n' I war goin' up at the time to do a little in
the distillin' way for Tom Duggan of Aidinasamlagh, an' seen what was
goin' an. So off we set, an we splittin' our sides laughin'--ha, ha,
ha--at the figure the priest cut. However, we could do no good, an'
he never could pull up the horse, till he came full flight to his own
house, opposite the pound there below, and the whole town in convulsions
when they seen him. We gother up his clothes, an' brought them home to
him, an' a good piece o' fun-we had wid him, for he loved the joke as
well as any man. Well, he was the good an' charitable man, the same
Father Soolaghan; but so simple that he got himself into fifty scrapes,
God rest him! Och, och, she's lyin' low that often laughed at that, an'
I'm here--ay, I have no one, no one that 'ud show me sich a warm heart
as she would. (Weeps.) However, God's will be done. I'll sing yez a song
she liked:--

'Och, Brian O'Lynn, he had milk an' male,
A two-lugged porringer wantin' a tail.'

Musha, I'm out agin--ha, ha, ha! Why, I b'lieve there's pishthrogues
an me, or I'd remember it. Bud-an-age, dhrink of all ye. Lie in to the
liquor, I say; don't spare it. Here, Mike, send us up another gallon,
Faith, we'll make a night of it.

'Och, three maidens a milkin' did go
An' three maidens a milkin' did go;
An' the winds they blew high
An' the winds they blew low,
An' they dashed their milkin' pails to an' fro.'

All your healths, childhre! Neighbors, all your healths! don't spare
what's before ye. It's long since I tuck a jorum myself an--come, I say,
plase God, we'll often meet ins' way, so we will. Faith, I'll take a sup
from this forrid, with a blessin'. Dhrink, I say, dhrink!"

By the time he had arrived at this patch, he was able to engross no
great portion either of the conversation or attention. Almost every one
present had his songs, his sorrows, his laughter, or his anecdotes, as
well as himself. Every voice was loud; and every tongue busy. Intricate
and entangled was the talk, which, on the present occasion, presented
a union of all the extremes which the lights and shadows of the Irish
character alone could exhibit under such a calamity as that which
brought the friends of the deceased together.

Peter literally fulfilled his promise of taking a jorum in future. He
was now his own master; and as he felt the loss of his wife deeply,
he unhappily had recourse to the bottle, to bury the r