off to Frank M’Kenna’s, one of the dacentest men in Europe, an’ his wife the same.  Divil a toe I’ll set a waggin’ in any other place this night,’ says she; ’for ’tis there we’re both well thrated wid the best the house can afford.  So,’ says she, ’in the name of all that’s musical, you’re welcome to the poker an’ tongs anywhere else; for me, I’m off to Frank’s.’  An’ faith, sure enough, she took to her pumps; an’ it was only comin’ over the hill there, that young Frank an’ I overtuck her:  divil a lie in it.”

In fact, Barney, besides being a fiddler, was a senachie of the first water; could tell a story, or trace a genealogy as well as any man living, and draw the long bow in either capacity much better than he could in the practice of his more legitimate profession.

“Well, here she is, Barny, to the fore,” said the aforesaid arch girl, “an’ now give us a tune.”

“What!” replied the farithee, “is it wid-out either aitin’ or dhrinkin’?  Why, the girsha’s beside herself!  Alley, aroon, get him the linin’* an’ a sup to tighten his elbow.”

     * Linin’—­lining, so eating and drinking are often
     humorously termed by the people.

The good woman instantly went to provide refreshments for the musician.

“Come, girls,” said Barny, “will yez get me a scythe or a handsaw.”

“A scythe or a handsaw! eh, then what to do, Barny?”

“Why, to pare my nails, to be sure,” replied Barny, with a loud laugh; “but stay—­come back here—­I’ll make shift to do wid a pair of scissors this bout.

     “’The parent finds his sons,
     The tutherer whips them;
     The nailer makes his nails,
     The fiddler clips them.’”

Wherever Barny came there was mirth, and a disposition to be pleased, so that his jokes always told.

“Musha, the sorra pare you, Barny,” said one of the girls; “but there’s no bein’ up to you, good or bad.”

“The sorra pair me, is it? faix, Nancy, you’ll soon be paired yourself wid some one, avourneen.  Do you know a sartin young man wid a nose on him runnin’ to a point like the pin of a sun-dial, his knees brakin’ the king’s pace, strikin’ one another ever since he was able to walk, an’ that was about four years afther he could say his Father Nosther; an’ faith, whatever you may think, there’s no makin’ them paceable except by puttin’ between them!  The wrong side of his shin, too, is foremost; an’ though the one-half of his two feet is all heels, he keeps the same heels for set days an’ bonfire nights, an’ savinly walks on his ankles.  His leg, too, Nancy, is stuck in the middle of his foot, like a poker in a pick-axe; an’, along wid all—­”

“Here, Barny, thry your hand at this,” said the good woman, who had not heard his ludicrous description of her fictitious son-in-law—­“eeh arran agus bee laudher, Barny, ate bread and be strong.  I’ll warrant when you begin to play, they’ll give you little time to do anything but scrape away;—­taste the dhrink first, anyway, in the name o’ God,”—­and she filled him a glass.