ening storm, I thought that even
watching the wild hurricane without was better than brooding over the
sorrows within my own bosom.

How long I remained thus I know not; but already the faint streak that
announces sunrise marked the dull-colored sky, when the cheerful sounds
of a voice singing in the room underneath attracted me. I listened, and
in a moment recognized the piper. Darby M'Keown. He moved quickly about,
and by his motions I could collect that he was making preparations for
his journey.

If I could venture to pronounce, from the merry tones of his voice and
the light elastic step with which he trod the floor, I certainly would
not suppose that the dreary weather had any terror for him. He spoke so
loud that I could catch a great deal of the dialogue he maintained with
himself, and some odd verses of the song with which from time to time he
garnished his reflections.

"Marry, indeed! Catch me at it--nabocklish--with the countryside
before me, and the hoith of good eating and drinking for a blast of the
chantre. Well, well! women 's quare craytures anyway.

'Ho, ho! Mister Ramey,
No more of your blarney,
I 'd have yoa not make so free;
You may go where you plaze.
And make love at your ease.
But the devil may have you for me.'

Very well, ma'am. Mister M'Keown is your most obedient,--never say it
twice, honey; and isn't there as good fish, eh?--whoop!

'Oh! my heart is unazy.
My brain is run crazy,
Sure it 's often I wish I was dead;
'Tis your smile now so sweet!
Now your ankles and feet.
That 's walked into my heart, Molly Spread!
Tol de rol, de rol, oh!'

Whew! thttt 's rain, anyhow. I would n't mind it, bad as it is, if I
hadn't the side of a mountain before me; but sure it comes to the same
in the end. Catty Delany is a good warrant for a pleasant evening; and,
please God, I 'll be playing 'Baltiorum' beside the fire there before
this time to-night.

'She 'd a pig and boneens.
And a bed and a dresser.
And a nate little room
For the father confessor;
With a cupboard and curtains, and something, I 'm towld.
That his riv'rance liked when the weather was cowld.
And it 's hurroo, hurroo! Biddy O'Rafferty!'

After all, aix, the priest bates us out. There 's eight o'clock now, and
I'm not off; devil a one's stirring in the house e