Irish Waiter (to bow-legged traveller in the coffee-room). "Big pardon, sor. Hadn't your honour better move a little further from the foire?" Traveller (fiercely). "Eh? Wha' for? Wha'd ye mean!?" Irish Waiter. "Och shure, sor, yer legs is warpin'!—Och! phew! most turrible!"
Domestic Training.—District Visitor. "Well, Mrs. Murphy, I'm glad to hear your daughter has got a place as parlour-maid. Do you think she'll be up to the work?" Mrs. Murphy. "Ah, thin, why wouldn't she? Sure, isn't she used to the ways at home?"
