IRISH STORIES.
Fro THE EDITOR OF THE " SPECTATOR.1 SIR,—You may consider the following worth printing. An Irish peasant brought a litter of kittens to a Protestant vicar in a certain town in County Wicklow, requesting him to pur- chase them. The Vicar declined. "Your Rivrence, they are- good Protestant kittens," urged Paddy, but his Reverence re- mained obdurate. A few days after, the Roman Catholic- priest (who had meanwhile been informed of the offer to his brother-clergyman) was approached, and on his refusing to- make a purchase, the would-be seller urged a sale : "Sure Father dear, they are good Catholic kittens." "But how is
my man ?" replied the priest ; "you said a day or two ago they were good Protestant kittens." "And so they were," said the peasant, "but their eyes weren't opened."
Here is another I heard in Ireland recently. A quarrel had_ taken place at a fair, and a culprit was being sentenced for manslaughter. The doctor, however, had given evidence to show that the victim's skull was abnormally thin. The prisoner, on being asked if he had anything to say for him- self, replied : "No, yer Honour ; but I would ask, was that a skull for a man to go to a fair wid ?"
As instances of pure humour, these, however, do not surpass the story of the Scotch boatman who, while crossing a loch, was asked if he would take some water with his whisky, and replied : "Na, there was a horse drooned at the heed o' the loch twa years ago." The head of the loch was twenty-four miles
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