“Father Corrigan now appeared to be getting sleepy.  While this was going on, I looked about me, but couldn’t see Mary.  The tailor was just beginning to get a little hearty once more.  Supper waa talked of, but there was no one that could ate anything; even the friar, was against it.  The clergy now got their horses, the friar laving his oats behind him; for we promised to send them home, and something more along with them the next day.  Father James was roused up, but could hardly stir with a heddick.  Father Corrigan was correct enough; but when the friar got up, he ran a little to the one side, upsetting Sonsy Mary that sat a little beyond him.  He then called over my mother-in-law to the dresser, and after some collogin (* whispering) she slipped two fat fowl, that had never been touched, into one of his coat pockets, that was big enough to hould a leg of mutton.  My father then called me over and said, ‘Shane,’ says he, ’hadn’t you better slip Father Rooney a bottle or two of that whiskey; there’s plenty of it there that wasn’t touched, and you won’t be a bit the poorer of it, may be, this day twelve months.’  I accordingly dropped two bottles of it into the other pocket, so that his Reverence was well balanced any how.

“‘Now,’ said he, ’before I go, kneel down both of you, till I give you my benediction.’

“We accordingly knelt down, and he gave us his blessing in Latin before he bid us good-night!

“After they went, Mary threw the stocking—­all the unmarried folks coming in the dark, to see who it would hit.  Bless my sowl, but she was the droll Mary—­for what did she do, only put a big brogue of her father’s into it, that was near two pounds weight; and who should it hit on the bare sconce, but Billy Cormick, the tailor—­who thought he was fairly shot, for it levelled the crathur at once; though that wasn’t hard to do any how.

“This was the last ceremony:  and Billy was well continted to get the knock, for you all know, whoever the stocking strikes upon is to be married first.  After this, my mother and mother-in-law set them to the dancing—­and ’twas themselves that kept it up till long after daylight the next morning—­but first they called me into the next room where Mary was; and—­and—­so ends my wedding; by the same token that I’m as dry as a stick.”

“Come, Nancy,” says Andy Morrow, “replenish again for us all, with a double measure for Shane Fadh—­because he well desarves it.”

“Why, Shane,” observed Alick, “you must have a terrible memory of your own, or you couldn’t tell it all so exact.”

“There’s not a man in the four provinces has sich a memory,” replied Shane.  “I never hard that story yet, but I could repate it in fifty years afterwards.  I could walk up any town in the kingdom, and let me look at the signs and I would give them to you agin jist exactly as they stood.”

Thus ended the account of Shane Fadh’s wedding; and, after finishing the porter, they all returned home, with an understanding that they were to meet the next night in the same place.