“Good-morrow kindly, Cooney; isn’t this a fine saison, the Lord be praised!”

“A glorious saison, blessed be His name!  I don’t think ever I remimber a finer promise of the craps.”

“Throth, nor I, the meadows is a miracle to look at.”

“Divil a thing else—­but the white, an’ oats, an’ early potatoes, beat anything ever was seen.”

“Throth, the poor will have them for a song, Jemmy.”

“Ay, or for less, Cooney; they’ll be paid for takin’ them.”

“It’s enough to raise one’s heart, Jemmy, just to think of it.”

“Why then it is that, an’, for the same raison, come up to the house above, and we’ll have a sup on the head of it; sure, it’s no harm to drink success to the craps, and may God prevent a failure, any how.”

“Divil a bit.”

Now, we simply ask the reader which dialogue is in the more appropriate keeping with the characters of honest, candid Jemmy and Cooney?

“And now,” proceeded Cooney, “regard-in’ this match between your youngest daughter Margaret, and my son Toal.”

“Why, as for myself,” replied Murray, “sorra much of objection I have aginst it, barrin’ his figure; if he was about a foot and a half higher, and a little betther made—­God pardon me, an’ blessed be the maker—­there would, at all events, be less difficulty in the business, especially with Peggy herself.”

“But couldn’t you bring her about?”

“I did my endayvors, Cooney; you may take my word I did.”

“Well, an’ is she not softenin’ at all?”

“Upon my sounds, Cooney, I cannot say she is.  If I could only get her to spake one sairious word on the subject, I might have some chance; but I cannot, Cooney; I think both you an’ little Toal had betther give it up.  I doubt there’s no chance.”

“Faith an’ the more will be her loss.  I tell you, Jemmy, that he’d outdo either you or me as a meal man.  What more would you want?”

“He’s cute enough, I know that.”

“I tell you you don’t know the half of it.  It’s the man that can make the money for her that you want.”

“But aginst that, you know, it’s Peggy an’ not me that’s to marry him.  Now, you know that women often—­though not always, I grant—­wish to have something in the appearance of their husband that they needn’t be ashamed to look at.”

“That’s the only objection that can bo brought against him.  He’s the boy can make the money; I’m a fool to him.  I’ll tell you what, Jemmy Murray, may I never go home, but he’d skin a flint.  Did you hear anything?  Now!”

Murray, who appeared to be getting somewhat tired of this topic, replied rather hastily—­

“Why, Cooney Finnigan, if he could skin the devil himself and ait him afterwards, she wouldn’t have him.  She has refused some of the best looking young men in the parish, widout either rhyme or raison, an’ I’m sure she’s not goin’ to take your leprechaun of a son, that you might run a five-gallon keg between his knees.  Sure, bad luck to the thing his legs resemble but a pair of raipin’ hooks, wid their backs outwards.  Let us pass this subject, and come in till we drink a glass together.”