“‘My name’s Betty Cunningham,’ says she.

“‘And next, what’s your mistress’s, my darling?’ says Ned.

“‘There it is,’ says she, handing him a card.

“‘Very well,’ says Ned, the thief, looking at it with a great air, making as if he could read; ‘this will just do, a colleen bawn.’

“‘Do you read in your country with the wrong side of the print up?’ says she.

“‘Up or down,’ says Ned, ’it’s all one to us in Ireland; but, any how, I’m left-handed, you deluder!’

“The upshot of it was, that her mistress turned out to be a great hairess, and a great beauty; and she and Fowler got married in less than a month.  So, you see, it’s true enough that the Englishwomen are fond of Irishmen,” says Shane; “but, Tom, with, submission for stopping you, go on with your Wake.”

“The next play, then, is Marrying——­”

“Hooh!” says Andy Morrow, “why, all their plays are about kissing and marrying, and the like of that.”

“Surely and they are, sir,” says Tom.

“It’s all the nathur of the baste,” says Alick.

“The next is marrying.  A bouchal puts an ould dark coat on him, and if he can, borry a wig from any of the ould men in the wake-house, why, well and good, he’s the liker his work—­this is the priest; he takes, and drives all the young men out of the house, and shuts the door upon them, so, that they can’t get in till he lets them.  He then ranges the girls all beside one another, and, going to the first, makes her name him she wishes to be her husband; this she does, of coorse, and the priest lugs him in, shutting the door upon the rest.  He then pronounces this marriage sarvice, when the husband smacks her first, and then the priest:—­’Amo amas, avourneen—­in nomine gomine, betwuxt and between—­for hoc erat in votis, squeeze ’em please ’em—­omnia vincit amor, wid two horns to caput nap it—­poluphlasboio, the lasses—­’Quid,’ says Cleopatra; ‘Shid,’ says Antony—­ragibus et clatibus solemus stapere windous—­nine months—­big-bottle, and a honeymoon—­Alneas poque Dido’ poque Roymachree—­hum not fiem viat—­lag rag, merry kerry, Parawig and breeches—­hoc manifestibus omnium—­Kiss your wife under the nose, then seek repose.’  ‘Tis’ done,’ says the priest.  ’Vinculum trinculum; and now you’re married.  Amen!’ Well, these two are married, and he places his wife upon his knee, for fraid of taking up too much room, you persave; there they coort away again, and why shouldn’t they?

“The priest then goes to the next, and makes her name her husband; this is complied with, and he is brought in after the same manner, but no one else till they’re called:  he is then married, and kisses his wife, and the priest kisses her after him; and so they’re all married.