Peter’s wife was an excellent manager, and he himself a pleasant, good-humored man, full of whim and inoffensive mirth.  His powers of amusement were of a high order, considering his station in life and his want of education.  These qualities contributed, in a great degree, to bring both the young and old to his house during the long winter nights, in order to hear the fine racy humor with which he related his frequent adventures and battles with excisemen.  In the summer evenings, he usually engaged a piper or a fiddler, and had a dance, a contrivance by which he not only rendered himself popular, but increased his business.

In this mode of life, the greatest source of anxiety to Peter and Ellish was the difficulty of not offending their friends by refusing to give them credit.  Many plans, were, with great skill and forethought, devised to obviate this evil; but all failed.  A short board was first procured, on which they got written with chalk—­

“No credit giv’n—­barrin’ a thrifle to Pether’s friends.”

Before a week passed, after this intimation, the number of “Pether’s friends” increased so rapidly, that neither he nor Ellish knew the half of them.  Every scamp in the parish was hand and glove with him:  the drinking tribe, particularly, became desperately attached to him and Ellish.  Peter was naturally kind-hearted, and found that his firmest resolutions too often gave way before the open flattery with which he was assailed.  He then changed his hand, and left Ellish to bear the brunt of their blarney.  Whenever any person or persons were seen approaching the house, Peter, if he had reason to suspect an attack upon his indulgence, prepared himself for a retreat.  He kept his eye to the window, and if they turned from the direct line of the road, he immediately slipped into bed, and lay close in order to escape them.  In the meantime they enter.

“God save all here.  Ellish, agra machree, how are you?”

“God save you kindly!  Faix, I’m mid-dim’, I thank you, Condy:  how is yourself, an’ all at home?”

“Devil a heartier, barrin’ my father, that’s touched wid a loss of appetite afther his meals—­ha, ha, ha!”

“Musha, the dickens be an you, Condy, but you’re your father’s son, any way; the best company in Europe is the same man.  Throth, whether you’re jokin’ or not, I’d be sarry to hear of anything to his disadvantage, dacent man.  Boys, won’t you go down to the other room?”

“Go way wid yez, boys, till I spake to Ellish here about the affairs o’ the nation.  Why, Ellish, you stand the cut all to pieces.  By the contints o’ the book, you do; Pether doesn’t stand it half so well.  How is he, the thief?”

“Throth, he’s not well, to-day, in regard of a smotherin’ about the heart he tuck this mornin’ afther his breakfast.  He jist laid himself on the bed a while, to see if it would go off of him—­God be praised for all his marcies!”