“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.
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.”