing the name of Patrick;
the constabulary in new boots; a public dinner on the Blarney Stone,
and a fancy-dress ball on the Wicklow Mountains! These are but a
few of the marks of distinction showered on this memorable day by
Erin's grateful sons and daughters, who owe to St. Patrick two of the
greatest distinctions that ever befell them--freedom from serpents,
snakes, scorpions, efts, newts, tadpoles, chameleons, salamanders,
daddy-long-legs, and all other venomous reptiles, and instruction in
six lessons, in "the true art of mixing their liquor, an art," it has
been well observed, "which has never since been lost."

This leaning of the Saint to potheen is viewed, however, by one section
of the community with manifest displeasure--the Temperance and Teetotal
Societies--who remain indoors the whole of the day with the blinds
closely drawn down and straw in front of their houses, and employ paid
emissaries to distribute tracts amongst their excitable countrymen.

  [Illustration: _Irish porter (thrusting his head into a compartment as
  the train stops at small, dingy, ill-lit country station)._ "Is thur
  annybody there for here?"]

The notorious fact that St. Patrick lived to be considerably more
than a hundred, cut a wisdom tooth at ninety-eight, never had a day's
illness in his life, was possessed of funded property, and could see
to read without spectacles until within six weeks of his untimely end
(caused by a fall from a cherry tree), speaks libraries for the tonic
and salubrious qualities of that stimulating spirit, which has ever
since his day been known and highly appreciated under the name of
"L.L.," or Long Livers' Whiskey.

A curious custom is kept up by the Knights of the Order of St. Patrick
(founded by King Brian Boroo the Fourteenth) on the morning of this
day, the origin of which is lost among the wilds of Connemara. Before
it is light the Knights all go up in their robes and shamrocks, one
by one, into the belfry of the Cathedral, and toll the great bell one
hundred and twenty-three times, the exact number of years to which the
Saint, in forgetfulness of Sir George Cornwall Lewis and the Editor of
_Notes and Queries_, is said to have attained. They then parade the
principal streets of Dublin on piebald horses, preceded by a band of
music and the Law Officers of the Crown, and disperse at a moment's
notice, no one knows where.

  [Illustration: GRANDILOQUENCE.--_Captain of schooner._ "What 'a' you
  got there, Pat?"

  _Pat (who has been laying in some firewood and potatoes)._ "Timber and
  fruit, yer honour!!"]

St. Patrick's tastes were athletic. He had a wart on his forehead, and
a cousin in the militia; and displayed a profound acquaintance with the
laws of short whist, then in its infancy. He was an early riser, a deep
thinker, and a careless dresser, and foresaw, with an eagle glance, the
gradual development of the railway system, while his declining years
were soothed by the devoted attentions of some of the oldest families
in Ireland.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW BULLS _v._ OLD COWS.--At the Thames Police Court Mr. Benson
condemned the owner and vendor of a quantity of old Irish cow beef to
penalties for selling meat unfit for human consumption. This should be
a warning to all whom it may concern, that though new Irish bulls may
be introduced freely, and even be relished in this country, there is no
toleration for old Irish cows on this side St. George's Channel.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: _Irish Driver._ "Yes, yer 'onner, it's a nasty bit
  o'road, it is, an' it's likely ye are to 'ave a fall out, if ye aren't
  drivin' careful!"]

  [Illustration: "CIRCUMSTANTIAL."--_Counsel for the Prisoner._ "And you
  tell me, sir, you saw that blind, helpless fiddler kick the prosecutor
  on the head along with his other assailants?"

  _Witness._ "I did, surr! In the thick o' the shindy, I seen the ould
  vagabone a-feelin' round an' round that honest poor man down on the
  flewer till he'd found a vacancy, whin he ups wid his fut an' lits fly,
  the divil's own shoe-full clane into the centre ov't!!!"]

  [Illustration: "HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL----."--_Irish Landlord (in
  distressed district, who had paid compensation for not receiving his
  rents, and was sinking his capital in draining-works, and otherwise
  "disturbing" his tenants)._ "Well, Pat, I hope, with a good harvest, we
  shall get on without all this 'relief' next season----"

  _Pat (an optimist)._ "Och, plaze heaven, yer honour, we'll have another
  bad year yet!!"]

  [Illustration: WHEN YOU _ARE_ ABOUT IT.--_Magister Familias (parting
  with his butler)._ "Here is the letter, Flanagan. I can conscientiously
  say you are honest and attentive, but I should have to stretch a point
  if I were to say you are sober."

  _Mr. Flanagan._ "Thank you, sor. But when you _are_ afther strritchin'
  a point, sor, wouldn't you, plase, sthritch it a little further, and
  say I'm _aften_ sober!!"]

  [Illustration: LEVELLING UP.--_Subaltern (just arrived by rail)._ "How
  much to the barracks?" _Car-driver_. "Ah, shure, thin, captin, the
  manest ov 'em gives me t'ree and sixpence!"]

  [Illustration: "So this is your native place, Pat?"

  "Yes, your riverence--that is, _par-r-t of the toime_!"]

  [Illustration: "A PRIVATE VIEW."--_Pat._ "What d'ye think of the Home
  Rule Bill, Murphy?" _Murphy (puzzled)._ "Begorra, if it means staying
  at home with the ould woman every blessed day, home rule won't do for
  me at all, at all!"]


(_Perfectly Impossible Pulp_)


No doubt some of our readers have been, at one time or another, in
Ireland, especially those who were born there. It is hoped, however,
that the following notes may be of some value to those whose attention
has now for the first time been attracted to this country by the King's

Many, however, will remember that not very long ago Ireland was the
scene of perhaps the most bloodless and humane motor-car encounters of
modern times.

The inhabitants of the island (who consist of men, women, and children
of both sexes) are full of native character. They are generally fond of
animals, especially pigs and "bulls." These latter wear what is known
as a Celtic fringe on the forehead.

The principal exports are emigrants, M.P.s, shamrocks, Dublin
Fusiliers, Field Marshals, real lace, and cigars.

A full list of "Previous Royal Visits to Ireland and other Countries"
will be found in another column of some other paper.

  [Illustration: _Irish Chambermaid (indignantly, to gay Lothario who has
  tried to snatch a kiss and been foiled)._ "Ye dare! If it wasn't for
  soilin' me hands wid ye I'd kick ye downstairs!"]

Dublin is the capital of the country, and is pronounced very much like
the English word "doubling," with the final "g" omitted.

The tourist will find the language difficulty comparatively easy, as
English is now spoken in most of the large shops.

A few phrases, such as "Erin go bragh," "Begorra ye spalpeen," "Acushla
mavourneen," &c., are easily learnt, and the trouble involved is amply
repaid in the simple joy of the natives on hearing a foreigner speak
their own language.

  [Illustration: PROOF

  _Master._ "Pat, I must say you're very contradictory."

  _Pat (emphatically)._ "I am not, sorr!"]

English gold is accepted in Ireland, and the rate of exchange works
out at twenty shillings to the sovereign. Two sixpences will always be
accepted in lieu of a shilling.

N.B.--To avoid disappointment to naturalists and others we think it
right to mention that since the late raid of St. Patrick there are no
snakes of first-rate quality in Ireland.


  _Master._ "Well, Paddy, what sort of a bag?"

  _Paddy._ "Well, yer honour, countin' the rabbits, there is nine
  distinct spaycies o' birds!"]


[" ... the Court was in an uproar from the moment the magistrates
took their seats.... Counsel for the Crown was rudely interrupted by
the defendants ... much to the delight of the crowd.... After some
particularly riotous scenes the police were called on to clear the
court.... One of the defendants was supplied with meat and bread in

_Counsel for the Crown._ The prisoners are charged----

_A Defendant._ Charged a dale too much for their accommodation. Oi'd
loike a bit o' lunch to go on wid. Oi havn't aten a morsel since last

 [_Loud cries of "Shame on the polis for shtarvin' of um!" "Shtick up
 for yer roights, avick!" "To h----wid the magisthrates!"_

_Chairman of the Bench._ If these observations are repeated, I shall
clear the court.

_Second Defendant._ Arrah thin, clear yer own muddy brain first!

_Chairman (indignantly)._ Are these indecent interruptions to continue?

_Third Defendant._ 'Coorse they are.

  [Illustration: This is Mr. Denis O'Brien, who claims descent from the
  ancient kings of Ireland. But his pretensions just now do not soar
  above _half_ a crown.]

_First Defendant._ Oi tell ye O'im shtarvin for me lunch. Oi'll take a
sandwich and a shmall bottle o' porther.

 [_Refreshments brought in by order of the magistrates. Defendants
 indulge in a sort of "free-and-easy" picnic in the solicitors' well,
 after which they light dirty clay pipes. Crowd bursts into loud

_Counsel for the Crown (resuming)._ As I was saying, the defendants are
charged with intimidation in this neighbourhood, and so complete has
been their system that up to the present moment none of our witnesses
have dared to venture near the precincts of the court. We have,
however, now endeavoured to get them here by the aid of the police and
a small covered van. If we succeed in this----

_First Defendant._ Ye will not. Whativer decision these fat-headed
magistrates give, we shan't obey ut. Even if they acquitted us, _we
wouldn't walk out o' the coort_! Ould Oireland for iver!

 [_Vociferous cheering, in the midst of which the court was cleared,
 and the magistrates, under police protection, left for home._

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: "Sure, Terence, if yez go to the front, kape at the
  back, or ye'll be kilt, O' know ut!"

  "Faith, an' isn't that the way Oi get my livin'?"]

  [Illustration: _Father O'Flynn._ "And now, Pat Murphy, in this season
  of Lent, what is it ye'll do by way of penance?"

  _Pat Murphy._ "Sure, then, I'll--I'll come an' hear your riverance

  [Illustration: _The Vicar._ "I have not seen your husband at church
  lately, Mrs. Murphy."

  _Mrs. Murphy._ "Well, sir, I'm sorry to say as my old man is _enjoying_
  very bad 'ealth at present!"]

  [Illustration: THE WONDERS OF THE DEEP

  _Paddy._ "Be jabers! the forrst thoime I iver saw rid hirrins swimmin'
  about aloive before!"]

  [Illustration: DECIMALS ON DECK

  _Irish Mate._ "How manny iv ye down ther-re?!"

  _Voice from the Hold._ "Three, sor!"

  _Mate._ "Thin half iv ye come up here immadiately!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Maid._ "Do you want a good beating, Master
  Jimmy, or do you not? Because, if you don't behave yourself this
  minute--_you'll get both_!"]

  [Illustration: _Mistress._ "Poor darling little Topsy! I'm afraid she
  will never recover. Do you know, Bridget, I think the kindest thing
  would be to have her shot, and put her out of her misery!"

  _Bridget._ "'Deed, mam, I wouldn't do that. Sure she _might_ get better
  after all, an' then ye'd be sorry ye'd had her kill'd!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SAXON OPPRESSOR.--_Saxon Tourist._ "I suppose the English buy all
the pigs that you wish to sell?"

_Irish Peasant._ "They do. Bad luck to 'em, the toirants!"

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM SHANNON SHORE.--We extract the following momentous announcement
from the _Western Daily Press_:--

 "An Irish Member tells me that the motor craze is causing a revival of
 the Limerick lace trade. This particular kind of lace is, it is said,
 the best protection that a lady can have for her complexion when she
 is engaged in breaking the speech limit."

The information must be authentic, for there is no authority like an
Irish Member where the "speech limit" is concerned.

       *       *       *       *       *

AN IRISH BULL ON THE LINE.--"The directors of the Dublin, Wicklow
and Wexford Railway Company are prepared to receive tenders for the
purchase of about 750 tons of old steel rails and permanent way scrap.
The directors do not bind themselves to accept the _lowest_ or any
tender."--[Italics by _Mr. Punch_.]

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: FROM ERIN

  _Restaurant Waiter._ "Bill, sorr? Yes, sorr. It's foive-and-sixpence
  including the cigyar, and that makes six shillings, sorr!"]

  [Illustration: "A WORD AND A BLOW!"--_First Gent (Celt)._ "Ye met'm at
  me brother's, the mimber, I think?"

  _Second Gent (Saxon)._ "Yes, but I haven't any favourable impression of
  him--'n fact--um--he struck me as a liar."

  _First Gent._ "Did he, thin?! I hope ye hit'm back, surr!"]

  [Illustration: BOYS AT PLAY (AFTER AN EXECUTION).--_First Kilkenny
  "Boy."_ "Did ye see the cock-fightin' at Pat Daly's lasst night?"

  _Second Kilkenny "Boy."_ "I did not."

  _First Kilkenny "Boy."_ "Did ye see the 'boys' 'suffer-r,' this

  _Second Kilkenny "Boy" (listlessly)._ "I did not."

  _First Kilkenny "Boy."_ "Ah, thin, ye take no delight out o' yerself,
  at all, at all!"]

  [Illustration: _Dooley._ "What's the matter wid ye anyhow, Mick--all
  tattered an' torrun an' bitten an' scratched all over?"

  _Mick._ "Ay, an' me own dog done it! I want home sober last noight, an'
  the baste _didn't know me_!"]

  [Illustration: _Pat (who has been acting as guide, and has been
  pointing out the devil's this and the devil's that for the last two
  hours)._ "An' _that's_ the devil's puch-bowl, yer anner."

  _Tourist._ "The devil seems to own a good deal of property about here,

  _Pat._ "Ye're roight, yer anner. But, loike most av the other
  landlords, he spinds most av his toime in London!"]

  [Illustration: _Traveller._ "Get on, man; get on! Wake up your nag."

  _Driver._ "Shure, sorr, I haven't the heart to bate him."

  _Traveller._ "What's the matter with him? Is he sick?"

  _Driver._ "No, sor, he's not _sick_, but it's unlucky 'e is, sor,
  unlucky! You see, sor, every morning, afore I put 'im in the car, I
  tosses 'im whether '_e_ll have a feed of oats, or _I_'ll have a dhrink
  of whisky, _an' the poor baste has lost five mornings running_!"]

  [Illustration: A SAFE WIN (?)

  _Pat (in corner, to chaffing friend, who knows him to have backed
  beaten horse)_. "Goin' to lose, am Oi! Faith, an' Oi'm not! Shure,
  Oi've got a troifle on every blissed horse in the race!"]

  [Illustration: A PLEASANT PROSPECT.--_Traveller (in Ireland)._
  "Hi,--pull her up, man! Don't you see the mare is running away?"

  _Paddy._ "Hould tight, yer 'onor! For yer life don't touch the
  reins!--sure they're as rotten as pears! I'll turn her into the river
  at the bridge below here! Sure that'll stop her, the blagyard!"]

  [Illustration: _Irish Waiter (to bow-legged traveller in the
  coffee-room)._ "Big pardon, sor. Hadn't your honour better move a
  little further from the foire?"

_Traveller (fiercely)._ "Eh? Wha' for? Wha'd ye mean!?"

  _Irish Waiter._ "Och shure, sor, yer legs is warpin'!--Och! phew! most

  [Illustration: DOMESTIC TRAINING.--_District Visitor_. "Well, Mrs.
  Murphy, I'm glad to hear your daughter has got a place as parlour-maid.
  Do you think she'll be up to the work?"

  _Mrs. Murphy._ "Ah, thin, why wouldn't she? Sure, isn't she used to the
  ways at home?"]

  [Illustration: A LITERAL FACT.--_The Young Master (to new valet
  from the Emerald Isle)._ "I say, confound you, what have you been doing
  with my boots here?" (_The night had been rainy._)

  _Pat._ "Shure, sorr, you tould me lasst evening to putt 'm on the

  [Illustration: IRISH ARCHITECTURE.--_Angler (in Ireland)._ "Hullo, Pat,
  what are you about now?"

  _Pat._ "Shure, I'm raisin' me roof a bit, yer honour-r!!"]

  [Illustration: BLARNEY.--_Tall Yankee (just arrived)._ "Guess your
  legal fare is just sixpence----"

  _Dublin Carman._ "Sure, me lord, we take some chape jacks at that--but
  I wouldn't disgrace a gintleman av your lordship's quality be drivin'
  him at a mane pace t'rough the public sthreets--so I tuk upon myself to
  give your lordship a shillin'sworth both av stoyle an' whipcard!!"]

  [Illustration: WORD-PAINTING.--_Sportsman (who has just lost a good
  fish)._ "That was a good one, Tim."

  _Tim._ "'Doed then it was! He was as long as an umbrella, and had a
  side on him like a shop shutter!"]

  [Illustration: "GENERAL UTILITY."--(Scene--_Hotel Stables, North of
  Ireland_.) Captain. "Hullo, Pat! What the deuce are you doing to the
  old mare?"

  _Pat_. "Well, you see, Capt'in, our old black hearse horse went lame
  yesterday that was wanted for Squire Doherty's funeral, so I'm paintin'
  up the ould grey for the service. You see her body won't show, by
  rason o' the housin's, and I'll have to wash her clane ag'in for Miss
  McGinnety's weddin' on the morrow!!"]

  [Illustration: "EXCLUSIVE DEALING."--_Irish Landlord (boycotted)._
  "Pat, my man, I'm in no end of a hurry. Put the pony to, and drive me
  to the station, and I'll give ye half a sovereign!"

  _Pat (Nationalist, but needy)._ "Och shure, it's more than me loife is
  worth to be seen droiving _you_, yer honour. But"--_slily_--"if yer
  honour would jist droive _me_, maybe it's meself that moight venture

  [Illustration: GENERALLY APPLICABLE.--(Scene--_Irish Land Court_).
  _Sub-Commissioner._ "Now, Murphy, have you effected any improvement in
  this farm?"

  _Tenant._ "I have, yer honour! Iver since I got it I've been improvin'
  it. But, by jabers, it's that sort o' land, the more ye 'mprove 'it the
  worrse it gets!!"

    [_Court reduces the rent 25 per cent.!_ ]

  [Illustration: "A PLEASANT PROSPECT."--_Car-Driver (to new agent)._
  "Begorra, the wondher is he wasn't shot long before--but, shure, they
  say, what's iverybody's business is nobody's business!"]

  [Illustration: LIFE IN LEITRIM.--_Saxon Angler._ "Oh, but I can't try
  for a salmon. I haven't got a licence----"

  _Native._ "Is it a licence ye want to kill a fish? Shure ye might kill
  a man or two about here an' nobody'd say a word t' ye!"]

  [Illustration: _Gentleman (to Irish ostler, who has brought out their
  horses)._ "That's my horse."

  _Ostler._ "Yes, sorr, Oi know that; but Oi didn't know which of the two
  was the other gintleman's, sorr!"]

  [Illustration: "Bedad! I don't like him at all. He walks lame in his

  [Illustration: _Irish Jarvey._ "Let me dhrive yer honour to Duneen

  _English Tourist._ "I have seen that, Pat. I went there two years ago."

  _Irish Jarvey._ "Ah, yer honour, shure they 've added to the scenery
  since that toime!"]


  _Colonel O'Funk._ "I say, my man, what's on the other side of that

  _Pat._ "Nothing."

  _Colonel O'Funk._ "Then, will you take it down, and I'll clear it?"]

  [Illustration: ODD!--_The Colonel (stopping at Irish Inn)._ "Look here.
  What's the meaning of this?"

  _Boots._ "Bedad! An' I've got just such another quare pair down

  [Illustration: _The Rector (to Irish Plasterer)._ "That mortar must
  have been very bad." _Pat (with a grin)._ "Faix, ye cann't expict the
  likes o' good Roman cimint to stick to a Protestant church, sorr!!"]

  [Illustration: THE SIGHTS OF DUBLIN

  _Irish Car-Driver._ "Shure that's the Custom-House, sor; but it's only
  the rare av it you'll be seeing this side, sor--the front's behind!"]

  [Illustration: A FAIR OFFER

  _Athletic Barman._ "Now, if you don't take yourself off, I'll precious
  soon turn you out!"

  _Pat (with a yell)._ "Tur-r-rn me out! Is it tur-r-rn me out! Thin,
  bedad! ccome outside, an' tur-r-rn me out!!"]

  [Illustration: _Tourist._ "When does the next train start for Cork,

  _Irish Porter._ "She's just gone, sorr!"]

  [Illustration: THE NEW CHIMNEY

  _Mike._ "Faith, Tim, ye haven't got ut sthraight at all. It lanes over
  to the roight!"

  _Tim._ "Oh, ye're wrong. It's plumb ex-hact! It's myself that plumbed
  ut mosht careful. Indade, if ut has a fault, it lanes over an inch or
  tew to the left, when ye look at ut from behoind!!"]

  [Illustration: Irish "as she is spoke." (shows Notice saying "Persons
  Trespassing here without permission will be prosecuted")]

  [Illustration: DEGENERACY.--"Shure an your honour, it's things was
  mighty diffrunt in the ould days when the ginthry be's a cummin' to
  the parties! 'Tis as much as three pound I'd be takin' of a night! But
  _now_--why, divil a bit beyant a few coppers ever I sees at all! Mind
  you, this evenin' I puts a decoy half-crown on the plate myself, and
  bedad if they didn't take it ov me! But wait--I'll do them the next
  time--for begorra I'll have it glued to the plate!"]

  [Illustration: SEASONED.--_Lady Tourist._ "Are the sheets well aired?"

  _Irish Chambermaid._ "Troth, and they are, ma'am; for the sayson is
  three months begun, and they've been well used since!"]


    Young Patsy Molloy was as purty a boy
    As was ever of widdy the pride and the joy;
    And as for his ass, sorra crather could pass
    That beautiful baste, but for one fault, alas!
    When she felt she'd a load, you might kick and might goad,
    But divil a fut would she move on the road,
    Till you'd tickle her bones wid a handful of stones--
    And _that_ hint she'd take, the desateful ould toad!

           *       *       *       *       *

    The Widdy, half dead with could, looked in the shed,
    But sorra the peat could she find; so she said,
    "Sure I'm clane out of few'l, and the could is that crew'l;
    Take the baste for a load of Wallsends, Pat, my jew'l!"

  [Illustration: Pat with donkey cart talking to the Widdy]

           *       *       *       *       *

    Pat went, filled his cart, and for home made a start,
    But the baste wid her tantrums well-nigh bruk his heart
    For never a stip would she move, the ould rip!
    But she stood like a pig wid her legs wide apart.
    "Ochone! wirra-'sthrue! Arrah, what will I do?"
    Cried Pat, as he sat in a terrible stew.

  [Illustration: Pat with loaded donkey cart, donkey being stubborn]

    Then he called on the Saints, and he called on the d----
    (I won't say the word--sure it wouldn't be civil!)
    When, as good luck would be, by strowls Father Shee,
    And he says, "My son Patsy! my son Pat!" says he,
    '"Sich language is really shocking to me.
    Sure, what is the matther?" "The matther!" says Pat
    "Now, saving your prisence, by this and by that!
    The murthering brute will not budge--not a fut."

    Says the Priest, "Why not bate her?" Oh wasn't he cute!
    "Is it batin'?" says Pat. "By the Saint in my hat!
    'Tisn't batin' she cares for--bad luck to the slut!
    Ochone and ochone! if I'd only a stone----!"
    "A stone!" says the Priest--ah thin, wasn't he artful?--
    "A stone! Why, ye omadhaun, look at yer cartfull!"

  [Illustration: Pat with loaded donkey cart talking to Priest]

    "Thrue for you!" Pat sings out; "them's the jockeys'll do,"
    And clutching two handsful with joyous "Hurroo,"
    He let fly in haste at the back of his baste,
    That not likin' the taste, started off as if chased
    By the ould one himself, for a good rood or two.
    But Pat knew the thrick, and whenever she'd kick,
    Or stop in her canther, the coals would fall thick
    On her ribs and her back, till the road was asthrew
    Wid best Wallsends, and Patsy's poor baste black and blue!

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: Donkey galloping, cart now empty]

    Ten minutes, and cute Father Shee you'd have seen,
    Wid his shovel and crate, and his purty colleen.
    And he says, "Colleen dhas, sure 'tis wicked to pass
    The good things that's sent, though they're brought by an

  [Illustration: Colleen with shovel and Priest]

    D'ye see them black diamonds? It's elegant coal--
    Shovel up every lump, if you vally your soul!"

       *       *       *       *       *

    As for Pat and the widdy--I will not be guessing
    What _he_ got--but I'll go bail 't wasn't a blessing!

  [Illustration: Pat with donkey cart talking to the Widdy]

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration: INDUCTIVE.--_Officer._ "How's this, Murphy? The sergeant
  complains that you called him names!"

  _Private Murphy._ "Plaze, surr, I niver called him anny names at all.
  All I said was, 'Sergeant,' says I, 'some of us ought to be in a

  [Illustration: FROM ONE POINT OF VIEW.--Scene--_British Jury Room. All
  agreed on their verdict except Irish juryman (who holds out)._ "Ah,
  thin, iliv'n more obstinit' men I nivir met in all me loife!!"]

  [Illustration: AN IRISH INTRO-DUC-TION.--_Village Dame (addressing a
  brood of young ducks which she has just thrown into the pond for a
  first swim)._ "Ther' now, you be landed!"]

  [Illustration: OUR MILITARY MAN[OE]UVRES.--_Irish Drill-Sergeant
  (to squad of militiamen)._ "Pr's'nt 'rrms!"--(_Astonishing
  result._)--"Hiv'ns! what a 'prisint'! Jist stip out here now, an' look
  at yersilves!!"]

  [Illustration: IRISH ASSURANCE.--_The O'Mullygan (who has been assuring
  his life)._ "Hah! Another word, gintlemen! Oi hear a good deal about
  mercantile frauds and financial irrigularities, an' I've only this to
  say: if moy ixicutors have any bother in getting this paid, 'faith
  Oi'll ixterpate int-hirely the thin sitting board!--actuiry, sicretary,
  and ivery man jack iv ye! Make your mimorandum o' that, an' good day

  [Illustration: AN IRISH "SEQUITUR."--_Traveller (they had already
  walked a mile from the station)._ "Hi, I say, porter, do you call this
  'no way at all?' I thought Donnybrook Lodge was near the terminus."

  _Pat_. "Faix, I cannt say, sor, I was a follerin' o' you gintlemen!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


       *       *       *       *       *

THE ROOT OF IRISH EVIL.--It used to be said that the Irish people were
unwise on relying on the potato. Their reliance on 'taturs was foolish
enough, but still more foolish is their faith in agitators.

  [Illustration: END OF THE VOLUME, blown from saxophone by Mr Punch,
  observed by Toby]


       *       *       *       *       *

Transciber's Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.

Punctuation, particularly the use of " has been rationalised, other
variations in punctuation and spelling are as in the original.

Page 5 "##bulls" whisky, the beginning of the name is missing.

Page 88 "tableau v[e]evant". The letter between v and e is illegible.

Italics are shown thus _italic_.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Mr. Punch's Irish Humour" ***

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