"I was going," said an Irishman, "over Westminster Bridge the other day,
and I met Pat Hewins--'Hewins,' says I, 'how are you?'--'Pretty well,' says
he, 'thank you, Donnelly.'--'Donnelly,' says I, 'that's not _my_ name.'--
'Faith, no more is mine Hewins,' says he. So we looked at each other again,
and sure it turned out to be neither of us--and where's the bull of _that_
now?"
* * * * *