hat though there was a due admixture of opposite
creeds and conflicting principles, yet even then, and the time is not so
far back, such was their cordiality of heart and simplicity of manners
when contrasted with the bitter and rancorous spirit of the present day
that the very remembrance of the harmony in which they lived is at once
pleasing and melancholy.

After some preliminary chat, "Well Shane," said Andy Morrow, addressing
Shane Fadh, "will you give us an account of your wedding? I'm tould it
was the greatest let-out that ever was in the country, before or since."

"And you may say that, Mr. Morrow," said Shane, "I was at many a wedding
myself, but never at the likes of my own, barring Tim Lannigan's, that
married Father Corrigan's niece."

"I believe," said Andy, "that, too, was a dashing one; however, it's
your own we want. Come, Nancy, fill these measures again, and let us be
comfortable, at all events, and give Shane a double one, for talking's
druthy work:--I'll stand this round."

When the liquor was got in, Shane, after taking a draught, laid down his
pint, pulled out his steel tobacco-box, and, after twisting off a
chew between his teeth, closed the box, and commenced the story of his
wedding.

"When I was a Brine-Oge,"* said Shane, "I was as wild as an unbroken
cowlt--no divilment was too hard for me; and so sign's on it, for
there wasn't a piece of mischief done in the parish, but was laid at my
door--and the dear knows I had enough of my own to answer for, let alone
to be set down for that of other people; but, any way, there was many a
thing done in my name, when I knew neither act nor part about it. One
of them I'll mintion: Dick Cuillenan, father to Paddy, that lives at
the crass-roads, beyant Gunpowdher Lodge, was over head and ears in love
with Jemmy Finigan's eldest daughter, Mary, then, sure enough, as purty
a girl as you'd meet in a fair--indeed, I think I'm looking at her, with
her fair flaxen ringlets hanging over her shoulders, as she used to pass
our house, going to mass of a Sunday. God rest her sowl, she's now
in glory--that was before she was my wife. Many a happy day we passed
together; and I could take it to my death, that an ill word, let alone
to rise our hands to one another, never passed between us--only one day,
that a word or two happened about the dinner, in the middle of Lent,
being a little too late, so that the horses were kept nigh half an hour
out of the plough; and I