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!"
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!"