s, their own; think, I repate, of those who would give nine-tenths
of all they are worth simply to be in your present condition! Wretches
who from the moment they passed under the yoke matrimonial, to which all
other yokes are jokes, have often heard of liberty but never enjoyed it
for one single hour--the Lord help them!"

"Amen!" exclaimed M'Mahon, unconsciously.

"Yes," proceeded Finigan, "unfortunate devils whose obstinacy has been
streaked by a black mark, or which ought rather to be termed a black and
blue mark, for that is an abler and more significant illustration, Poor
quadrupeds who have lived their whole miserable lives as married men
under an iron dynasty; and who know that the thunderings of Jupiter
himself, if he were now in vogue, would be mere music compared to the
fury of a conjugal tongue when agitated by any one of the thousand
causes that set it a-going so easily. Now, Thomas, I am far from
insinuating that ever you stood in that most pitiable category, but I
know many who have--heigho!--and I know many who do, and some besides
who will; for what was before may be agin, and it will be nothing but
ascendancy armed with her iron rod on the one hand, against patience,
submission, and tribulation, wid their groans and penances on the other.
Courage then, my worthy friend; do not be overwhelmed wid grief, for
I can assure you that as matters in general go on the surface of this
terraqueous globe, the death of a wife ought to be set down as a proof
that heaven does not altogether overlook us. 'Tis true there are tears
shed upon such occasions, and for very secret reason's too, if the truth
were known. Joy has its tears as well as grief, I believe, and it is
often rather difficult, under a blessing so completely disguised as the
death of a wi--of one's matrimonial partner, to restrain them.
Come then, be a man. There is Mr. Hycy Burke, a tender-hearted young
gentleman, and if you go on this way you will have him weeping' for
sheer sympathy, not pretermitting Mr. Clinton, his companion, who
is equally inclined to be pathetic, if one can judge from apparent
symptoms."

"I'm obliged to you, Masther," replied M'Mahon, who had not heard, or
rather paid attention to, a single syllable he had uttered. "Of course
it's thruth you're savin'---it is--it is, _fureer gair_ it is; and she
that's gone from me is a proof of it. What wondher then that I should
shed tears, and feel as I do?"

The unconscious simplicity o