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In nearly every community, there is a local Irishman of prominence who has the welfare of his nationality at heart. In a small town in Michigan Patrick O'Brien officiated in this capacity. Widow Clancy, whose husband had been killed in a wreck on the Grand Trunk Railway, had a promising son Johnny who was given a position by the Grand Trunk in their round house. A circus came to town one day later in the season, and when it left, Johnny Clancy was missing.

At the close of the season about three months later, when Patrick O'Brien was down at the depot watching the trains come in, Johnny in a very dilapidated condition dropped off the blind baggage, and was immediately confronted by O'Brien who indignantly said:

"Well, well, well, here ye are back in town again looking loike a tramp; runned away with the circus, didn't ye, and lift yere pore old mither fer the neighbors to look after. Johnny, remimber one thing: 'A rolling stone gathers no moss.'

Next year bright and early Johnny with a recollection of his former experience hiked out for the circus, and this season having learned the ropes prospered. When he returned on the Limited train late in the fall, and swung off the rear end of the Pullman all dressed up, the first man to greet him was Patrick O'Brien who greeted him with:

"Well, well, well, if it isn't me old friend Johnny Clancy; it's a foine lad ye be, all dressed up, gold watch and chain, diamond pin, and it's a good boy ye've bin Johnny sinding yere poor mither money all the time. Well, Johnny, there's no use talkin', it's the rambling bee that gits the honey."-Geo. A. Blair.


Pat and Mike were at the zoo together gazing at the kangaroo. Pat, who could not read, said to Mike, who could:

"What's that?"

Mike laboriously spelled out, syllable by syllable:

"Kan-gar-oo, a native of Australia."

There followed a deathly silence and then Pat exclaimed: "My God, Mike, me sister married wan av thim.”—Nathan Straus, Jr.


An Irishman came home for supper and was looking around the house in an aimless way. Bridget said to him, "What are you looking for, Mike?" He said, "Oh, nothing." She said, "It's in the jug where the whisky was."-Henry Whiting.



"Aren't you going to have any more children, Pat? You began well, one a year for four years, now you haven't had any more for the last five years." "Begorra, I'm through," said Pat. "I saw in the papers that every fifth child born in New York is a Jew."-John Adams Thayer.


In a certain city populated by the Irish was organized a Chamber of Commerce, controlled by the Irish. A number of Jews moved into the city, and being business men, wanted to join the Chamber. The Irish held a caucus and decided to admit them.

In a little while the Irish felt they had made a mistake and concluded to get rid of the Jews. They held another caucus, and Pat said: "Leave it to me."

So at the close of the next meeting of the Chamber of Commerce Pat arose and moved that at the next meeting they have a feast and they serve nothing but pork at the feast. A Jew immediately arose and seconded the motion, and moved to amend it by adding that they serve the feast on Friday.-J. W. Prugh.


Some years ago, on a warm summer's morning, I was standing at the dock in Seattle, watching the departure for Tacoma of a small steamer called the Flyer.

Just as the boat pulled out I noticed a little man, hat and coat under his arm, running down the hill toward the dock. When he saw that he couldn't make the boat he pulled up suddenly, took a small pipe from his mouth, spat defiantly, scraped the perspiration with a hooked forefinger from his brow, and began to swear under his breath.

"Old man," said an amused bystander, "you didn't run fast enough."

"The hell I didn't," retorted the little man, "I ran fasht enough, but be th' saints, I didn't sthart soon enough!"Maurice Switzer.


Mrs. Murphy's husband had passed to the Great Beyond. Mrs. Clancy, a next door neighbor, came to view the remains. "Poor Mike," she said and then laid her hand on "poor Mike's" forehead. She stepped back in amazement. Hurrying out of the room she found Mrs. Murphy. "Poor Mike," said Mrs. Clancy, "do you know Mrs. Murphy, I just put me hand on Mike's forehead and it is warm." "Hot or cold," said Mrs. Murphy, "he leaves here in the morning."


Racial hostilities are not confined to Europe. Some years ago, according to the story told by Adam Bede, late congressman from Minnesota, there was a great deal of contest between the cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul in the matter of population. There has always been more or less rivalry between the twin cities, but back ten or fifteen years ago the feeling was particularly violent. They used to say that St. Paul was peopled exclusively by Irish, but I am of the opinion that there were not any more Irish there than enough to hold down all the political jobs. They also used to say that Minneapolis con

tained nothing but Swedes. This is probably not true either. At any event, shortly before the preparation of the 1910 census, the rivalry was very, very keen and one day an Irishman from St. Paul went over to Minneapolis and before he succeeded in leaving the city he had engaged in an altercation and killed a Swede. He returned safely to St. Paul, but his conscience smote him, and he went to the office of the City Marshal for the purpose of giving himself up to the police. As he entered the City Marshal's office, that official met him and our Irish friend said, "Marshal, I have come to give myself up. I have just killed a Swede over in Minneapolis." "Hell," said the Marshal, "you don't belong here. Go over to the City Treasurer's office and collect your bounty."-J. T. Madden.


A young Irishman, a good Catholic, came to this country and got a job at carpenter work at $5.00 per day. After being here a short time, he felt he ought to write to his mother in Ireland, and tell her about the wonders of the great country to which he had come, so he sat down and wrote something like this:

"Dear Mother-I want to write you a short letter about America. It is a wonderful country-a land of opportunitythe greatest place I ever saw. I like everything about it but the people and they are all such blame fools. Would you believe it! I had not been here two days until I got a job doing carpenter work at $5.00 per day, and what do you think they had me doing? They had me tearing down a Methodist church! If the blame fools knew it, I would do it for nothing."— John G. Emery, Grand Rapids, Mich.


An Irishman was riding a mule, when the mule began to kick, finally succeeding in getting his foot into the stirrup. Whereupon Mike said, "Begorra, if you are going to get on I am going to get off!"-Rev. Daniel Russell.

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