* In many parishes of Ireland a number of small wax candles are blessed by the priest upon Ash-Wednesday, and these are constantly worn about the person until that day twelve months, for the purposes mentioned above.

     ** Dyke or drain.

     *** Became restive.

“When we arrived, there was nothing but shaking hands and kissing, and all kinds of slewsthering—­men kissing men—­women kissing women—­and after that men and women all through other.  Another breakfast was ready for us; and here we all sat down; myself and my next relations in the bride’s house, and the others in the barn and garden; for one house wouldn’t hold the half of us.  Eating, however, was all only talk:  of coorse we took some of the poteen again, and in a short time afterwards set off along the paved road to the priest’s house, to be tied as fast as he could make us, and that was fast enough.  Before we went out to mount our horses though, there was just such a hullabaloo with the bride and her friends as there was with myself:  but my uncle soon put a stop to it, and in five minutes had them breaking their hearts laughing.

“Bless my heart, what doings! what roasting and boiling!—­and what tribes of beggars and shulers, and vagabonds of all sorts and sizes, were sunning themselves about the doors wishing us a thousand times long life and happiness.  There was a fiddler and piper:  the piper was to stop in my father-in-law’s while we were going to be married, to keep the neighbors that were met there shaking their toes while we were at the priest’s; and the fiddler was to come with ourselves, in order you know, to have a dance at the priest’s house, and to play for us coming and going; for there’s nothing like a taste of music when one’s on for sport.  As we were setting off, ould Mary M’Quade from Kilnahushogue, who was sent for bekase she understood charms, and had the name of being lucky, took myself aside:  ‘Shane Fadh,’ says she, ’you’re a young man well to look upon; may God bless you and keep you so; and there’s not a doubt but there’s them here that wishes you ill—­that would rather be in your shoes this blessed day, with your young colleen bawn, (* Fair Girl) that will be your wife before the sun sets, plase the heavens.  There’s ould Fanny Barton, the wrinkled thief of a hag, that the Finigans axed here for the sake of her decent son-in-law, who ran away with her daughter Betty, that was the great beauty some years ago:  her breath’s not good, Shane, and many a strange thing’s said of her.  Well, maybe, I know more about that nor I’m not going to mintion, any how:  more betoken that it’s not for nothing the white hare haunts the shrubbery behind her house.’

“‘But what harm could she do me, Sonsy Mary?’ says I—­for she was called Sonsy—­’we have often sarved her one way or other.’

“Ax me no questions about her, Shane,’ says she, ’don’t I know what she did to Ned Donnelly, that was to be pitied, if ever a man was to be pitied, for as good as seven months after his marriage, until I relieved him; was gone to a thread he was, and didn’t they pay me decently for my throuble!’