“What ails you, Barny?”

“Oh, thin, murdher alive, how little thruth’s in this world!  Your will’s my pleassure! Baithirshin! but, sowl, if things goes an, it won’t be long so!”

“Why, Barny,” the young man would exclaim, “is the ravin’ fit comin’ over you?”

“No, in troth, Jim; but it’s thinkin’ of home I am.  Howandiver, do you go an; but, naboklish! what’ll ye have?”

“‘Jig Polthouge,’ Barny:  but on your wrist ma bouchal, or Katty will lave us both ut o’ sight in no time.  Whoo! success! clear the coorse.  Well done, Barny!  That’s the go.”

When the youngsters had danced for some time, the fathers and mothers of the village were called upon “to step out.”  This was generally the most amusing scene in the dance.  No excuse is ever taken on such occasions, for when they refuse, about a dozen young fellows place them, will they will they, upright upon the floor, from whence neither themselves nor their wives are permitted to move until they dance.  No sooner do they commence, than, they are mischievously pitted against each other by two sham parties, one encouraging the wife, the other cheering on the good man; whilst the fiddler, falling in with the frolic, plays in his most furious style.  The simplicity of character, and, perhaps, the lurking vanity of those who are the butts of the mirth on this occasion, frequently heighten the jest.

“Why, thin, Paddy, is it strivin’ to outdo me you are?  Faiks, avourneen, you never seen that day, any way,” the old woman would exclaim, exerting all her vigor.

“Didn’t I?  Sowl, I’ll sober you before I lave the flure, for all that,” her husband would reply.

“An’ do you forget,” she would rejoin, “that the M’Carthy dhrop is in me; ay, an’ it’s to the good still.”

And the old dame would accompany the boast with a fresh attempt at agility; to which Paddy would respond by “cutting the buckle,” and snapping his fingers, whilst fifty voices, amidst roars of laughter, were loud in encouraging each.

“Handle your feet, Kitty, darlin’—­the mettle’s lavin’ him!”

“Off wid the brogues, Paddy, or she’ll do you.  That’s it; kick off the other, an’ don’t spare the flure.”

“A thousand guineas on Katty!  M’Carthy agin Gallagher for ever!—­whirroo!”

“Blur alive the flure’s not benefittin by you, Paddy.  Lay on it, man!—­That’s it!—­Bravo!—­Whish!—­Our side agin Europe!”

“Success, Paddy!  Why you could dance the Dusty Miller upon a flure paved wid drawn razures, you’re so soople.”

“Katty for ever!  The blood’s in you, Katty; you’ll win the day, a ban choir! (* decent woman).  More power to you!”

“I’ll hould a quart on Paddy.  Heel an’ toe, Paddy, you sinner!”

“Right an’ left, Katty; hould an’, his breath’s goin’.”

“Right an’ wrong, Paddy, you spalpeen.  The whiskey’s an you, man alive:  do it decently, an’ don’t let me lose the wager.”