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 Shemaky, 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! Passing Around the Fodder! A DINNER SKETCH. A few weeks ago, during a passage from Gotham to Boston, on the "_Empire State_," one of the most elegant and swift steamers that ever man's ingenuity put upon the waters, I met a well-known joker from the Quaker city, on his first trip "down East." After mutually examining and eulogising the external appearance and internal arrangements of the "Empire," winding up our investigation, of course, with a _look_ into a small corner cupboard in the barber's office, where a superb _smile_--as _is_ a smile--can be usually enjoyed by the _nobbish_ investment of a York shilling; soon after passing through "Hell Gate"--gliding by the beautiful villas, chateaux, and almost princely palaces of the business men of the great city of New York, we were soon out upon the broad, deep Sound, a glorious place for steam-boating. Soon after, the bells announced "supper ready"--a general stampede into the spacious cabin took place, and though the tables strung along forty rods on each side of the great cabin, not over half the crowd got seats upon this interesting occasion. I was _about_ with my friend--in _time_, stuck our legs under the mahogany, and gazed upon the open prospect for a supper superb enough in all its details to tempt a jolly old friar from his devotions. We got along very nicely. An old chap who sat above us some seats, and whose rotund developments gave any ordinary observer reason to suppose his appetite as unquenchable as the Maelstrom, kept reaching about, and when tempting vessels were too remote, he'd bawl "right eout" for them.