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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 271 pages of information about The Ned M'Keown Stories.
and remembering all the vexatious privations of my favorite sports which he occasioned me, I resolved to turn the laugh against him, which I did effectually, by bringing him out in the character of a hen-pecked husband, which was indeed very decidedly opposed to his real one.  My triumph was complete, and Ned, on hearing himself read of “in a book,” waxed indignant and wrathful.  In speaking of me he could not for the life of him express any other idea of my age and person than that by which he last remembered me.  “What do you think?” he would exclaim, “there’s that young Carleton has put me in a book, and made Nancy leather me!” Ned survived Nancy several years, and married another wife, whom I never saw.  About twenty-five years ago he went to America, where he undertook to act as a tanner, and nearly ruined his employer.  After some time he returned, home, and was forced to mend roads.  Towards the close of his life, however, he contrived to get an ass and cart, and became egg-merchant, but I believe with his usual success.  In this last capacity, I think about two years ago, he withdrew from all his cares and speculations, and left behind him the character of an honest, bustlin, good-humored man, whom everybody knew and everybody liked, and whose harmless eccentricities many will long remember with good-humor and regret.

“Murdher!” said Ned, astonished, “I beg your honor’s pardon; but murdher alive, sir, where’s your whiskers?”

The stranger put his hand hastily to his face, and smiled—­“Where are my whiskers?  Why, shaved off, to be sure,” he replied; and setting spurs to his horse, was soon out of sight and hearing.

It was nearly a month after that, when Ned and Nancy, in presence of Father Deleery, opened the packet, and. discovered, not the half-year’s rent of Lord Non-Resident’s estate, but a large sheaf of play-bills packed up together—­their guest having been the identical person to whom Ned affirmed he bore so strong a resemblance.

SHANE FADH’S WEDDING.

On the following evening, the neighbors were soon assembled about Ned’s hearth in the same manner as on the night preceding:—­And we may observe, by the way, that 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.”

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