“So much the worse, Art, I would rather you would; there, now, you have taken your third tumbler, yet you said when we sat down that you’d confine yourself to two; is that keepin’ your word?  I know you may call breakin’ it now a trifle, but I tell you, that when a man begins to break his word in trifles, he’ll soon go on to greater things, and maybe end without much regardin’ it in any thing.”

“You don’t mane to say, Frank, or to hint, that ever I’d come to sich a state as that I wouldn’t regard my word.”

“I do not; but even if I did, by followin’ up this coorse you’d put yourself in the right way of comin’ to it.”

“Throth, I’ll not let this other one be lost either,” he added, drawing over to him the tumbler which he had filled for his brother; “I’ve an addition to my family—­the child an’ mother doin’ bravely, an’ didn’t taste a dhrop these seven long years; here’s your health, at all events, Frank, an’ may the Lord put it into your heart to marry a wife, an’ be as happy as I am.  Here, Madgey, come here, I say; take that whiskey an’ sugar, an’ mix yourselves a jorum; it’s far in the night, but no matther for that—­an’ see, before you mix it, go an’ bring my own darlin’ Art, till he dhrinks his mother’s health.”

“Why now, Art,” began his brother, “is it possible that you can have the conscience to taich the poor boy sich a cursed habit so soon?  What are you about this minute but trainin’ him up to what may be his own destruction yet?”

“Come now, Frank, none of your moralizin’,” the truth is, that the punch was beginning rapidly to affect his head; “none of your moralizin’, throth it’s a preacher you ought to be, or a lawyer, to lay down the law.  Here, Madgey, bring him to me; that’s my son, that there isn’t the like of in Ballykeerin, any way.  Eh, Frank, it’s ashamed of him I ought to be, isn’t it?  Kiss me, Art, and then kiss your uncle Frank, the best uncle that ever broke the world’s bread is the same Frank—­that’s a good boy, Art; come now, drink your darlin’ mother’s health in this glass of brave punch; my mother’s health, say, long life an’ happiness to her! that’s a man, toss it off at wanst, bravo; arra, Frank, didn’t he do that manly? the Lord love him, where ’ud you get sich a fine swaddy as he is of his age?  Oh, Frank, what ’ud become of me if anything happened that boy? it’s a mad-house would hould me soon.  May the Lord in heaven save and guard him from all evil and clanger!”

Frank saw that it was useless to remonstrate with him at such a moment, for the truth is, intoxication was setting in fast, and all his influence over him was gone.

“Here, Atty, before you go to bed agin, jist a weeshy sup more to drink your little sisther’s health; sure Kate Sharpe brought you home a little sisther, Atty.”

“The boy’s head will not be able to stand so much,” said Frank; “you will make him tipsy.”

“Divil a tipsy; sure it’s only a mere draineen.”