unned--see, he's coming to: Dick, ma bouchal,
rouse yourself, that's a man: hut! he's well enough--that's it, alannah;
here, take a slug out of this bottle, and it'll set all right--or stop,
have you a glass within, Sally?' 'Och, inusha, not a glass is under the
roof wid me,' says Sally; 'the last we had was broke the night
Barney was christened, and we hadn't one since--but I'll get you an
egg-shell.'* 'It'll do as well as the best,' says Art. And to make a
long story short, they sat down, and drank the bottle of whiskey among
them. Larry and Sally made it up, and were as great friends as ever; and
Dick was made drunk for the bating he got from his father.

* The ready wit of the Irish is astonishing. It often
happens that they have whiskey when neither glasses nor cups
are at hand; in which case they are never at a loss. I have
seen them use not only egg-shells, but pistol barrels,
tobacco boxes, and scooped potatoes, in extreme cases.

"What Art wanted was to buy some oats that Larry had to sell, to run in
a private Still, up in the mountains, of coorse, where every Still is
kept. Sure enough, Larry sould him the oats, and was to bring them up to
the still-house the next night after dark. According to appointment, Art
came a short time after night-fall, with two or three young boys along
with him. The corn was sacked and put on the horses; but before that
was done, they had a dhrop, for Art's pocket and the bottle were ould
acquaintances. They all then sat down in Larry's, or, at laste, as many
as there were seats for, and fell to it. Larry, however, seemed to be
in better humor this night, and more affectionate with Sally and the
childher: he'd often look at them, and appear to feel as if something
was over him* but no one observed that till afterwards. Sally herself
seemed kinder to him, and even went over and sat beside him on the
stool, and putting her arm about his neck, kissed him in a joking
way, wishing to make up, too, for what Art saw the night before--poor
thing--but still as if it wasn't all a joke, for at times she looked
sorrowful. Larry, too, got his arm about her, and looked, often and
often on her and the childher, in a way that he wasn't used to do, until
the tears fairly came into his eyes.

* This is precisely tantamount to what the Scotch call
"fey." It means that he felt as if some fatal doom were over
him.

"'Sally, avourneen,' says he, looking at her