A zealous excise officer was sent to Ireland to try to locate several “moonshine” stills which were known to exist.

Meeting a native the excise officer approached Pat, saying: 

“I’ll give you five shillings, Pat, if you can take me to a private still.”

“Troth, an’ I will sir,” was Pat’s reply, as he pocketed the money.  “Come with me.”

For many weary miles over mountain, bog, and moor they tramped, until they came into view of a barracks.  Pointing to a soldier seated on a step inside the square, Pat said: 

“There you are, sir, my brother Mike; he’s been a soldier for ten years, an’ he’s a private still.”

An English clergyman turned to a Scotchman and asked him:  “What would you be were you not a Scot?”

The Scotchman said:  “Why, an Englishman, of course!”

Then the clergyman turned to a gentleman from Ireland and asked him: 
“And what would you be were you not an Irishman?”

The man thought a moment and said:  “I’d be ashamed of meself!”

Two sailors, an Irishman and a Scotchman, could never agree, and the rest of the crew had become adepts in starting them on an argument.  One day “patron saints” was the subject, of which the Scotchman knew nothing and the Irishman just a little.

“Who was the patron saint of Ireland?” said Jock.

“Do you mean to say you don’t know?” said Pat.  “Why, the holy St. Patrick.”

“Well,” said Jock in deliberate tones, “hang your St. Patrick.”

In a towering rage the Irishman hesitated a second while he thought of something equally offensive, and then burst out with, “And hang your Harry Lauder!”

PAT—­“Yis, sorr, wur-rk is scarce, but Oi got a job last Sunday that brought me foive dollars.”

MR. GOODMAN—­“What! you broke the Sabbath?”

PAT (apologetically)—­“Well, sorr, ‘twas wan av us had t’ be broke.”

An Irishman employed in a large factory had taken a day off without permission and seemed likely to lose his job in consequence.  When asked by his foreman the next day why he had not turned up the day before, he replied: 

“I was so ill, sir, that I could not come to work to save me life.”

“How was it, then, Pat, that I saw you pass the factory on your bicycle during the morning?” asked the foreman.

Pat was slightly taken aback, then regaining his presence of mind, he replied: 

“Sure, sir, that must have been when I was going for the doctor.”

A college graduate was walking down the street one evening with a friend of Irish descent, and, pausing to look up at the starry sky, remarked with enthusiasm: 

“How bright Orion is tonight!”

“So that is O’Ryan, is it?” replied Pat.  “Well, thank the Lord, there’s one Irishman in heaven, anyhow!”

After Patsy Hogan had left Dublin for the country, and rented a cottage with a small backyard, he returned to town and purchased a monkey.  Not a word of his scheme would he disclose to his old cronies.