“It was now that I began to notish a kind of coolness between my party and the bride’s, and for some time I didn’t know what to make of it - I wasn’t long so, however; for my uncle, who still had his eye about him, comes over to me, and says, ‘Shane, I doubt there will be bad work amongst these people, particularly betwixt the Dorans and the Flannagans - the truth is, that the old business of the law-shoot will break out, except they’re kept from drink, take my word for it, there will be blood spilled. The running for the bottle will be a good excuse,’ says he, ‘so I think we had better move home before they go too far in the drink.’
 “Well, any way, there was truth in this; so, accordingly, the reckoning was ped, and, as this was the thrate of the weddiners to the bride and bridegroom, every one of the men clubbed his share, but neither I nor the girls anything. Ha - ha - ha! Am I alive at all? I never - ha - ha - ha - ! - I never laughed so much in one day as I did in that, today I can’t help laughing at it yet. Well, well! when we all got on the top of our horses, and sich other iligant cattle as we had - the crowning of a king was nothing to it. We were now purty well I thank you, as to liquor; and, as the knot was tied, and all safe, there was no end to our good spirits; so, when we took the road, the men were in high blood, particularly Billy Cormick, the tailor, who had a pair of long cavalry spurs upon him, that he was scarcely able to walk in - and he not more nor four feet high. The women, too, were in blood, having faces upon them, with the hate of the day and the liquor, as full as trumpeters.
 “There was now a great jealousy among thim that were bint for winning the bottle; and when one horseman would cross another, striving to have the whip hand of him when they’d set off, why you see, his horse would get a cut of the whip itself for his pains. My uncle and I, however, did all we could to pacify them; and their own bad horsemanship, and the screeching of the women, prevented any strokes at that time. Some of them were ripping up ould sores against one another as they went along; others, particularly the youngsters, with their sweethearts behind them, coorting away for the life of them, and some might be heard miles off, singing and laughing; and you may be sure the fiddler behind my uncle wasn’t idle, no more nor another. In this way we dashed on gloriously, till we came in sight of the Dumb-hill, where we were to start for the bottle. And now you might see the men themselves on their saddles, sacks and suggans; and the women tying kerchiefs and shawls about their caps and bonnets, to keep them from flying off, and then gripping their fore-riders hard and fast by the bosoms. When we got to the Dumb-hill, there were five or six fellows that didn’t come with us to the priest’s, but met us with cudgels in their hands, to prevent any of them from starting before the others, and to show fair play. “Well, when they were all in a lump, - horses, mules, raheries, and asses - some, as I said, with saddles, some with none; and all jist as I tould you before; - the word was given and off they scoured, myself along with the rest; and divil be off me, if ever I saw such another sight but itself before or since. Off they skelped through thick and thin, in a cloud of dust like a mist about us; but it was a mercy that the life wasn’t trampled out of some of us; for before we had gone fifty perches, the one-third of them were sprawling a-top of one another on the road. As for the women, they went down right and left - sometimes bringing the horsemen with them; and many of the boys getting black eyes and bloody noses on the stones. Some of them, being half blind with the motion of the whiskey, turned off the wrong way, and galloped on, thinking they had completely distanced the crowd; and it wasn’t until they cooled a bit that they found out their mistake.
 “But the best sport of all was, when they came to the Lazy Corner, just at Jack Gallagher’s flush, [27] where the water came out a good way acrass the road; being in such a flight, they either forgot or didn’t know how to turn the angle properly, and plash went above thirty of them, coming down right on the top of one another, souse in the pool. By this time there was about a dozen of the best horsemen a good distance before the rest, cutting one another up for the bottle: among these were the Dorans and Flanagans; but they, you see, wisely enough, dropped their women at the beginning, and only rode single. I myself didn’t mind the bottle, but kept close to Mary, for fraid that among sich a divil’s pack of half-mad fellows, anything might happen her. At any rate, I was next the first batch: but where do you think the tailor was all this time? Why away off like lightning, miles before them - flying like a swallow: and how he kept his sate so long has puzzled me from that day to this; but, any how, truth’s best - there he was topping the hill ever so far before them. After all, the unlucky crathur nearly missed the bottle; for when he turned to the bride’s house, instead of pulling up as he ought to do - why, to show his horsemanship to the crowd that was out looking at them, he should begin to cut up the horse right and left, until he made him take the garden ditch in full flight, landing him among the cabbages. About four yards or five from the spot where the horse lodged himself was a well, and a purty deep one, by my word; but not a sowl present could tell what become of the tailor, until Owen Smith chanced to look into the well, and saw his long spurs just above the water; so he was pulled up in a purty pickle, not worth the washing; but what did he care? although he had a small body, the sorra one of him but had a sowl big enough for Golias or Sampson the Great.
 “As soon as he got his eyes clear, right or wrong, he insisted on getting the bottle: but he was late, poor fellow, for before he got out of the garden, two of them comes up - Paddy Doran and Peter Flanagan - cutting one another to pieces, and not the length of your nail between them. Well, well, that was a terrible day, sure enough. In the twinkling of an eye they were both off the horses, the blood streaming from their bare heads, struggling to take the bottle from my father, who didn’t know which of them to give it to. He knew if he’d hand it to one, the other would take offince, and then he was in a great puzzle, striving to raison with them; but long Paddy Doran caught it while he was spaking to Flanagan, and the next instant Flanagan measured him with a heavy loaded whip, and left, him stretched upon the stones. - And now the work began: for by this time the friends of both parties came up and joined them. Such knocking down, such roaring among the men, and screeching and clapping of hands and wiping of heads among the women, when a brother, or a son, or a husband would get his gruel! Indeed, out of a fair, I never saw anything to come up to it. But during all this work, the busiest man among the whole set was the tailor, and what was worst of all for the poor creature, he should single himself out against both parties, bekase you see he thought they were cutting him out of his right to the bottle.
 “They had now broken up the garden gate for weapons, all except one of the posts, and fought into the garden; when nothing should sarve Billy, but to take up the large heavy post, as if he could destroy the whole faction on each side. Accordingly he came up to big Matthew Flanagan, and was rising it just as if he’d fell him, when Matt, catching him by the nape of the neck, and the waistband of the breeches, went over very quietly, and dropped him a second time, heels up, into the well; where he might have been yet, only for my mother-in-law, who dragged him out with a great deal to do: for the well was too narrow to give him room to turn.
 “As for myself and all my friends, as it happened to be my own wedding, and at our own place, we couldn’t take part with either of them; but we endeavored all in our power to red [28] them, and a tough task we had of it, until we saw a pair of whips going hard and fast among them, belonging to Father Corrigan and Father James, his curate. Well, its wonderful how soon a priest can clear up a quarrel! In five minutes there wasn’t a hand up - instead of that they were ready to run into mice-holes: -“‘What, you murderers,’ says his Reverence, ‘are you bint to have each other’s blood upon your heads; ye vile infidels, ye cursed unchristian Anthemtarians? [29] are ye going to get yourself hanged like sheep-stalers? down with your sticks, I command you: do you know - will you give yourselves time to see who’s spaking to you - you bloodthirsty set of Episcopalians? I command you, in the name of the Catholic Church and the Blessed Virgin Mary, to stop this instant, if you don’t wish me,’ says he, ‘to turn you into stocks and stones where you stand, and make world’s wonders of you as long as you live. - Doran, if you rise your hand more, I’ll strike it dead on your body, and to your mouth you’ll never carry it while you have breath in your carcass,’ says he. - ‘Clear off, you Flanagans, you butchers you - or by St. Domnick I’ll turn the heads round upon your bodies, in the twinkling of an eye, so that you’ll not be able to look a quiet Christian in the face again. Pretty respect you have for the decent couple at whose house you have kicked up such a hubbub. Is this the way people are to be deprived of their dinners on your accounts, you fungaleering thieves!’
 “‘Why then, plase your Riverence, by the - hem - I say Father Corrigan, it wasn’t my fault, but that villain Flanagan’s, for he knows I fairly won the bottle - and would have distanced him, only that when I was far before him, the vagabone, he galloped across me on the way, thinking to thrip up the horse.’
 “‘You lying scoundrel,’ says the priest, ‘how dare you tell me a falsity,’ says he, ‘to my face? how could he gallop acrass you if you were far before him? Not a word more, or I’ll leave you without a mouth to your face, which will be a double share of provision and bacon saved any way. And, Flanagan, you were as much to blame as he, and must be chastised for your raggamuffianly conduct,’ says he, ‘and so must you both, and all your party, particularly you and be, as the ringleaders. Right well I know it’s the grudge upon the lawsuit you had and not the bottle, that occasioned it: but by St. Peter, to Loughderg both of you must tramp for this.’
 “‘Ay, and by St. Pether, they both desarve it as well as a thief does the gallows,’ said a little blustering voice belonging to the tailor, who came forward in a terrible passion, looking for all the world like a drowned rat. ‘Ho, by St. Pether, they do, the vagabones; for it was myself that won the bottle, your Reverence; and by this and by that,’ says he, ‘the bottle I’ll have, or some of their crowns, will crack for it: blood or whiskey I’ll have, your Reverence, and I hope that you’ll assist me. ‘Why, Billy, are you here?’ says Father Corrigan, smiling down upon the figure the little fellow cut, with his long spurs and his big whip; ‘what in the world tempted you to get on horseback, Billy?’
 “‘By the powers, I was miles before them,’ says Billy; ‘and after this day, your Reverence, let no man say that I couldn’t ride a steeplechase across Crocknagooran.’
 “‘Why, Billy, how did you stick on at all, at all?’ says his Reverence.“‘How do I know how I stuck on?’ says Billy, ‘nor whether I stuck on at all or not; all I know is, that I was on horseback leaving the Dumb-hill, and that I found them pulling me by the heels out of the well in the corner of the garden - and that, your Reverence, when the first was only topping the hill there below, as Lanty Magowran tells me who was looking on.’ ‘Well, Billy,’ says Father Corrigan, ‘you must get the bottle; and as for you Dorans and Flanagans, I’ll make examples of you for this day’s work - that you may reckon on. You are a disgrace to the parish, and, what’s more, a disgrace to your priest. How can luck or grace attind the marriage of any young couple that there’s such work at? Before you leave this, you must all shake hands, and promise never to quarrel with each other while grass grows or water runs; and if you don’t, by the blessed St. Domnick, I’ll exkimnicate [30] and all belonging to you into the bargain; so that ye’ll be the pitiful examples and shows to all that look upon you.’
“‘Well, well, your Reverence,’ says my father-in-law, ‘let all by-gones be by-gones; and please God, they will, before they go, be better friends than ever they were. Go now an’ clane yourselves, take the blood from about your faces, for the dinner’s ready an hour agone; but if you all respect the place you’re in, you’ll show it, in regard of the young crathurs that’s going, in the name of God, to face the world together, and of coorse wishes that this day at laste should pass in pace and quietness: little did I think there was any friend or neighbor here that would make so little of the place or people, as was done for nothing at all, in the face of the country.’
 “‘God he sees,’ says my mother-in-law, ‘that there’s them here this day we didn’t desarve this from, to rise such a norration, as if the house was a shebeen or a public-house! It’s myself didn’t think either me or my poor coolleen here, not to mention the dacent people she’s joined to, would be made so little of, as to have our place turned into a play-acthur - for a play-acthur couldn’t be worse.’
 “‘Well,’ says my uncle, ‘there’s no help for spilt milk, I tell you, nor for spilt blood either; tare-an-ounty, sure we’re all Irishmen, relations, and Catholics through other, and we oughtn’t to be this way. Come away to the dinner - by the powers, we’ll duck the first man that says a loud word for the remainder of the day. Come, Father Corrigan, and carve the goose, or the geese, for us - for, by my sannies, I bleeve there’s a baker’s dozen of them; but we’ve plenty of Latin for them, and your Reverence and Father James here understands that langidge, any how - larned enough there, I think, gintlemen.’
 “‘That’s right, Brian,’ shouts the tailor - ‘that’s right; there must be no fighting: by the powers, the first man attempts it, I’ll brain him - fell him to the earth like an ox, if all belonging to him was in my way.’
 “This threat from the tailor went farther, I think, in putting them into good humour nor even what the priest said. They then washed and claned themselves, and accordingly went to their dinners. - Billy himself marched with his terrible whip in his hand, and his long cavalry spurs sticking near ten inches behind him, draggled to the tail like a bantling cock after a shower. But, maybe, there was more draggled tails and bloody noses nor poor Billy’s, or even nor was occasioned by the fight; for after Father Corrigan had come, several of them dodged up, some with broken shins and heads and wet clothes, that they’d got on the way by the mischances of the race, particularly at the Flush. But I don’t know how it was; somehow the people in them days didn’t value these things a straw. They were far hardier then nor they are now, and never went to law at all at all. Why, I’ve often known skulls to be broken, and the people to die afterwards, and there would be nothing more about it, except to brake another skull or two for it; but neither crowner’s quest, nor judge, nor jury, was ever troubled at all about it. And so sign’s on it, people were then innocent, and not up to law and counsellors as they are now. If a person happened to be killed in a fight at a fair or market, why he had only to appear after his death to one of his friends, and get a number of masses offered up for his sowl, and all was right; but now the times are clane altered, and there’s nothing but hanging and transporting for such things; although that won’t bring the people to life again.”
 “I suppose,” said Andy Morrow, “you had a famous dinner, Shane?”
 “’Tis you that may say that, Mr. Morrow,” replied Shane: “but the house, you see, wasn’t able to hould one-half of us; so there was a dozen or two tables borrowed from the neighbors and laid one after another in two rows, on the green, beside the river that ran along the garden-hedge, side by side. At one end Father Corrigan sat, with Mary and myself, and Father James at the other. There were three five-gallon kegs of whiskey, and I ordered my brother to take charge of them; and there he sat beside them, and filled the bottles as they were wanted - bekase, if he had left that job to strangers, many a spalpeen there would make away with lots of it. Mavrone, such a sight as the dinner was! I didn’t lay my eye on the fellow of it since, sure enough, and I’m now an ould man, though I was then a young one. Why there was a pudding boiled in the end of a sack; and troth it was a thumper, only for the straws - for you see, when they were making it, they had to draw long straws acrass in order to keep, it from falling asunder - a fine plan it is, too. Jack M’Kenna, the carpenther, carved it with a hand-saw, and if he didn’t curse the same straws, I’m not here. ‘Draw them out, Jack,’ said Father Corrigan - ‘draw them out. - It’s asy known, Jack, you never ate a polite dinner, you poor awkward spalpeen, or you’d have pulled out the straws the first thing you did, man alive.’
 “Such lashins of corned beef, and rounds of beef, and legs of mutton, and bacon - turkeys and geese, and barn-door fowls, young and fat. They may talk as they will, but commend me to a piece of good ould bacon, ate with crock butther, and phaties, and cabbage. Sure enough, they leathered away at everything, but this and the pudding were the favorites. Father Corrigan gave up the carving in less than no time, for it would take him half a day to sarve them all, and he wanted to provide for number one. After helping himself, he set my uncle to it, and maybe he didn’t slash away right and left. There was half a dozen gorsoons carrying about the beer in cans, with froth upon it like barm - but that was beer in airnest, Nancy - I’ll say no more.”
 “When the dinner was over, you would think there was as much left as would sarve a regiment; and sure enough, a right hungry ragged regiment was there to take care of it - though, to tell the truth, there was as much taken into Finigan’s as would be sure to give us all a rousing supper. Why, there was such a troop of beggars - men, women, and childher, sitting over on the sunny side of the ditch, as would make short work of the whole dinner, had they got it. Along with Father Corrigan and me, was my father and mother, and Mary’s parents; my uncle, cousins, and nearest relations on both sides. Oh, it’s Father Corrigan, God rest his sowl, he’s now in glory, and so he was then, also - how he did crow and laugh! ‘Well, Matthew Finigan,’ says-he, ‘I can’t say but I’m happy that your Colleen Bawn here has lit upon a husband that’s no discredit to the family - and it is herself didn’t drive her pigs to a bad market,’ says he. ‘Why, in troth, Father avourneen,’ says my mother-in law, ‘they’d be hard to plase that couldn’t be satisfied with them she got; not saying but she had her pick and choice of many a good offer, and might have got richer matches; but Shane Fadh M’Cawell although you’re sitting there beside my daughter, I’m prouder to see you on my own flure, the husband of my child, nor if she’d got a man with four times your substance.’
 “‘Never heed the girls for knowing where to choose,’ says his Reverence, slyly enough: ‘but, upon my word, only she gave us all the slip, to tell the truth, I had another husband than Shane in my eye for her, and that was my own nevvy, Father James’s brother here.’
 “‘And I’d be proud of the connection,’ says my father-in-law, ‘but you see, these girls won’t look much to what you or I’ll say, in choosin’ a husband for themselves. How-and-iver, not making little of your nevvy, Father Michael, I say he’s not to be compared with that same bouchal sitting beside Mary there.’
 “‘No, nor by the powdhers-o-war, never will,’ says Billy M’Cormick the tailor, who had come over and slipped in on the other side betune Father Corrigan and the bride - ‘by the powdhers-o’ war, he’ll never be fit to be compared with me, I tell you, till yesterday comes back again.’
 “‘Why, Billy,’ says the priest, ‘you’re every place.’ ‘But where I ought to be!’ says Billy; ‘and that’s hard and fast tackled to Mary Bane, the bride here, instead of that steeple of a fellow she has got,’ says the little cock.
 “‘Billy, I thought you were married,’ said Father Corrigan.
 “‘Not I, your Reverence,’ says Billy;’ but I’ll soon do something, Father Michael - I have been threatening this longtime, but I’ll do it at last.’  
 “‘He’s not exactly married, Sir, says my uncle ‘but there’s a colleen present’ (looking at the bridesmaid) ‘that will soon have his name upon her.’
 “‘Very good, Billy,’ says the priest, ‘I hope you will give us a rousing wedding-equal, at least, to Shane Fadh’s.’
 “‘Why then, your Reverence, except I get sich a darling as Molly Bane, here - and by this and that, it’s you that is the darling Molly asthore - what come over me, at all at all, that I didn’t think of you,’ says the little man, drawing close to her, and poor Mary smiling good-naturedly at his spirit.“‘Well, and what if you did get such a darling as Molly Bane, there?’ says his Reverence.
 “‘Why, except I get the likes of her for a wife - upon second thoughts, I don’t like marriage, any way,’ said Billy, winking against the priest - ‘I lade such a life as your Reverence; and by the powdhers, it’s a thousand pities that I wasn’t made into a priest, instead of a tailor. For, you see, if I had’ says he, giving a verse of an old song -

For you see, if I had,
It’s I’d be the lad
That would show all my people such larning;
And when they’d do wrong,
Why, instead of a song,
I’d give them a lump of a sarmin.

 ‘Billy,’ says my father-in-law, ‘why don’t you make a hearty dinner, man alive? go back to your sate and finish your male - you’re aiting nothing to signify.’ ‘Me!’ says Billy - ‘why, I’d scorn to ate a hearty dinner; and, I’d have you to know, Matt Finigan, that it wasn’t for the sake of your dinner I came here, but in regard to your family, and bekase I wished him well that’s sitting beside your daughter: and it ill becomes your father’s son to cast up your dinner in my face, or any one of my family; but a blessed minute longer I’ll not stay among you. Give me your hand, Shane Fadh, and you, Mary - may goodness grant you pace and happiness every night and day you both rise out of your beds. I made that coat your husband has on his back beside you - and a betther fit was never made; but I didn’t think it would come to my turn to have my dinner cast up this a-way, as if I was aiting it for charity.’
 “‘Hut, Billy,’ says I, ‘sure it was all out of kindness; he didn’t mane to offind you.’
 “‘It’s no matter,’ says Billy, beginning to cry, ‘he did offend me; and it’s low days with me to bear an affront from him, or the likes of him; but by the powdhers-o’-war,’ says he, getting into a great rage, ‘I won’t bear it, - only as you’re an old man yourself, I’ll not rise my hand to you; but, let any man now that has the heart to take up your quarrel, come out and stand before me on the sod here.’
 “Well, by this time, you’d tie all that were present with three straws, to see Billy stripping himself, and his two wrists not thicker than drumsticks. While the tailor was raging, for he was pretty well up with what he had taken, another person made his appearance at the far end of the boreen [31] that led to the green where we sot. He was mounted upon the top of a sack that was upon the top of a sober-looking baste enough - God knows; he jogging along at his ase, his legs dangling down from the sack on each side, and the long skirts of his coat hanging down behind him. Billy was now getting pacified, bekase they gave way to him a little; so the fun went round, and they sang, roared, danced, and coorted, right and left.
 “When the stranger came as far as the skirt of the green, he turned the horse over quite nathural to the wedding; and, sure enough, when he jogged up, it was Friar Rooney himself, with a sack of oats, for he had been questin. [32] Well, sure the ould people couldn’t do less nor all go over to put the failtah [33] on him. ‘Why, then,’ says my father and mother-in-law, ‘’tis yourself, Friar Rooney, that’s as welcome as the flowers of May; and see who’s here before you - Father Corrigan, and Father Dollard.’
  “‘Thank you, thank you, Molshy - thank you, Matthew - troth, I know that ’tis I am welcome.’
 “‘Ay, and you’re welcome again, Father Rooney,’ said my father, going down and shaking hands with him, ‘and I’m proud to see you here. Sit down, your Reverence - here’s everything that’s good, and plinty of it, and if you don’t make much of yourself, never say an ill fellow dealt with you.’
 “The friar stood while my father was speaking, with a pleasant, contented face upon him, only a little roguish and droll.‘Hah! Shane Fadh,’ says he, smiling dryly at me, ‘you did them all, I see. You have her there, the flower of the parish, blooming beside you; but I knew as much six months ago, ever since I saw you bid her good-night at the hawthorn. Who looked back so often, Mary, eh? Ay, laugh and blush - do - throth, ’twas I that caught you, but you didn’t see me, though. Well, a colleen, and if you did, too, you needn’t be ashamed of your bargain, any how. You see, the way I came to persave yez that evening was this - but I’ll tell it, by and by. In the mane time,’ says he, sitting down and attacking a fine piece of corn-beef and greens, ‘I’ll take care of a certain acquaintance of mine,’ says he. ‘How are you, reverend gintlemen of the Secularity? You’ll permit a poor friar to sit and ate his dinner, in your presence, I humbly hope.’
 “‘Frank,’ says Father Corrigan, ‘lay your hand upon your conscience, or upon your stomach, which is the same thing, and tell us honestly, how many dinners you eat on your travels among my parishioners this day.’
 “‘As I’m a sinner, Michael, this is the only thing to be called a dinner I eat this day; - Shane Fadh - Mary, both your healths, and God grant you all kinds of luck and happiness, both here and hereafter! All your healths in gineral! gintlemen seculars!’
 “‘Thank you, Frank,’ said Father Corrigan; how did you speed to-day?’
 “‘How can any man speed, that comes after you?’ says the Friar; ‘I’m after travelling the half of the parish for that poor bag of oats that you see standing against the ditch.’
 “‘In other words, Frank,’ says the Priest, ‘you took Allhadhawan in your way, and in about half a dozen houses filled your sack, and then turned your horse’s head towards the good cheer, by way of accident only.’
 “‘And was it by way of accident, Mr. Secular, that I got you and that illoquent young gintleman, your curate, here before me? Do you feel that, man of the world? Father James, your health, though - you’re a good young man as far as saying nothing goes; but it’s better to sit still than to rise up and fall, so I commend you for your discretion,’ says he; ‘but I’m afeared your master there won’t make you much fitter for the kingdom of heaven any how.’
 “‘I believe, Father Corrigan,’ says my uncle, who loved to see the priest and the friar at it, ‘that you’ve met with your match - I think Father Rooney’s able for you.’
 “‘Oh, sure,’ says Father Corrigan, he was joker to the college of the Sorebones [34] in Paris; he got as much education as enabled him to say mass in Latin, and to beg oats in English, for his jokes.’
 “‘Troth, and,’ says the friar, ‘if you were to get your larning on the same terms, you’d be guilty of very little knowledge; why, Michael, I never knew you to attempt a joke but once, and I was near shedding tears, there was something so very sorrowful in it.’
 “This brought the laugh against the priest - ‘Your health, Molshy,’ says he, winking at my mother-in-law, and then giving my uncle, who sat beside him, a nudge; ‘I believe, Brian, I’m giving it to him.’ ‘’Tis yourself that is,’ says my uncle; ‘give him a wipe or two more.’ ‘Wait till he answers the last,’ says the friar.“‘He’s always joking,’ says Father James, ‘when he thinks he’ll make any thing by it.’
 “‘Ah!’ says the friar, ‘then God help you both if you were left to your jokes for your feeding; for a poorer pair of gentlemen wouldn’t be found in Christendom.’
 “‘And I believe,’ says Father Corrigan, ‘if you depinded for your feeding upon your divinity instead of your jokes, you’d be as poor as a man in the last stage of a consumption.’
 “This drew the laugh against the friar, who smiled himself; but he was a dry man that never laughed much.“‘Sure,’ says the friar, who was seldom at a loss, ‘I have yourself and your nephew for examples that it’s possible to live and be well fed without divinity.’
 “‘At any rate,’ says my uncle, putting in his tongue, ‘I think you’re both very well able to make divinity a joke betune you,’ says he.“‘Well done, Brian,’ says the friar, ‘and so they are, for I believe it is the only subject they can joke upon! and I beg your pardon, Michael, for not excepting it before; on that subject I allow you to be humoursome.’
 “‘If that be the case, then,’ says Father Corrigan, ‘I must give up your company, Frank, in order to avoid the force of bad example; for you’re so much in the habit of joking on everything else, that you’re not able to accept even divinity itself.’
 “‘You may aisily give me up,’ says the friar, ‘but how will you be able to forget Father Corrigan? I’m afeard you’ll find his acquaintance as great a detriment to yourself, as it is to others in that respect.’
 “‘What makes you say,’ says Father James, who was more in airnest than the rest, ‘that my uncle won’t make me fit for the kingdom of heaven?’
 “‘I had a pair of rasons for it, Jemmy,’ says the friar; ‘one is, that he doesn’t understand the subject himself; another is, that you haven’t capacity for it, even if he did. You’ve a want of natural parts - a whackuuum here,’ pointing to his forehead.“‘I beg your pardon, Frank,’ says Father James ‘I deny your premises, and I’ll now argue in Latin with you, if you wish, upon any subject you please.’
 “‘Come, then,’ says the friar, - ‘Kid eat ivy mare eat hay.’
 “‘Kid - what?’ says the other.“‘Kid eat ivy mare eat hay,’ answers the friar.“‘I don’t know what you’re at,’ says Father James, ‘but I’ll argue in Latin with you as long as you wish.’
 “‘Tut man,’ says Father Rooney, ‘Latin’s for school-boys; but come, now, I’ll take you in another language - I’ll try you in Greek - In-mud-eel-is in-clay-none-is in-fir-tar-is in-oak-no ne-is.’
 “The curate looked at him, amazed, not knowing what answer to make. At last says he, ‘I don’t profess to know Greek, bekase I never larned it - but stick to the Latin, and I’m not afeard of you.’
 “‘Well, then,’ says the friar, ‘I’ll give you a trial at that - Afflat te canis ter - Forte dux fel flat in guttur.’
 “‘A flat tay-canisther - Forty ducks fell flat in the gutthers!’ says Father James, - ‘why that’s English!’
 “‘English!’ says the friar, ‘oh, good-bye to you, Mr. Secular; ‘if that’s your knowledge of Latin, you’re an honour to your tachers and to your cloth.’
 “Father Corrigan now laughed heartily at the puzzling the friar gave Father James. ‘James,’ says he, ‘never heed him; he’s only pesthering you with bog-Latin; but, at any rate to do him justice, he’s not a bad Scholar, I can tell you that. ... Your health, Prank, you droll crathur - your health. I have only one fault to find with you, and that is, that you fast and mortify yourself too much. Your fasting has reduced you from being formerly a friar of very genteel dimensions to a cut of corpulency that smacks strongly of penance - fifteen stone at least.“‘Why,’ says the friar, looking down quite plased, entirely, at the cut of his own waist, Uch, among ourselves, was no trifle, and giving a growl of a laugh - the most he ever gave, ‘if what you pray here benefits you in the next life as much as what I fast does for me in this, it will be well for the world in general Michael.’
 “‘How can you say, Frank,’ says Father ‘with such a carkage as that, you’re a poor friar? Upon my credit, when you die, I think the angels will have a job of it in wafting you upwards.”“‘Jemmy, man, was it you that said it? - why, my light’s beginning to shine upon you, or you never could have got out so much,’ says Father Rooney, putting his hands over his brows, and looking up toardst him; ‘but if you ever read scripthur, which I suppose you’re not overburdened with, you would know that it says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” but not blessed are the poor in flesh - now, mine is spiritual poverty.’
 “‘Very true, Frank,’ says Father Corrigan, ‘I believe there’s a great dearth and poverty of spirituality about you, sure enough. But of all kinds of poverty, commend me to a friar’s. Voluntary poverty’s something, but it’s the divil entirely for a man to be poor against his will. You friars boast of this voluntary poverty; but if there’s a fat bit in any part of the parish, we, that are the lawful clargy, can’t eat it, but you’re sure to drop in, just in the nick of time, with your voluntary poverty.’
 “‘I’m sure, if we do,’ says the friar, ‘it’s nothing out of your pocket, Michael. I declare I believe you begrudge us the air we breathe. But don’t you know very well that our ordhers are apostolic, and that, of coorse, we have a more primitive appearance than you have.’
 “‘No such thing,’ says the other; ‘you, and the parsons, and the fat bishops, are too far from the right place - the only difference between you is, that you are fat and lazy by toleration, whereas the others are fat and lazy by authority. You are fat and lazy on your ould horses, jogging about from house to house, and stuffing yourselves either at the table of other people’s parishioners, or in your own convents in Dublin and elsewhere. They are rich, bloated gluttons, going about in their coaches, and wallying in wealth. Now, we are the golden mean, Frank, that live upon a little, and work hard for it.’
 “‘Why, you cormorant,’ says the friar, a little nettled, for the dhrop was beginning to get up into his head, ‘sure if we’re fat by toleration, we’re only tolerably fat, my worthy secular!’
 “‘You see,’ says the friar, in a whisper to my uncle, ‘how I sobered them in the larning, and they are good scholars for all that, but not near so deep read as myself.’ ‘Michael,’ says he, ‘now that I think on it - sure I’m to be at Denis O’Flaherty’s Month’s mind on Thursday next.’
 “‘Indeed I would not doubt you,’ says Father Corrigan; ‘you wouldn’t be apt to miss it.’
 “‘Why, the widdy Flaherty asked me yesterday, and I think that’s proof enough that I’m not going unsent for.’
 “By this time the company was hard and fast at the punch, the songs, and the dancing. The dinner had been cleared off, except what was before the friar, who held out wonderfully, and the beggars and shulers were clawing and scoulding one another about the divide. The dacentest of us went into the house for a while, taking the fiddler with us, and the rest, with the piper, staid on the green to dance, where they were soon joined by lots of the counthry people, so that in a short time there was a large number entirely. After sitting for some time within, Mary and I began, you may be sure, to get unasy, sitting palavering among a parcel of ould sober folks; so, at last, out we slipped, and the few other dacent young people that were with us, to join the dance, and shake our toe along with the rest of them. When we made our appearance, the flure was instantly cleared for us, and then she and I danced the Humours of Glin. “Well, it’s no matter - it’s all past now, and she lies low; but I may say that it wasn’t very often danced in better style since, I’d wager. Lord, bless us, what a drame the world is! The darling of my heart you war, avourneen machree. I think I see her with the modest smile upon her face, straight, and fair, and beautiful, and - hem - and when the dance was over, how she stood leaning upon me, and my heart within melting to her, and the look she’d give into my eyes and my heart, too, as much as to say, ‘This is the happy day with me;’ and the blush still would fly acrass her face, when I’d press her, unknownst to the bystanders, against my beating heart. A suilish machree, [35] she is now gone from me - lies low, and it all appears like a drame to me; but - hem - God’s will be done! - sure she’s happy - och, och!!
 “Many a shake hands did I get from the neighbors’ sons, wishing me joy; and I’m sure I couldn’t do less than thrate them to a glass, you know; and ’twas the same way with Mary: many a neighbors’ daughter, that she didn’t do more nor know by eyesight, maybe, would come up and wish her happiness in the same manner, and she would say to me, ‘Shane, avourneen, that’s such a man’s daughter - they’re a dacent friendly people, and we can’t do less nor give her a glass.’ I, of coorse, would go down and bring them over, after a little pulling - making, you see, as if they wouldn’t come - to where my brother was handing out the native. “In this way we passed the time till the evening came on, except that Mary and the bridesmaid were sent for to dance with the priests, who were within at the punch, in all their glory, - Friar Rooney along with them as jolly as a prince. I and my man, on seeing this, were for staying with the company; but my mother, who ’twas that came for them, says, ‘Never mind the boys, Shane, come in with the girls, I say. You’re just wanted at the present time, both of you, follow me for an hour or two, till their Reverences within have a bit of a dance with the girls, in the back room; we don’t want to gother a crowd about them.’ Well, we went in, sure enough, for awhile; but, I don’t know how it was, I didn’t at all feel comfortable with the priests; for, you see, I’d rather sport my day figure with the boys and girls upon the green: so I gives Jack the hard word [36] and in we went, when, behold you, there was Father Corrigan planted upon the side of a settle, Mary along with him, waiting till they’d have the fling of a dance together, whilst the Curate was capering on the flure before the bridesmaid, who was a purty dark-haired girl, to the tune of ‘Kiss my lady;’ and the friar planted between my mother and my mother-in-law, one of his legs stretched out on a chair, he singing some funny song or other, that brought the tears to their eyes with laughing.
 “Whilst Father James was dancing with the bridesmaid, I gave Mary the wink to come away from Father Corrigan, wishing, as I tould you, to get out amongst the youngsters once more; and Mary, herself, to tell the truth, although he was the priest, was very willing to do so. I went over to her, and says, ‘Mary, asthore, there’s a friend without that wishes to spake to you.’
 “‘Well,’ says Father Corrigan, ‘tell that friend that she’s better employed, and that they must wait, whoever they are. I’m giving your wife, Shane,’ says he, ‘a little good advice that she won’t be the worse for, and she can’t go now.’ “Mary, in the meantime, had got up, and was coming away, when his Reverence wanted her to stay till they’d finished their dance. ‘Father Corrigan,’ says she, ‘let me go now, sir, if you plase, for they would think it bad threatment of me not to go out to them.’
 “‘Troth, and you’ll do no such thing, acushla,’ says he, spaking so sweet to her; ‘let them come in if they want you. ‘Shane’, says his Reverence, winking at me, and spaking in a whisper, ‘stay here, you and the girls, till we take a hate at the dancing - don’t you know that the ould women here, and me will have to talk over some things about the fortune; you’ll maybe get more nor you expect. Here, Molshy,’ says he to my mother-in-law, ‘don’t let the youngsters out of this.”“‘Musha, Shane, ahagur,’ say’s the ould woman ‘why will yez go and lave the place; sure you needn’t be dashed before them - they’ll dance themselves.’
 “Accordingly we stayed in the room; but just on the word, Mary gives one spring away, leaving his Reverence by himself on the settle. ‘Come away,’ says she, ‘lave them there, and let us go to where I can have a dance with yourself, Shane.’
 “Well, I always loved Mary, but at that minute, if it would save her, I think I could spill my heart’s blood for her. ‘Mary,’ says I full to the throat, ‘Mary, acushla agus asthore machree, [37] I could lose my life for you.’
 “She looked in my face, and the tears came into her - yes - ‘Shane, achora,’ says she, ‘amn’t I your happy girl, at last?’ She was leaning over against my breast; and what answer do you think I made? - I pressed her to my heart: I did more - I took off my hat, and looking up to God, I thanked him with tears in my eyes, for giving me such a treasure. ‘Well, come now,’ says she, ‘to the green;’ so we went - and it’s she that was the girl, when she did go among them, that threw them all into the dark for beauty and figure; as fair as a lily itself did she look - so tall and illegant, that you wouldn’t think she was a farmer’s daughter at all; so we left the priests dancing away, for we could do no good before them.
 “When we had danced an hour or so, them that the family had the greatest regard for were brought in unknown to the rest, to drink tay. Mary planted herself beside me, and would sit nowhere else; but the friar got beside the bridesmaid, and I surely observed that many a time she’d look over, likely to split, at Mary, and it’s Mary herself that gave her many’s a wink, to come to the other side; but, you know, out of manners, she was obliged to sit quietly, though among ourselves it’s she that was like a hen on a hot griddle, beside the ould chap. It was now that the bride-cake was got. Ould Sonsy Mary marched over, and putting the bride on her feet, got up on a chair and broke it over her head, giving round a fadge [38] of it to every young person in the house, and they again to their acquaintances: but, lo and behold you, who should insist on getting a whang of it but the friar, which he rolled up in a piece of paper, and put it in his pocket. ‘I’ll have good fun,’ says he, ‘dividing this to-morrow among the colleens when I’m collecting my oats - the sorra one of me but I’ll make them give me the worth of it of something, if it was only a fat hen or a square of bacon.’
 “After tay the ould folk got full of talk; the youngsters danced round them; the friar sung like a thrush, and told many a droll story. The tailor had got drunk a little too early, and had to be put to bed, but he was now as fresh as ever, and able to dance a hornpipe, which he did on a door. The Dorans and the Flanagans had got quite thick after drubbing one another - Ned Doran began his courtship with Alley Flanagan on that day, and they were married soon after, so that the two factions joined, and never had another battle until the day of her berrial, when they were at it as fresh as ever. Several of those that were at the wedding were lying drunk about the ditches, or roaring, and swaggering, and singing about the place. The night falling, those that were dancing on the green removed to the barn. Father Corrigan and Father James weren’t ill off; but as for the friar, although he was as pleasant as a lark, there was hardly any such thing as making him tipsy. Father Corrigan wanted him to dance - ‘What!’ says he, ‘would you have me to bring on an earthquake, Michael? - but who ever heard of a follower of St. Domnick, bound by his vow to voluntary poverty and mortification - - young couple, your health - will anybody tell me who mixed this, for they’ve knowledge worth a folio of the fathers - poverty and mortification, going to shake his heel? By the bones of St. Domnick, I’d desarve to be suspinded if I did. Will no one tell me who mixed this, I say, for they had a jewel of a hand at it? - Och -

Let parsons prache and pray -
Let priests to pray and prache, sir;
What’s the rason they
Don’t practise what they tache, sir?
Forral, orral, loll,
Forral, orral, laddy -
Let parsons prache and pray -
- Forral, orral, loll.

Sho da slainthah ma collenee agus ma bouchalee . Hoigh, oigh, oigh, healths all! gintlemen seculars! Molshy,’ says the friar to my mother-in-law, ‘send that bocaun [39] to bed - poor fellow, he’s almost off - rouse yourself, James! It’s aisy to see that he’s but young at it yet - that’s right - he’s sound asleep - just toss him into bed, and in an hour or so he’ll be as fresh as a daisy.
 “For dear’s sake, Father Rooney,’ says my uncle, running in, in a great hurry, ‘keep yourself quiet a little; here’s the Squire and Mister Francis coming over to fulfil their promise; he would have come up airlier, he says, but that he was away all day at the ‘sizes.’
 “‘Very well,’ says the friar, ‘let him come - who’s afeard - mind yourself, Michael.’
 “In a minute or two they came in, and we all rose up of course to welcome them. The Squire shuck hands with the ould people, and afterwards with Mary and myself, wishing us all happiness, then with the two clergymen, and introduced Master Frank to them; and the friar made the young chap sit beside him. The masther then took a sate himself, and looked on while they were dancing, with a smile of good-humour on his face - while they, all the time, would give new touches and trebles, to show off all their steps before him. He was landlord both to my father and father-in-law; and it’s he that was the good man, and the gintleman every inch of him. They may all talk as they will, but commend me, Mr. Morrow, to some of the ould squires of former times for a landlord. The priests, with all their larning, were nothing to him for good breeding - he appeared so free, and so much at his ase, and even so respectful, that I don’t think there was one in the house but would put their two hands under his feet to do him a sarvice.
 “When he sat a while, my mother-in-law came over with a glass of nice punch that she had mixed, at least equal to what the friar praised so well, and making a low curtshy, begged pardon for using such freedom with his honour, but hoped that he would just taste a little to the happiness of the young couple. He then drank our healths, and shuck hands with us both a second time, saying - although I can’t, at all at all, give it in anything like his own words - ‘I am glad,’ says he, to Mary’s parents, ‘that your daughter has made such a good choice;’ - throth he did - the Lord be merciful to his sowl - God forgive me for what I was going to say, and he a Protestant; - but if ever one of yez went to heaven, Mr. Morrow, he did; - ‘such a prudent choice; and I congr - con - grathu-late you,’ says he to my father, ‘on your connection with so industrious and respectable a family. You are now beginning the world for yourselves,’ says he to Mary and me, ‘and I cannot propose a better example to you both than that of your respective parents. From this forrid,’ says he, ‘I’m to considher you my tenants; and I wish to take this opportunity of informing you both, that should you act up to the opinion I entertain of you, by an attentive coorse of industry and good management, you will find in me an encouraging and indulgent landlord. I know, Shane,’ says he to me, smiling a little, knowingly enough too, ‘that you have been a little wild or so, but that’s past, I trust. You have now sarious duties to perform, which you cannot neglect - but you will not neglect them; and be assured, I say again, that I shall feel pleasure in rendhering you every assistance in my power in the cultivation and improvement of your farm.’ - ‘Go over, both of you,’ says my father, ‘and thank his honour, and promise to do everything he says.’ Accordingly, we did so; I made my scrape as well as I could, and Mary blushed to the eyes, and dropp’d her curtshy.
 “’Ah!’ says the friar, ‘see what it is to have a good landlord and a Christian gintleman to dale with. This is the feeling which should always bind a landlord and his tenants together. If I know your character, Squire Whitethorn, I believe you’re not the man that would put a Protestant tenant over the head of a Catholic one, which shows, sir, your own good sense; for what is a difference of religion, when people do what they ought to do? Nothing but the name. I trust, sir, we shall meet in a better place than this - both Protestant and Catholic’
 “‘I am happy, sir,’ says the Squire, ‘to hear such principles from a man who I thought was bound to hould different opinions.’
 “‘Ah, sir!’ says the friar, ‘you little know who you’re talking to, if you think so. I happened to be collecting a taste of oats, with the permission of my friend Doctor Corrigan here, for I’m but a poor friar, sir, and dropped in by mere accident; but, you know the hospitality of our country, Squire; and that’s enough - go they would not allow me, and I was mintioning to this young gintleman, your son, how we collected the oats, and he insisted on my calling - a generous, noble child! I hope, sir, you have got proper instructors for him?’
 “‘Yes,’ said the Squire; ‘I’m taking care of that point.’
 “What do you think, sir, but he insists on my calling over to-morrow, that he may give me his share of oats, as I told him that I was a friar, and that he was a little parishioner of mine: but I added, that that wasn’t right of him, without his papa’s consent.’
 “‘Well, sir,’ says the Squire, ‘as he has promised, I will support him; so if you’ll ride over to-morrow, you shall have a sack of oats - at all events I shall send you a sack in the course of the day.’
 “‘I humbly thank you, sir,’ says Father Rooney and I thank my noble little parishioner for his generosity to the poor old friar - God mark you to grace, my dear; and wherever you go, take the ould man’s blessing along with you.’
 “They then bid us good-night, and we rose and saw them to the door.
 “Father Corrigan now appeared to be getting sleepy. While this was going on, I looked about me, but couldn’t see Mary. The tailor was just beginning to get a little hearty once more. Supper waa talked of, but there was no one that could ate anything; even the friar, was against it. The clergy got their horses, the friar laving his oats behind him; for we promised to send them home, and something more along with them the next day. Father James was roused up, but could hardly stir with a heddick. Father Corrigan was correct enough; but when the friar got up, he ran a little to the one side, upsetting Sonsy Mary that sat a little beyond him. He then called over my mother-in-law to the dresser, and after some collogin [40] she slipped two fat fowl, that had never been touched, into one of his coat pockets, that was big enough to hould a leg of mutton. My father then called me over and said, ‘Shane,’ says he, ‘hadn’t you better slip Father Rooney a bottle or two of that whiskey; there’s plenty of it there that wasn’t touched, and you won’t be a bit the poorer of it, may be, this day twelve months.’ I accordingly dropped two bottles of it into the other pocket, so that his Reverence was well balanced any how.
 “‘Now,’ said he, ‘before I go, kneel down both of you, till I give you my benediction.’
 “We accordingly knelt down, and he gave us his blessing in Latin before he bid us good-night!
 “After they went, Mary threw the stocking - all the unmarried folks coming in the dark, to see who it would hit. Bless my sowl, but she was the droll Mary - for what did she do, only put a big brogue of her father’s into it, that was near two pounds weight; and who should it hit on the bare sconce, but Billy Cormick, the tailor - who thought he was fairly shot, for it levelled the crathur at once; though that wasn’t hard to do any how.
 “This was the last ceremony: and Billy was well continted to get the knock, for you all know, whoever the stocking strikes upon is to be married first. After this, my mother and mother-in-law set them to the dancing - and ’twas themselves that kept it up till long after daylight the next morning - but first they called me into the next room where Mary was; and - and - so ends my wedding; by the same token that I’m as dry as a stick.”
 “Come, Nancy,” says Andy Morrow, ‘replenish again for us all, with a double measure for Shane Fadh - because he well desarves it.”
 ‘Why, Shane,’ observed Alick, ‘you must have a terrible memory of your own, or you couldn’t tell it all so exact.”
 “There’s not a man in the four provinces has sich a memory,” replied Shane. ‘I never hard that story yet, but I could repate it in fifty years afterwards. I could walk up any town in the kingdom, and let me look at the signs and I would give them to you agin jist exactly as they stood.”
 Thus ended the account of Shane Fadh’s wedding; and, after finishing the porter, they all returned home, with an understanding that they were to meet the next night in the same place.

Notes