to-day."

"With all my heart," said my brother; "I have no objection, for I know
you give it good."

When we went in, the punch was already reeking from immense white jugs,
that couldn't hold less than a gallon each.

"Now," said his Reverence, very properly, 'you have had a decent and
creditable funeral, and have managed every thing with great propriety;
let me request, therefore, that you will not get drunk, nor permit
yourselves to enter into any disputes or quarrels; but be moderate in
what you take, and go home peaceably."

"Why, thin, your Reverence," replied the widow, "he's now in his grave,
and, thank God, it's he that had the dacent funeral all out--ten good
gallons did we put over you, asthore, and it's yourself that liked the
dacent thing, any how--but sure, sir, it would shame him where he's
lyin', if we disregarded him so far as to go home widout bringing in our
friends, that didn't desart us in our throuble, an' thratin' them for
their kindness."

While Kelly's brother was filling out all their glasses, the priest, my
brother, and I, were taking a little refreshment. When the glasses were
filled, the deceased's brother raised his in his hand, and said,--

"Well, gintlemen," addressing us, "I hope you'll pardon me for not
dhrinking your healths first; but people, you know, can't break through
an ould custom, at any rate--so I give poor Denis's health that's in his
warm grave, and God be merciful to his sowl."

The priest now winked at me to give them their own way; so we filled our
glasses, and joined the rest in drinking "Poor Denis's health, that's
now in his warm grave, and God be merciful to his soul."

When this was finished, they then drank ours, and thanked us for our
kindness in attending the funeral. It was now past five o'clock; and we
left them just setting into a hard bout of drinking, and rode down to
his Reverence's residence.

"I saw you smile," said he, on our way, "at the blundering toast of Mat
Kelly; but it would be labor in vain to attempt setting them right. What
do they know about the distinctions of more refined life? Besides, I
maintain, that what they said was as well calculated to express their
affection, as if they had drunk honest Denis's memory. It is, at least,
unsophisticated. But did you hear," said he, "of the apparition that was
seen last night, on the mountain road above Denis's?"

"I did not hear of it," I replied, equivocating a little.

"Why," said he, "it