WEHMAN BROS.’

IRISH YARNS
WIT AND HUMOR

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IRISH YARNS
No. 2

ON JUDGMENT DAY.

A certain priest and a parishioner were visiting one night and judgment day was mentioned.

“What d’ye mean, ‘judgment’ day?” the man inquired.

“Judgment day,” replied the priest, “is the day when all who have died are brought up for judgment, when their sins are judged and the verdict—judgment—is pronounced.”

“Aha,” exclaimed the man. “And will the A. P. A.’s be there?”

“Yes, the A. P. A.’s will be there.”

“Will the Ancient Order of Hibernians be there?”

“They certainly will! Why?”

“Well, I’m thinking there’ll be mighty little ‘judging’ done the first few hours, thin!”

Pat—“That McGinty is a fine fellow.”

Mick—“Is he?”

Pat—“He is, indeed. Great friend of mine. Did you notice how heartily he shook hands with me?”

Mick—“I did.”

Pat—“Great friend of mine. He wasn’t satisfied with shaking one hand, but he grabbed hold of both.”

Mick—“I suppose he thought his watch and chain would be safer that way.”

EASY FOR PADDY.

At a political meeting an Irishman watched closely the trombone player in the band. Presently the man laid down his instrument and went out for a beer. Paddy investigated, and promptly pulled the horn to pieces. The player returned. “Who’s meddled mit my drombone?” he roared. “Oi did,” said Paddy. “Here ye’ve been for two hours tryin’ to pull it apart, an’ Oi did it in wan minute!”

Mike—“What a red nose that Sweeney has.”

“Whist, man; he spint a barrel of money to get it to the pink of perfection.”

It was in the wilds of Tipperary, and the local and long-suffering landlord had been ill-advised enough to ask for a bit of rent on account—the same being some few years overdue. Roused to fury at this unlooked-for and, in their eyes, outrageous demand, Mike and Pat decided to “wait for” the base and greedy tyrant. And they did—behind a hedge with a shot-gun. An hour passed. Their feet and their fingers were numbed with the cold, and, worse than that, the dhrop or half-bottle of the crathur was gone.

Said Pat to Mike, in a hoarse whisper: “Shure, an’ I hope nothing can have happened to the onfortunate gintleman!”

Not long ago a young Irishman was seeking work in western Illinois, and among those to whom he applied was a farmer near Cairo.

The farmer was attracted by the Celt’s frank, cheery manner, and, while he was not in need of help, he asked, after a pause:

“Can you cradle?”

“Cradle!” repeated the Irishman. “Sure, I can! But, sir,” he added persuasively, “couldn’t ye give me a job out of dures?”

Mrs. Murphy—“Oi hear yer brother-in-law, Pat Keegan, is pretty bad off.”

Mrs. Casey—“Shure, he’s good for a year yit.”

Mrs. Murphy—“As long as that?”

Mrs. Casey—“Yes; he’s had four different doctors, and each one uv thim gave him three months to live.”

A Dundee shopkeeper asked an Irishman who was standing at a street corner if he wanted a job.

“Yes, sor,” replied the Irishman.

“Well, now, what would you take to clear the snow away from my premises?”

“A shovel, sor!” was the sharp reply of the Irishman.

He got the job.

A SAVING, ANYWAY.

O’Brien—“So the landlord lowered the rint for yez. He’ll save money at that.”

Casey—“How so?”

O’Brien—“Shure, it’s less he’ll be losin’ when ye don’t pay it.”

MAKING GOOD USE OF HIM.

An Italian organ-grinder possessed a monkey which he “worked” through the summer months. When the cool days came his business fell off, and he discontinued his walks and melodies. An Irishman of his acquaintance offered him half a dollar a week for the privilege of keeping and feeding the little beast. The bargain was made for a month.

Great curiosity filled the mind of the Italian, and at last he went ostensibly to see his pet, but really to find out what possible use Pat could make of the monkey.

The Irishman was frank. “It’s loike this,” he said. “Oi put up a pole in the back yard, with the monkey on the top. Ten or twelve trains of cars loaded with coal go by here every evenin’. There’s men on every car. Every man takes a heave at the monk. Divil a wan has hit him, but Oi have sivin tons of coal.”

PRETTY LOUD.

An Irishman came to a doctor complaining that he had noises in his head.

“Oi have them all the time,” he said, “an’ sometimes Oi can hear thim fifty feet away.”

“Phwat koind av a room would yez loike to hov, sor? Oi can giv’ yez a back room in the front av th’ house, or a front room in th’ back av th’ house jist to suit yer inconvaynience; or Oi can giv’ yez number sixty-six or ninety-nine, jist to suit yer inconvaynience—No. 66 is th’ broidle chamber, but we kape th’ broidle out in th’ shtable.

“Oi can giv’ yez another lovely room in th’ middle av the front av th’ hotel, sor—it’s a lovely place; there do be carpet on th’ floor; air cushion sofys an’ bir-rds-eye maple chif’niers an’ runnin’ hot an’ cold wather passin’ th’ door, whoile th’ bath-tubs are always supplied wid gold fish; th’ room is loighted wid indecent lamps thot are supplied wid electricity, bur-rnin’ noight an’ day in th’ shtreet, an’ a tooth-brush in ivery room.”

“Say, Mr. Clerk, there’s a lady without!”

“Widout phwat; widout phwat?”

“Without here, in the hall, sir.”

“That’s all right; show her up in th’ parlor; Oi’ll be up in a minute.”

“Say, Mr. Clerk, there’s a man upstairs in room 78, says there’s bedbugs in his bed!”

“Phwat! Bedbugs in his bed? Go up and ask him if he wants humming bir-ds in his bed fer a dollar a day?”

“Say, Mr. Clerk, there’s a man upstairs in room 97 who says the rain came through the skylight last night and wet him to the skin.”

“Wet him to th’ skin; charge him 25 cents extra fer th’ bath. G’wan out av here!”

Caller—“Your master’s not at home, eh, Pat?”

Pat—“No, sor; he do be in the ould country these t’ree wakes, sor.”

Caller—“Excuse me, Pat, but how is it when your mistress is on this side of the water master’s on the other, and vice versa? Is there trouble between them?”

Pat—“None at all, sor; only they have agrade bechune ’em that they can live together better when they’re apart.”

The Prisoner—“There goes my hat. Shall I run after it?”

Officer Casey—“Phwat? Run away and never come back again? Not on your life. You stand here and I’ll run after your hat.”

PRECAUTION.

Mrs. Casey—“Me sister writes me that every bottle in the box we sent her was broken. Are you sure yez printed ‘This side up with care’ on it?”

Casey—“Oi am. An’ for fear they shouldn’t see it on the top Oi printed it on the bottom as well.”

DANGER!

An Irishman visiting a friend in the hospital began to take an interest in the other patients.

“What are you in here for?” he asked one.

“I’ve got tonsillitis, and I’ve got to have my tonsils cut out,” was the answer.

“And you?” he asked another.

“I’ve got blood poisoning in my arm, and they are going to cut it off,” was the reply.

“Heavens!” said Pat, in horror, “This ain’t no place for me. I’ve got a cold in my head.”

“Mike, did you ever catch frogs?” “Yes, sor.” “What did you bait with?” “Bate ’em with a shtick, sor.”

People that take all things literally are apt to tread on other people’s toes. The Irishman who walked in where he saw a sign, “Walk in,” and who was ordered out by the lawyer was a literal man, and so was the man that went into a pawnbroker’s shop and demanded ten dollars because there was a placard in the window that read,“Look at this watch for ten dollars.”

“I looked at it,” said he, “and now I want my ten dollars.”

The most amusing incident we have heard is that of the countryman who, while sauntering along a city street, saw a sign, “Please ring the bell for the janitor.”

After reflecting a few minutes he walked up and gave the bell such a pull that it nearly came out by the roots.

In a few minutes an angry-faced man opened the door.

“Are you the janitor?” asked the bell-puller.

“Yes; what do you want?”

“I saw that notice, so I rang the bell for you, and now I want to know why you can’t ring the bell yourself?”

An Irishman wanted to sell a dog, but the prospective buyer was suspicious, and finally decided not to buy. The man then told him why he was anxious to sell. “You see,” said he, “I bought the dog and thrained him myself. I got him so he’d bark all the time if a person stepped inside the gate, and I thought I was safe from burglars. Then me woife wanted me to thrain him to carry bundles—and I did. If you put anything into his mouth, the spalpeen’d keep it there till some one took it away. Well one night I woke up and heard some one in the next room. I got up and grabbed me gun. They were there, three of the blackguards and the dog.”

“Didn’t he bark,” interrupted the other.

“Sorra a bark,” was the reply, “he was too busy.”

“Busy,” asked the other, “what doing?”

“Carrying the lantern for the burglars,” answered the Irishman.

NO NEED TO TELL.

Casey (rolling up his sleeves)—“Did you tell Reilly Oi was a liar?”

Murphy—“Oi did not. Oi thought he knew it!”

Paddy Dolan bought a watch from the local jeweller with a guaranty to keep it in order for twelve months. About six months after, Paddy took it back because it had stopped.

“You seem to have had an accident with it,” said the jeweller.

“A small one, sure enough, sir. About two months ago I was feeding the pig and it fell into the trough.”

“But you should have brought it before.”

“Sure, your honor, I brought it as soon as I could. We only killed the pig yesterday.”

Kathleen had been put out to service, and her mistress liked the rosy face of the young girl. One day Kathleen was sent on an errand to town. She was longer than usual and her mistress stood on the porch as she came through the field. Kathleen was happy and her mistress observed:

“Why, Kathleen, what a rosy face you have to-day! You look as if the dew had kissed you.”

Kathleen dropped her eyes and murmured:

“Indeed, ma’am, but that wasn’t his name!”

An Irishman, who couldn’t read, went into a restaurant and sat down opposite a man who had a bill of fare in his hands, and concluded to order whatever the other man ordered in order not to betray his disordered learning.

Stranger—“I will have a plate of soup.”

Pat—“Give me th’ same.”

Stranger—“And some oysters.”

Pat—“Give me th’ same.”

The stranger ordered what he wanted, and Pat duplicated the order. Finally, the stranger told the waiter to order him a bootblack.

“Give me the same,” said Pat.

“Won’t one do for both of you?”

Pat answered—“No, one won’t; if he can’t eat one, I can!”

“Why did you leave your last place?” the housekeeper asked of the new would-be cook.

“To tell the truth, mum, I just couldn’t stand the way the master an’ the missus used to quarrel, mum.”

“Dear me! Do you mean to say that they actually used to quarrel?”

“Yis, mum, all the time. When it wasn’t me an’ him, it was me and her.”

A gentleman was put out of patience by some blunder of Paddy, his new groom.

“Look here!” he cried in his anger; “I won’t have things done in this way. Do you think I’m a fool?”

“I can’t say, sir,” answered Paddy; “I only came here yesterday.”

ONE OF THE SIGHTS.

A man was visiting Ireland for the first time. In Dublin one warm afternoon he put his handkerchief over his nose and said, in a choked voice, “What the deuce is that?”

“That?” said his Irish guide. “Why, that’s the river Liffey. Didn’t ye know, man, that the smell o’ the Liffey was one o’ the sights o’ Dublin?”

A little Irishman was being examined for admission to the army. He seemed all right in every way except one. The doctor said: “You’re a little stiff.”

Quickly his Irish blood mounted and he replied: “You’re a big stiff.”

NOT HIS NAME.

In Dublin a zealous policeman caught a cab driver in the act of driving recklessly. The officer stopped him and said:

“What’s yer name?”

“You’d better try to find out,” said the driver peevishly.

“Sure, and I will,” said the policeman as he went around to the side of the cab where the name ought to have been painted, but the letters had been rubbed off.

“Aha!” cried the officer. “Now ye’ll git yerself into worse disgrace than ever. Yer name seems to be oblitherated.”

“You’re wrong!” shouted the driver triumphantly. “’Tis O’Sullivan.”

NATURAL HISTORY.

They were looking at the kangaroo at the zoo when an Irishman said:

“Beg pardon, sor, phwat kind of a crature is that?”

“Oh,” said the gentleman, “that is a native of Australia.”

“Good hivins!” exclaimed Pat; “an’ me sister married wan e’ thim.”

A wizened little Irishman applied for a job loading a ship. At first they said he was too small, but he finally persuaded them to give him a trial. He seemed to be making good, until they gradually increased the size of his load until on the last trip he was carrying a 300-pound anvil under each arm. When he was half-way across the gangplank it broke and the Irishman fell in. With a great splashing and sputtering he came to the surface.

“T’row me a rope!” he shouted, and again sank. A second time he rose to the surface. “T’row me a rope. I say!” he shouted again. Once more he sank. A third time he rose struggling.

“Say!” he spluttered angrily, “if one uv you shpalpeens don’t hurry up an’ t’row me a rope I’m goin’ to drop one uv these damn t’ings!”

THE LAST OF THE CARRS.

Mrs. Nora Mulvaney met her old friend, Mrs. Bridget Carr, carrying in her arms her twelfth child.

“Arrah, now, Bridget,” said Nora, “an’ there ye are wid another little Carr in yer arms.”

“Another it is, Mrs. Mulvaney,” replied her friend, “an’ I’m hopin’ ’tis the caboose.”

Mike sat busily engaged in copying the names of the male population of the immediate vicinity. His good wife, noting the apparent industry of her lord, asked what he was doing.

“Begorra, an’ it’s wroitin’ the names o’ the min phwat Oi kin lick, so Oi am!” he exclaimed.

A few minutes later the woman put on her shawl and went to Pat O’Leary’s humble home, where she informed Pat that she saw his name on the list.

Without waiting to don his coat, O’Leary sallied forth in search of Mike, who was found still engaged at the list.

“Moike,” said Pat, in a tone that sounded like the thunders of heaven, “they say as how yez air makin’ a lisht o’ the felleys yez kin lick an’ thot me name’s on it.”

“An’ so ’tis,” retorted Mike.

“But, rist yer sowl,” exclaimed Pat, shaking his fist close to Mike’s proboscis, “yez can’t do it!”

“Thin I’ll scratch yer name off,” said Mike, feebly, and he continued adding to the list.

An old widdy woman went to the undertaker’s to order a coffin for her deceased husband.

“He was very, very good to me,” she said,“and I’ll have a coffin of the best yellow pine.”

“Yes, madam. That’ll be $14,” said the undertaker. “And what kind of trimmings will you have on the coffin?’ ’

“Trimmin’s!” cried the widdy woman. “And right well ye know, ye spalpeen, that I’ll have no trimmin’s at all, when it was the trimmin’s that the poor lad died of, bad luck to ’em!”

Mistress—“You don’t seem to know anything about finger-bowls, Norah. Did they not have them at the last place where you worked?”

Maid—“No, ma’am. They usually washed themselves before they came to the table.”

MISUNDERSTOOD.

Silas B. Quick (marooned in small Irish hotel)—“Say! What mails d’yew get here!”

Pat—“Breakfast, dinner and tay, yer honor.”

Casey’s wife is anxious to be a society woman and the Ancient Order of the Knights of the Golden Hod were going to give their annual riot—I mean ball—and as Casey is the chief hod—I mean knight—of course he had to be there and his wife wanted to shine—of course Casey’s a shine but—said she to Casey: “I’m going to have a new dress for the ball. I’m going to have the bias cut and flounced with crepe de chene and with Charlotte rucheing around the neck—and—”

“What are you going to have it made out of?” said Mr. Casey.

“So that it’ll be light I’ll have it made out of cheese-cloth,” answered Mrs. Casey.

“Cheese-cloth?” said Casey.

“Yis,” said Mrs. Casey—“cheese-cloth.”

“Begorry! If you’re going to have it made out of limburger-cheese cloth you’ll go alone,” said Mr. Casey.

Mrs. Grogan—“Wake oop, ye foghorn. Oi can’t shlape a wink on account av your shnorin’.”

Mr. Grogan—“Ye must thry an’ get used to it, the same as I hov. Oi niver notice it meself at all, at all.”

DIDN’T SOUND GOOD.

Softly the nurse smoothed the sufferer’s pillow. He had been admitted only that morning, and now he looked up pleadingly at the nurse that stood at his bedside.

“An’ phwat did ye say the docther’s name was, nurse, dear,” he asked.

“Dr. Kilpatrick,” was the reply. “He’s the senior house surgeon.”

“That settles it,” he muttered, firmly, “that docther won’t get a chanst to operate on me.”

“Why not?” asked the nurse in surprise. “He’s a very clever man.”

“Tha he may be,” the patient said. “But me name happens to be Patrick.”

Patrick worked for a notoriously stingy boss and lost no chance to let the fact be known. Once a waggish friend, wishing to twit him, remarked:

“Pat, I heard that your boss just gave you a brand-new suit of clothes.”

“No,” said Pat, “only par-rt of a suit.”

“What part?”

“The sleeves iv the vest!”

O’Brien died, and at the wake his friends got filled up with good whiskey. They finally took O’Brien’s body down to Kelly’s saloon and sat it in a chair at a table and drank his health. After several rounds they left the place, forgetting O’Brien’s body, which they left sitting at the table where they had placed it. Kelly wanted to close up, so he walked over to O’Brien and shook him, trying to wake him up. Failing in his efforts to arouse him, he became angry, and securing a club from behind the bar, smashed O’Brien over the head with it. O’Brien fell to the floor, and just at that moment his friends came back to get the corpse, having remembered him. They pretended to be horrified, and charged Kelly with having killed O’Brien with a club. “You’ve murdered him in cold blood,” said one of the gang. “You’re a liar,” said Kelly, “he pulled a razor on me first.”

OLD FRIENDS.

“I tell you,” said Pat, “the ould friends are the best, after all, and I can prove it.”

“How?”

“Where can you find a new friend that has stood by you as long as the ould ones have?”

An Irishman went to England in search of work, and when shown his room in the boarding-house the landlady remarked:

“There’s your bed, Pat, and there are two more to sleep with you, but they won’t be in till late, so don’t be alarmed.”

“They’re welcome,” replied Pat. Before retiring Pat locked his bedroom door and during the night he was awakened by great knocking.

“Whose there?” asked Pat.

“We are the lodgers. Open.”

“No room for ye,” replied Pat.

“How many of you are in the room?” they asked.

“Enough,” said Pat. “There’s meself, Paddy Murphy, a man that came over from Ireland, a man looking for work, a man with a wife and six children, an’ a Tipperary man, too.” By this time they had fled.

“Well,” said the doctor to Pat, “did that cure for deafness really help your brother?”

“Arrah, sure enough,” said Pat. “He hadn’t heard a sound for years, and the day after he took that medicine he heard from a friend in America.”

She was a sweet little thing with the most waspy of wasplike waists, and passers-by had nothing but admiration in their eyes for her.

But what was that? She had fainted. Tenderly they carried her into a drug store. An Irishman who had observed the occurrence, looked in after a few minutes, and inquired:

“How is she now?”

“Oh,” was the reply, “she’s coming to.”

“Ah,” murmured the son of Erin, “come in two—has she? Poor thing! Bedad, it’s just what I was afraid of.”

IN A HURRY.

A traveler finding that he had a couple of hours in Dublin, called a cab and told the driver to drive him around for two hours. At first all went well, but soon the driver began to whip up his horse so that they narrowly escaped several collisions.

“What’s the matter?” demanded the passenger. “Why are you driving so recklessly? I’m in no hurry.”

“Ah, g’wan wid yez,” retorted the cabby. “D’ye think thot I’m goin’ to put in me whole day drivin’ ye around for two hours? Gitap!”

As Paddy was jogging along one day with his ass and cart to market he was accosted by a man having a marked Lancashire accent, who, thinking it would be fun to have a joke at Paddy’s expense, said:

“How much would you charge for driving me all the way to Caherciveen?”

“Begorra, sir,” said Paddy, “I would be only too glad to drive you there, and a long, long piece farther, for nothing, but I am afraid I can’t oblige you this time, ’cos I don’t think the harness would fit you.”

An Englishman traveling in Kilkenny, came to a ford and hired a boat to take him across. The water being more agitated than agreeable to him, he asked the boatman if any person was ever lost in the passage?

“Niver,” replied Pat; “me brother was drowned here last week, but we found him the next day.”

“’Ow did yer git that black eye, Pat?”

“Oi slipped an’ fell on me back.”

“But yer face ain’t on yer back.”

“No—naythur was Flannigan.”