Chapter I

PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

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

MR. PUNCH'S
IRISH HUMOUR

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

MR. PUNCH'S IRISH
HUMOUR

IN PICTURE AND STORY

_WITH 154 ILLUSTRATIONS_

BY

CHARLES KEENE, PHIL MAY,
GEORGE DU MAURIER, L. RAVEN-HILL,
BERNARD PARTRIDGE,
G. D. ARMOUR, E. T. REED, H. M.
BROCK, TOM BROWNE, GUNNING
KING, AND OTHERS

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH

THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"

THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.

THE PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

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

LIFE IN LONDON
COUNTRY LIFE
IN THE HIGHLANDS
SCOTTISH HUMOUR
IRISH HUMOUR
COCKNEY HUMOUR
IN SOCIETY
AFTER DINNER STORIES
IN BOHEMIA
AT THE PLAY
MR. PUNCH AT HOME
ON THE CONTINONG
RAILWAY BOOK
AT THE SEASIDE
MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
IN THE HUNTING FIELD
MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
WITH ROD AND GUN
MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
BOOK OF SPORTS
GOLF STORIES
IN WIG AND GOWN
ON THE WARPATH
BOOK OF LOVE
WITH THE CHILDREN

MR. PUNCH AND PAT

(_By way of Introduction_)

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.

MR. PUNCH'S IRISH HUMOUR

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!"

* * * * *

FROM AN IRISH REPORTER IN A TROUBLED DISTRICT.--"The police patrolled the street all night, but for all that there was no disturbance."

* * * * *

ERIN GO BRAGH

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,

LINDLEY MURRAY WALKER

_The College, Torkington-on-the-Marsh_.

* * * * *

_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!"]

IRISH PROVERBS

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.

* * * * *

_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."

* * * * *

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

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

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

THE TALE OF A VOTE

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,

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!!"

* * * * *

* * * * *

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 "Bear.""

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

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!"

* * * * *

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

_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!"]

_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
thime?"!!

* * * * *

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 along?"

* * * * *

_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!"

* * * * *

AN IRISH "BRADSHAW"

(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.

* * * * *

_Captain._ "Well?"

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

"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_
]

_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!"]

PADDY TO HIS PIG

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.

* * * * *

AN IRISH NATIONAL SCHOOL-LESSON.--

_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.

* * * * *

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

[_Exeunt fighting._
]

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

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

_Saxon._ "And are you the eldest?"

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

_Voice from Telephone._ "Who for?"

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

_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
in!"]

_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!"]

"'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
you!"]

RULES FOR HOME-RULERS

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.

* * * * *

_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
baste!"]

* * * * *

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.

* * * * *

* * * * *

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!"

* * * * *

_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!"]

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

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

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

PRESIDENT PAT

(_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.

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

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 roof.

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 language.

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.

* * * * *

_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.

* * * * *

HIBERNIAN ARITHMETIC

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!"

* * * * *

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

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

uvre is gone through at every ascent._)

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

_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?!!"]

_Merchant._ "We do, surr."

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

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

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

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

HOW TO MAKE AN IRISH STORY

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.

* * * * *

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."

* * * * *

AN IRISH REASON FOR FIXITY OF TENURE.

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.

* * * * *

_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._
]

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

_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!"]

_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.

* * * * *

THE WAX-CHANDLERS' PARADISE.--Wicklow county.

* * * * *

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

_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!

* * * * *

_Domestic._ "The whisky, av coorse."

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

_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?"

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

* * * * *

MINERALOGICAL DISCOVERY BY AN IRISHMAN.--How to turn brass into gold:--"Marry an heiress."

* * * * *

_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
t-hime!!"]

* * * * *

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!

* * * * *

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

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

EXTRACTS FROM THE IRISH HUE AND CRY

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 spectacles."

* * * * *

* * * * *

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 fellow!"

* * * * *

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._

* * * * *

_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
nourishment."]

* * * * *

"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"!!

* * * * *

_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.

* * * * *

_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!!"]

_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!!"]

_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
there?"

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

"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!"]

_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!"]

PUNCH'S FOLK-LORE

ST. PATRICK'S DAY

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.)

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.

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.

_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.

* * * * *

_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!!!"]

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

_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!!"]

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

P.I.P.

(_Perfectly Impossible Pulp_)

THE ROYAL VISIT TO IRELAND

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 visit.

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.

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.

_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 FINEST PLEASANTRY IN THE WORLD"

[" ... 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 court."--_Globe._]

_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 time.

[_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.

_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 cheers._

_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._

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_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_.]

* * * * *

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

_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!"]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_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_!"]

_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!"]

_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!"]

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

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

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

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

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

_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!!"]

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

_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!!"]

_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
it!"]

_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.!_ ]
]

_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!"]

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

_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
rail?"

_Pat._ "Nothing."

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

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

_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!"]

_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!!"]

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

_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!!"]

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

HOW FATHER O'SHEE LAID IN HIS CHRISTMAS COALS

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!"

* * * * *

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.

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!"

"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!

* * * * *

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
ass.

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!

* * * * *

_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
menagerie!!'"]

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!!"]

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

* * * * *

THE WIND TO PLEASE THE PIGS.--Sow-sow west.

* * * * *

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.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

* * * * *

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 Project Gutenberg's Mr. Punch's Irish Humour, by Charles Keene, Various