Fergus was deeply affected at these words, although he was gratified in the highest degree at the proposal.  In the course of a few days he entered upon his duties, immediately after which Reilly set out on his journey to Monaghan, to see once more his beloved, but unhappy, Cooleen Baton.  On arriving at that handsome and hospitable town, he put up at an excellent inn, called the “Western Arms,” kept by a man who was the model of innkeepers, known by the sobriquet of “honest Peter Philips”.  We need, not now recapitulate that with which the reader is already acquainted; but we cannot omit describing a brief interview which took place in the course of a few days after the restoration of the Cooleen Bawn to the perfect use of her reason, between two individuals, who, we think, have some claim upon the good-will and good wishes of our readers.  We allude to Fergus Reilly and the faithful Ellen Connor.  Seated in a comfortable room in the aforesaid inn—­now a respectable and admirably kept hotel—­with the same arms over the door, were the two individuals alluded to.  Before them stood a black bottle of a certain fragrant liquor, as clear and colorless as water from the purest spring, and, to judge of it by the eye, quite as harmless; but there was the mistake.  Never was hypocrisy better exemplified than by the contents of that bottle.  The liquor in question came, Fergus was informed, from the green woods of Truagh, and more especially from a townland named Derrygola, famous, besides, for stout men and pretty girls.

“Well, now, Ellen darlin’,” said Fergus, “if ever any two bachelors * were entitled to drink their own healths, surely you and I are.  Here’s to us—­a happy marriage, soon and sudden.  As for myself, I’ve had the patience of a Trojan.”

     "Bachelor,” in Ireland, especially in the country parts of
     it, where English is not spoken correctly, is frequently
     applied to both the sexes.

Ellen pledged him beautifully with her eyes, but very moderately with the liquor.

“Bedad!” he proceeded, “seven years—­ay, and a half—­wasn’t a bad apprenticeship, at any rate; but, as I tould Mr. Reilly before he left the country—­upon my sowl, says I, Mr. Reilly, she’s worth waitin’ for; and he admitted it.”

“But, Fergus, did ever any thing turn out so happy for all parties?  To me it’s like a dream; I can scarcely believe it.”

“Faith, and if it be a dhrame, I hope it’s one we’ll never waken from.  And so the four of us are to be married on the same day; and we’re all to live with the squire.”

“We are, Fergus; the Cooleen Bawn will have it so; but, indeed, her father is as anxious for it almost as she is.  Ah, no, Fergus, she could not part with her faithful Ellen, as she calls me; nor, after all, Fergus, would her faithful Ellen wish to part with her?”

“And he’s to make me steward; begad, and if I don’t make a good one, I’ll make an honest one.  Faith, at all events, Ellen, we’ll be in a condition to provide for the childre’, plaise God.”