The daily morning journal and courier., 1903-05-09

give you the pleasure of receiving wag- es for the first time? Didn't I raise your wages from 10 shillings a week to 15, from 15 to 20? Yet I declare to God the more wages I give you the more cheerful you look"
 If you were to ask critics of any school what English author shows most of that divine combination of the guile lessness of childhood with the tender ness of wonlanhood and the strength and wisdom of manhood which we call 'chivalry'' would they not unani- n1ously name Oliver Goldsmith ?-the name which in all the literature of the eighteenth century smells sweetest and blossoms from the dust.Even in that poem which anger might well have in- spired-for no one received more fre- quent, stupid or brutal provocation from his friends than Goldsmith-even in Retaliation" where is the retalia- tion? His humor plays there upon the faults, follies and frailties of these friends like moonlight upon ruin, showing, indeed, gaps and rents and brooches of decay, but softening them even while it shows them. Indeed, IT, ishmen, from Farquhar to Goldsmith, have done a finer thing even than write the finest comedies in the English tongue-they have made us love as heartily as they have made us laugh at human nature.
 But popular Irish wit is as mordant as Irish literary wit is genial, for the rollicking Irish humor of carmen, boat o,aI -rf1sl ssa Ia force deliberately played to tickle and catch, as trout are caught by tickling, the English tourist. Here is a signifi- cant encounter a friend of mine over heard between a Dublin Vender of or anges and an English lady tourist, who had bargained down the fruit to the lowest farthing. As the English woman hurried away with her purchase the IT, ish woman volleyed after her shower of Irish. What are you saying?" ask ed the English lady, turning back. Sure I was wishing the grace of God to foley we're ladyship while ye live and the heavens to be we're bed when ye die" This, however, was a free trans lation of what she had really said in Irish: We're the manest anatomy of famine that ever was raked out of the embers of he'll"
 The humor of the Irish peasant who is not playing the fool to the order or taste of the tourist is always sardonic. Here, for example is the retort of a Cork peasant to mild joke of an Eng fish parson. The parson complained to my friend, with whom he was on a visit, that he had never heard-what he had so often heard of-the wit of the Irish peasant. But have you ever spoken to an Irish peasant?" ''No." Then jet us try the next man we met" The next man they met was leading a horse with white blaze on his face, which suggest ed to the parson the mild remark: What a white face your horse has got!" "Faix, then, it's yere own face 'ud be as white if it had been as long in the halter!" retorted the peasant in a tone which suggested that the wish was father to the thought.
 And I shall not soon forget the sar- donic remark with which Dub- lin beggar womanc cut down at one stroke my sister and myself-myself as huff, my sister as a virago-since she took us for husband and wife. Hav- ing begged vainly from my sister she slunk behind us and groaned as from the bottom of her heart: ''Ah, thin, God help the poor man that couldn't say No to ye!"-Pittsburgh Dispatch.