“'Darby,' says he, 'I'm famished with the druth. Since you took to coortin' there 's nothing ever goes into my mouth; haven't you a taste of something in the house?'
“I wasn't long till I hated some wather, and took down the bottle of whiskey and some sugar, and made a rousing jugful, as strong as need be.
“'Are you satisfied, father?' says I.
“'I am,' says he; 'you 're a dutiful child, and here 's your health, and don't be thinking of Biddy Finn,'
“With that my father began to explain how there was never any rest nor quietness for a man after he married,—more be token, if his wife was fond of talking; and that he never could take his dhrop of drink in comfort afterwards.
“'May I never,' says he, 'but I 'd rather be a green jug, as I am now, than alive again wid your mother. Sure it 's not here you'd be sitting to-night,' says he, 'discoorsing with me, av you wor married; devil a bit. Fill me,' says my father, 'and I 'll tell you more.'
“And sure enough I did, and we talked away till near daylight; and then the first thing I did was to take the ould mare out of the stable, and set off to Father Curtin, and towld him all about it, and how my father would n't give his consent by no means.
“'We'll not mind the marriage,' says his rivirence; 'but go back and bring me your father,—the jug, I mean,—and we 'll try and get him out of trouble; for it 's trouble he 's in, or he would n't be that way. Give me the two pound ten,' says the priest; 'you had it for the wedding, and it will be better spent getting your father out of purgatory than sending you into it. '”
“Arrah, aren't you ashamed of yourself?” cried the cook, with a look of ineffable scorn, as he concluded.
“Look now,” said Darby, “see this; if it is n't thruth—”