"Is that a Catholic church, Dennis?"
"No, sor."
"A Protestant?"
"No, sor."
"What then?"
"A Church of England, sor."
While these people will generally enter whole-souled into jest or gibe they will not, it is said, do so with the English, and some of the encounters with the latter people are amusing in the extreme.
The other day on the top of a tram car, some Englishwomen were enlarging upon the not at all times cleanly inhabitants surrounding them. One remarked that they were all horrid and she should go to Wales where she would not meet any of "these dirty Irish." An old woman across the tram could no longer restrain herself, but rising in her wrath, confronted the Englishwoman with flashing eyes, and "I would not go to Wales ma'am wur I yez, for yez will find plinty of Irish there; but take my advice and go to Hell, ye'll find no Irish there."
A man, killed near Dublin not long since, had been shot through the forehead, death resulting instantly. The usual crowd gathered, amongst them an old woman, who for a moment intently regarded the poor fellow, dead as Pharoah, then, raising her hands and eyes, she ejaculated "Wusn't it a blessin' of God he wusn't shot in the eye!" What difference that could have made to him she disdained to explain.
The last resting place of Daniel O'Connell is in Prospect Cemetery, some four miles from Dublin. There Parnell also sleeps under the shadow of a simple iron cross.