An Irishman walked into a men's furnishing goods store the other day and said:
"Oi want to get somethin' fer mournin' wear, but Oi don't know exactly what the coostom is. What do they be wearin' now fer mournin'?"
"It depends," explained the salesman, "on how near the relative is for whom you wish to show this mark of respect. For a very near relative, you should have an all black suit. For some one not so near you may have a broad band of black on the left arm or a somewhat narrower one for somebody more distant."
"Och! is that it? Well, thin, gimme a shoe string. It's me woife's mither."
SQUARING THE ACCOUNT
A practical joker of New York City tells this story upon himself, and declares that the experience cured him of his bad habit:
On my arrival at San Francisco, as a joke I sent to a friend of mine at home, well known for his aversion to spending money, a telegram, with charges to collect, reading, "I am perfectly well."
The information evidently was gratifying to him, for about a week after sending the telegram an express package was delivered at my room, on which I paid four dollars for charges. Upon opening the package I found a large New York street paving block, on which was pasted a card, which read, "This is the weight your recent telegram lifted from my heart."
THE IRISH BULL
Two Celts who had been backsliding in their religious duties, had taken the pledge and were trying to summon sufficient courage to attend church. Each disliked the idea of going because of the gossip it would create, so they agreed to be present at the same service on the principle that misery loves company.