“Many thanks to your honour!” chorused the delighted group; and “I done that iligant, anyhow,” muttered the gratified, successful, and, therefore, forgiving orator.  “I’ll try again.  Ahem! wouldn’t the young gentlemen just step down for a taste?” “By all manes!” was chimed at once; their hats were mounted in a moment, and off they set.

Terence Conway’s farm was soon reached; the barn affording the most accommodation for the numerous visitors, was fitted up for the occasion.  It was nearly full, as Terence was a popular man—­one that didn’t grudge the “bit and sup,” and never turned his back upon friend or foe.  Loud and hearty were the cheers of the delighted tenantry, as the three sons of their beloved landlord passed the threshold.  The appearance of the “stranger” was received with no such demonstrations of welcome; on the contrary, there was a sullen silence, soon after broken by suppressed and angry murmurs.  These were somewhat appeased by one of the sons introducing his “cousin,” and endeavouring to joke the peasants into good-humour, by laughingly assuring them his “reverence” was but a bad drinker, and would not deprive them of much of the poteen; then passing his arm through the parson’s, he led the way, as it afterwards turned out, rather unfortunately, to the top of the barn, and there, followed by his brothers, they took their seats.

The entrance of the Catholic priest (a most amiable man) at this moment attracted the entire attention of the party, during which time Tim Carroll elbowed his way to the place where his master was seated, and calling him partially aside, whispered, “Master John, dear, tell his riverence, Master Richard, to go.”

“What for?”

“Sure, is not he entirely in black?”

“Well, what of it?”

“What of it?  Houly Paul! the likes o’ that!  If my skin was as hard as a miser’s heart, I wouldn’t put it into a black coat, and come to a wedding in it; it’s the devil’s own bad omen, and nothing else!”

“You are right!  What a fool I was not to tell Dick!  Cousin, a word!”

Here the clamour became somewhat louder, the priest taking an active part, and speaking rapidly and earnestly in their native tongue to the evidently excited peasantry.  He suddenly broke from them, and hastening to the Protestant clergyman, grasped his hand, and, shaking it heartily, wished him “health, long life, and happiness:”  and lifting a tumbler of punch to his lips, drank off nearly half its contents, exclaiming the customary, “God save all here!” He then presented the liquor to the stranger, saying in a low earnest voice, “Drink that toast, sir!”

This order was instantly complied with.  The clear tones of the young man’s unfaltering voice and the hearty cordiality of his utterance had a singular effect upon the more turbulent; the priest passed rapidly from the one to the other, and endeavoured to say something pleasant to all, but, despite his attempts at calmness, he was evidently ill at ease.