if they be living, it places them in the circle of happiness which surrounds it; and if they be removed forever from such scenes, their memory, which, amidst the din of ordinary life, has almost passed away, is now restored, and their loss felt as if it had been only just then sustained.  For this reason, at such times, it is not at all unusual to see the elders of Irish families touched by pathos as well as humor.  The Irish are a people whose affections are as strong as their imaginations are vivid; and, in illustration of this, we may add, that many a time have we seen them raised to mirth and melted into tears almost at the same time, by a song of the most comic character.  The mirth, however, was for the song, and the sorrow for the memory of some beloved relation who had been remarkable for singing it, or with whom it had been a favorite.

We do not affirm that in the family of the M’Kennas there were, upon the occasion which we were describing, any tears shed.  The enjoyments of the season and the humors of the expected dance, both combined to give them a more than usual degree of mirth and frolic At an early hour all that was necessary for the due celebration of that night and the succeeding day, had been arranged and completed.  The whiskey had been laid in, the Christmas candles bought, the barn cleared out, the seats laid; in short, every thing in its place, and a place for everything.  About one o’clock, however, the young members of the family began to betray some symptoms of uneasiness; nor was M’Kenna himself, though the farithee or man of the house, altogether so exempt from what they felt, as might, if the cause of it were known to our readers, be expected from a man of his years and experience.

From time to time one of the girls tripped out as far as the stile before the door, where she stood looking in a particular direction until her sight was fatigued.

“Och,’ och,” her mother exclaimed during her absence, “but that colleen’s sick about Barny!—­musha, but it would be the beautiful joke, all out, if he’d disappoint the whole of yez.  Faix, it wouldn’t be unlike the same man, to go wherever he can make most money; and sure small blame to him for that; what’s one place to him more than another?”

“Hut,” M’Kenna replied, rising, however, to go out himself, “the girsha’s makin’ a bauliore (* laughing stock) of herself.”

“An’ where’s yourself slippin’ out to?” rejoined his wife, with a wink of shrewd humor at the rest.  “I say, Frank, are you goin’ to look for him too?  Mavrone, but that’s sinsible!  Why, thin, you snakin’ ould rogue, is that the way wid you?  Throth I have often hard it said, that ‘one fool makes many;’ but sure enough, ‘an ould fools worse nor any.’  Come in here this minute, I say—­walk back—­you to have your horn up!  Faix, indeed!”

“Why!  I am only goin’ to get the small phaties boiled for the pigs, poor crathurs, for their Christmas dinner.  Sure we oughtn’t to neglect thim no more than ourselves, the crathurs, that can’t spake their wants, except by grantin’.”