“‘Then not a particle o’ me can tell you,’ says Jack; ‘but will your reverence jist taste a morsel o’ pudden, merely that the young couple may boast that you ait at their weddin’; ‘for sure, if you wouldn’t, who would?’
“‘Well,’ says he, to gratify them, I will; so, just a morsel. But, Jack, this bates Banagher,’ says he again, puttin’ the spoonful of pudden into his mouth; ‘has there been drink here?’
“‘Oh, the divil a spudh,’ says Jack, ‘for although there’s plenty in the house, faith, it appears the gentlemen wouldn’t wait for it. Unless they tuck it elsewhere, I can make nothin’ o’ this.’
“He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was an active man, cut a caper a yard high, an’ before you could bless yourself, the three clargy were hard at work dancin’, as if for a wager. Begad, it would be unpossible for me to tell you the state the whole meetin’ was in when they see this. Some were hoarse wid laughin’; some turned up their eyes wid wondher; many thought them mad; and others thought they had turned up their little fingers a thrifle too often.
“‘Be Goxty, it’s a burnin’ shame,’ said one, ‘to see three black-mouth clargy in sich a state at this early hour!’” ‘Thunder an’ ounze, what’s over them all?’ says others; ‘why, one would think they were bewitched. Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts! An’ as for the Recthor, who would think he could handle his feet at sich a rate! Be this, an’ be that, he cuts the buckle, an’ does the threblin’ step aiquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin’-masther himself! An’ see! Bad cess to the morsel of the parson that’s not too hard at “Pease upon a Trancher,” and it upon a Sunday, too! Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun’s in yez, afther all—whish! more power to yez!’
“The sorra’s own fun they had, an’ no wondher; but judge of what they felt when all at once they saw ould Jack Rafferty himself bouncin’ in among them, an’ footin’ it away like the best of them. Bedad, no play could come up to it, an’ nothin’ could be heard but laughin’, shouts of encouragement, an’ clappin’ of hands like mad. Now, the minute Jack Rafferty left the chair, where he had been carvin’ the pudden, ould Harry Connolly come over and claps himself down in his place, in ordher to send it round, of coorse; an’ he was scarcely sated when who should make his appearance but Barney Hartigan, the piper. Barney, by the way, had been sent for early in the day, but, bein’ from home when the message for him came, he couldn’t come any sooner.
“‘Begorra’ says Barney, ‘you’re airly at the work, gintlemen! But what does this mane? But divel may care, yez shan’t want the music, while there’s a blast in the pipes, anyhow!’ So sayin’ he gave them “Jig Polthogue,” and afther that, “Kiss my Lady” in his best style.
“In the manetime the fun went on thick and threefold, for it must be remembered that Harry, the ould knave, was at the pudden; an’ maybe, he didn’t sarve it about in double-quick time, too! The first he helped was the bride, and before you could say chopstick she was at it hard and fast, before the Methodist praycher, who gave a jolly spring before her that threw them all into convulsions. Harry liked this, and made up his mind soon to find partners for the rest; an’, to make a long story short, barrin’ the piper an’ himself, there wasn’t a pair of heels in the house but was busy at the dancin’ as if their lives depended on it.
“‘Barney,’ says Harry, ‘jist taste a morsel o’ this pudden; divil the sich a bully of a pudden ever you ett. Here, your sowl! thry a snig of it—it’s beautiful!’
“‘To be sure I will,’ says Barney. ‘I’m not the boy to refuse a good thing. But, Harry, be quick, for you know my hands is engaged, an’ it would be a thousand pities not to keep them in music, an’ they so well inclined. Thank you, Harry. Begad, that is a fine pudden. But, blood an’ turnips! what’s this for?’