“But if you’d see them that don’t chance to be called at all, the figure they cut—­slipping into some dark corner, to avoid the mobbing they get from the priest and the others.  When they’re all united, they must each sing a song—­man and wife, according as they sit; or if they can’t sing, or get some one to do it for them, they’re divorced.  But the priest, himself, usually lilts for any one that’s not able to give a verse.  You see, Mr. Morrow, there’s always in the neighborhood some droll fellow that takes all these things upon him, and if he happened to be absent, the wake would be quite dull.”

“Well,” said Andy Morrow, “have you any more of their sports; Tom?”

“Ay, have I; one of the best and pleasantest you heard yet.”

“I hope there’s no more coorting in it,” says Nancy; “God knows we’re tired of their kissing and marrying.”

“Were you always so?” says Ned, across the fire to her.

“Behave yourself, Ned,” says she; “don’t you make me spake; sure you were set down as the greatest Brine-oge that ever was known, in the parish, for such things.”

“No, but don’t you make me spake,” replies Ned.

“Here, Biddy,” said Nancy, “bring that uncle of yours another pint; that’s what he wants most at the present time, I’m thinking.”

Biddy, accordingly, complied with this.

“Don’t make me spake,” continued Ned.

“Come, Ned,” she replied, “you’ve got a fresh pint now; so drink it, and give me no more gosther. (* Gossip—­Idle talk.)

“Shuid-urth!"* says Ned, putting the pint to his head, and winking slyly at the rest.

     * This to you, or upon you; a form of drinking healths.

“Ay, wink; in troth I’ll be up to you for that, Ned,” says Nancy; by no means satisfied that Ned should enter into particulars.  “Well, Tom,” says she, diverting the conversation, “go on, and give us the remainder of your Wake.”

“Well,” says Tom, “the next play is in the milintary line.  You see, Mr. Morrow, the man that leads the sports places them all on their sates, gets from some of the girls a white handkerchief, which he ties round his hat, as you would tie a piece of mourning; he then walks round them two or three times singing,

     Will you list and come with me, fair maid? 
     Will’you list and come with me, fair maid? 
     Will you list and come with me, fair maid,
     And folly the lad with the white cockade?

“When he sings this he takes off his hat, and puts it on the head of the girl he likes best, who rises up and puts her arm around him, and then they both go about in the same way, singing the same words.  She then puts the hat on some young man, who gets up and goes round with them, singing as before.  He next puts it on the girl he loves best, who, after singing and going round in the same manner, puts it on another, and he on his sweetheart, and so on.  This is called the White Cockade.  When it’s all over, that is, when every young man has pitched upon the girl that he wishes to be his sweetheart, they sit down, and sing songs, and coort, as they did at the marrying.