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!"]
[Illustration: MISPLACED MERRIMENT
_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.
* * * * *
THE WAX-CHANDLERS' PARADISE.--Wicklow county.
* * * * *
[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
'apparance!!"]
[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."]
[Illustration: "IT IS SOMETIMES DANGEROUS TO INQUIRE"
_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."
* * * * *
[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
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!
* * * * *
[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
teetotaller!"
_Pat._ "Yes, yer honnor. I'm just listenin' to them impenitent boys
drinking inside!"]