SNIPPET: Per Joan Larson KELLY, in her little 1976 book, "Irish Wit and Wisdom," published in White Plains, NY, wrote: "The Irish are very special people, this any Irishman will winningly and willingly admit! Endowed with irrepressible charm, humor and a way with words, they have spread their matchless wit throughout the world to the delight of fellow Irishmen and the world at large. Or so I'm told by my Irish grandmother (who came directly from Co. Cork), my Irish husband and my wild Irish friends. Perhaps no country has spawned such a wealth of legends, stories and story tellers as Ireland. Indeed the Irish are masters of the art of story telling and joking. Irish people have the ability to look upon life as a show, and not a few of them see themselves as the star performer. Conversation is a game of wit Irishmen delight in playing. True wit is highly respected. Anyone, they believe, can be witty. The true test of wit is when the odds are against you. To be witty then assures you of immortality. The power of words, like wit, is greatly admired. If the words rhyme so much the better. Indeed poets of bygone days ranked above warriors in the courts of Gaelic kings. No Irishman seems to lack imagination. Coupled with a flair for the mystical it is no wonder that the country has produced, over the centuries, superb fairy tales. The truth of the matter is that the Irish have never really stopped believing in fairies. It is readily admitted that ghosts still haunt old castles and elegant homes. Irish ghosts, it seems, are fond of their comfort. Irish are the inventors and international distributors of blarney. Blarney seems to be distinctive with the Irish. Like other things Irish it is difficult to describe. But you'll doubtless recognize it when you hear it. The Irish are rather glorious additions to our drab planet. "Drink," said the Irish preacher, "is the greatest curse of the country. It makes you quarrel with your neighbors. It makes you shoot at your landlord, and it makes you miss him." "Do you have any mementos in your locket, Mrs. Murphy? "A lock of my husband's hair." "But he is still alive." "Yes, but his hair is all gone." Mrs. Donovan went into the confessional and was about to start when she noticed an unfamiliar face behind the shutter. "You're not Father Geary. What are you doing here?" "I'm the furniture polisher, Ma'am." "Well, where is Father Geary?" "I couldn't tell you, but if he's heard anything like the stories I've been listening to, he's gone for the police." The oldest inhabitant of Dublin was interviewed some years ago and asked if he had his life to live over again was there any major change he'd make. He thought about it. "Indeed there is. Indeed there is," he said. "And what would it be?" "Sure I'd part my hair in the middle, I would." After each drink Murphy took a frog from his pocket, put it on the bar and stared at it. Eventually the bartender asked him what he was up to. "You see," said Murphy. "So long as I can see one frog I'm sober. It's when I see two that I have to do something." "And what do you do?: "I pick up the two of them, put them in my pocket and go home." There are three kinds of men who can't understand women: young men, old men, and middle-aged men. A ragged colt often makes a fine horse. The far off hills are the greenest. Death is the poor man's doctor. If you want praise die, If you want blame marry. A ghost in the town of Macroom One night found a ghoul in his room; They argued all night, As to who had the right To frighten the wits out of whom. A dieting girleen named Flynn Reduced until she was thin. She's no more, I'm afraid For she sipped lemonade, And slipped through the straw and fell in. A neurotic in old Ballindine, Lay down on a railway line, But it was such a bore, For the Four-forty-four Didn't come 'til quarter past nine. Health and long life to you Land without rent to you A child every year to you And if you can't go to Heaven At least may you die in Ireland!