“I never remember being at a counthry wake,” said Andy Morrow.  “How is everything laid out in the house?”

“Sure it’s to you I’m telling the whole story, Mr. Morrow:  these thieves about me here know all about it as well as I do—­the house, eh?  Why, you see, the two corpses were stretched beside one another, washed and laid out.  There were long deal boords with their ends upon two stools, laid over the bodies; the boords were covered with a white sheet got at the big house, so the corpses were’nt to be seen.  On these, again, were placed large mould candles, plates of cut tobacco, pipes, and snuff, and so on.  Sometimes corpses are waked in a bed, with their faces visible; when that is the case, white sheets, crosses, and sometimes flowers, are pinned up about the bed, except in the front; but when they’re undher boord, a set of ould women sit smoking, and rocking themselves from side to side, quite sorrowful—­these are keeners—­friends or relations; and when every one connected with the dead comes in, they raise the keene, like a song of sorrow, wailing and clapping their hands.

“The furniture is mostly removed, and sates made round the walls, where the neighbors sit smoking, chatting, and gosthering.  The best of aiting and dhrinking that they can afford is provided; and, indeed, there is generally open house, for it’s unknown how people injure themselves by their kindness and waste at christenings, weddings, and wakes.

“In regard to poor Larry’s wake—­we had all this, and more at it; for, as I obsarved a while agone, the man had made himself no friends when he was living, and the neighbors gave a loose to all kinds of divilment when he was dead.  Although there’s no man would be guilty of any disrespect where the dead are, yet, when a person has led a good life, and conducted themselves dacently and honestly, the young people of the neighborhood show their respect by going through their little plays and divarsions quieter and with less noise, lest they may give any offence; but, as I said, whenever the person didn’t live as they ought to do, there’s no stop to their noise and rollikin.

“When it drew near morning, every one of us took his sweetheart, and, after convoying her home, we went to our own houses to get a little sleep—­so that was the end of poor Larry, M’Farland, and his wife, Sally Lowry.

“Success, Tom!” said Bill M’Kinnly “take a pull of the malt now, afther the story, your soul!—­But what was the funeral like?”

“Why, then, a poor berrin it was,” said Tom; “a miserable sight, God knows—­just a few of the neighbors; for those that used to take his thrate, and while he had a shilling in his pocket blarney him up, not one of the skulking thieves showed their faces at it—­a good warning to foolish men that throw their money down throats that haven’t hearts anundher them.—­But boys, desarve another thrate, I think, afther my story!” This, we need scarcely add, he was supplied with, and after some further desultory chat, they again separated, with the intention of reassembling at Ned’s on the following night.