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!"
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!"