“Poor Dick, who was naturally a warmhearted, affectionate gorsoon, kissed his father, and cried bitterly.  Sally herself, seeing Larry so sorry for what he done, sobbed as if she would drop on the spot:  but the rest began, and betwixt scoulding and cheering them up, all was as well as ever.  Still Larry seemed as if there was something entirely very strange the matter with him, for as he was going out, he kissed all the childher, one after another; and even went over to the young baby that was asleep in the little cradle of boords that he himself had made for it, and kissed it two or three times, asily, for fraid of wakening it.  He then met Sally at the door, and catching her hand when none of the rest saw him, squeezed it, and gave her a kiss, saying, ’Sally, darling!’ says he.

“‘What ails you, Larry, asthore?’ says Sally.

“‘I don’t know,’ says he; ’nothing, I bleeve—­but Sally, acushla, I have thrated you badly all along.  I forgot, avourneen, how I loved you once and now it breaks my heart that I have used you so ill.’

“’Larry she answered, ’don’t be talking that way, bekase you make me sorrowful and unasy—­don’t, acushla:  God above me knows I forgive you it all.  Don’t stay long,’ says she ’and I’ll borry a lock of meal from Biddy, till we get home our own meldhre, and I’ll have a dish of stirabout ready to make for you when you come home.  Sure, Larry, who’d forgive you, if I, your own wife, wouldn’t?  But it’s I that wants it from you, Larry; and in the presence of God and ourselves, I now beg your pardon, and ax your forgiveness for all the sin I done to you.’  She dropped on her knees, and cried bitterly; but he raised her up, himself a choking at the time, and as the poor crathur got to her feet, she laid herself on his breast, and sobbed out, for she couldn’t help it.  They then went away, though Larry, to tell the thruth, wouldn’t have gone with them at all, only that the sacks were borried from his brother, and he had to bring them home, in regard of Tom wanting them the very next day.

“The night was as dark as pitch—­so dark, faiks, that they had to get long pieces of bog fir, which they lit, and held in their hand, like the lights that Ned there says the lamplighters have in Dublin to light the lamps with.

“At last, with a good dale of trouble, they got to the still-house; and, as they had all taken a drop before, you may be sure they were better inclined, to take another now.  They, accordingly, sat down about the fine rousing fire that was under the still, and had a right good jorum of strong whiskey that never seen a drop of water.  They all were in very good spirits, not thinking of to-morrow, and caring at the time very little about the world as it went.

“When the night was far advanced, they thought of moving home; however, by that time they weren’t able to stand:  but it’s one curse of being drunk, that a man doesn’t know what he’s about for the time, except some few, like that poaching ould fellow, Billy M’Kinny, that’s cuinninger when he’s drunk than when he’s sober; otherwise they would not have ventured out in the clouds of the night, when it was so dark and severe, and they in such a state.