s goin' to swallow the first mouthful of the pudden, and, before
you could say Jack Robinson, started away at a lively jig down the
floor.

"At this moment a neighbour's son came runnin' in, and tould them that
the parson was comin' to see the new-married couple, an' wish them all
happiness; an' the words were scarcely out of his mouth when he made his
appearance. What to think, he knew not, when he saw the ministher
footin' it away at the rate of a weddin'. He had very little time,
however, to think; for, before he could sit down, up starts the
Methodist praycher, an', clappin' his fists in his sides, chimes in in
great style along wid him.

"'Jack Rafferty,' says he, and, by the way, Jack was his tenant, 'what
the dickens does all this mane?' says he; 'I'm amazed!'

"'The not a particle o' me can tell you,' says Jack; 'but will your
reverence jist taste a morsel o' pudden, merely that the young couple
may boast that you ait at their weddin'; for, sure, if _you_ wouldn't,
who _would_?'

"'Well,' says he, 'to gratify them, I will; so, just a morsel. But,
Jack, this bates Bannagher,' says he again, puttin' the spoonful of
pudden into his mouth; 'has there been drink here?'

"'Oh, the divle a spudh,' says Jack, 'for although there's plenty in the
house, faith, it appears the gintlemen wouldn't wait for it. Unless they
tuck it elsewhere, I can make nothin' o' this.'

"He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was an active man, cut a
caper a yard high, an' before you could bless yourself, the three clargy
were hard at work dancin', as if for a wager. Begad, it would be
unpossible for me to tell you the state the whole meetin' was in when
they see this. Some were hoarse wid laughin'; some turned up their eyes
wid wondher; many thought them mad; and others thought they had turned
up their little fingers a thrifle too often.

"'Be goxty, it's a burnin' shame,' said one, 'to see three black-mouth
clargy in sich a state at this early hour!' 'Thundher an' ounze, what's
over them at all?' says others; 'why, one would think they were
bewitched. Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts! An' as for
the Recthor, who would think he could handle his feet at sich a rate! Be
this, an' be that, he cuts the buckle, an' does the threblin' step
aiquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin'-masther himself! An' see! Bad cess
to the morsel of the parson that's not too hard at _Peace upon a
trancher_, and it upon a Sunday, too! Whirro