“With all my heart,” said my brother; “I have no objection, for I know you give it good.”

When we went in, the punch was already reeking from immense white jugs, that couldn’t hold less than a gallon each.

“Now,” said his Reverence, very properly, ’you have had a decent and creditable funeral, and have managed every thing with great propriety; let me request, therefore, that you will not get drunk, nor permit yourselves to enter into any disputes or quarrels; but be moderate in what you take, and go home peaceably.”

“Why, thin, your Reverence,” replied the widow, “he’s now in his grave, and, thank God, it’s he that had the dacent funeral all out—­ten good gallons did we put over you, asthore, and it’s yourself that liked the dacent thing, any how—­but sure, sir, it would shame him where he’s lyin’, if we disregarded him so far as to go home widout bringing in our friends, that didn’t desart us in our throuble, an’ thratin’ them for their kindness.”

While Kelly’s brother was filling out all their glasses, the priest, my brother, and I, were taking a little refreshment.  When the glasses were filled, the deceased’s brother raised his in his hand, and said,—­

“Well, gintlemen,” addressing us, “I hope you’ll pardon me for not dhrinking your healths first; but people, you know, can’t break through an ould custom, at any rate—­so I give poor Denis’s health that’s in his warm grave, and God be merciful to his sowl.”

The priest now winked at me to give them their own way; so we filled our glasses, and joined the rest in drinking “Poor Denis’s health, that’s now in his warm grave, and God be merciful to his soul.”

When this was finished, they then drank ours, and thanked us for our kindness in attending the funeral.  It was now past five o’clock; and we left them just setting into a hard bout of drinking, and rode down to his Reverence’s residence.

“I saw you smile,” said he, on our way, “at the blundering toast of Mat Kelly; but it would be labor in vain to attempt setting them right.  What do they know about the distinctions of more refined life?  Besides, I maintain, that what they said was as well calculated to express their affection, as if they had drunk honest Denis’s memory.  It is, at least, unsophisticated.  But did you hear,” said he, “of the apparition that was seen last night, on the mountain road above Denis’s?”

“I did not hear of it,” I replied, equivocating a little.

“Why,” said he, “it is currently reported that the spirit of a murdered pedlar, which haunts the hollow of the road at Drumfurrar bridge, chased away the two servant men as they were bringing home the coffin, and that finding it a good fit, he got into it, and walked half a mile along the road, with the wooden surtout upon him; and, finally, that to wind up the frolic, he left it on one end half-way between the bridge and Denis’s house, after putting a crowd of the countrymen to flight.  I suspect some droll knave has played them a trick.  I assure you, that a deputation of them, who declared that they saw the coffin move along of itself, waited upon me this morning, to know whether they ought to have put him into the coffin, or gotten another.”