Rather Twangy

Three Irishmen, green as the Isle that per-duced 'em, but full of sin,

and fond of the crater, broke into a country store down in Maine, one

night last week, and after striking a light, they lit upon a large

demijohn, having the suspicious look of a whiskey holder. One held the

light, while another held up the demi to his mouth, and took a small

taster.



"Arrah, what a twang! An' it's what they call Shemak , I'm thinkin'!"

says the fellow, screwing his face into all manner of puckers.



"It's the very stuff, thin, for me, so hould the light, and I'll take a

swig at 'im," says Paddy number two. "Agh!" says he, putting down the

demijohn in haste, "it's rale bhrandy--agh-h!"



"Branthy? Thin it's meself as'll have a wee bit uv a swig at 'em," and

Paddy number three took hold, and down he rushed a good slew of it!



"Murther and turf! It's every divil ov us are pizened--o-o-och!

Murther-r-r!" and he raised such a hullaballoo, that the neighbors were

awakened. They came rushing in, and arrested Paddy number three. The

others fled, with their bellies full of washing fluid! The poor fellow

had drank nearly a pint; being possessed with a gutta percha stomach, he

stood the infliction without kicking the bucket, but he was bleached, in

two days--white as a bolt of cotton cloth!