He then made the little fellow drink the baby’s health, after which he was despatched to bed.

“Throth, it’s in for a penny in for a pound wid myself.  I know, Frank, that—­that there’s something or other wrong wid my head, or at any rate wid my eyes; for everything, somehow, is movin’.  Is everything movin’, Frank?”

“You think so,” said Frank, “because you’re fast getting tipsy—­if you arn’t tipsy all out.”

“Well, then, if I’m tip—­tipsy, divil a bit the worse I can be by another tumbler.  Come, Frank, here’s the ould blood of Ireland—­the Maguires of Fermanagh!  And now, Frank, I tell you, it would more become you to drink that toast, than to be sittin’ there like an oracle, as you are; for upon my sowl, you’re nearly as bad.  But, Frank.”

“Well, Art.”

“Isn’t little Toal Finnigan a civil little fellow—­that is—­is—­if he was well made.  ‘There never stood,’ says he, ’sich a couple in the chapel of—­of Aughindrumon, nor there never walked sich a couple up or down the street of Ballykeerin—­that’s the chat,’ says he:  an’ whisper, Frank, ne—­neither did there.  Whe—­where is Margaret’s aiquil, I’d—­I’d like to know? an’ as for me, I’ll measure myself across the shouldhers aginst e’er a—­a man, woman, or child in—­in the parish.  Co—­come here, now, Frank, till I me—­measure the small o’ my leg ag—­aginst yours; or if—­if that makes you afeard, I’ll measure the—­the ball of my leg aginst the ball of yours.  There’s a wrist, Frank; look at that? jist look at it.”

“I see it; it is a powerful wrist.”

“But feel it.”

“Tut, Art, sure I see it.”

“D—­n it, man, jist feel it—­feel the breadth of—­of that bone.  Augh—­that’s the—­the wrist; so anyhow, here’s little Toal Finnigan’s health, an’ I don’t care what they say, I like little Toal, an’ I will like little Toal; bekaise—­aise if—­if he was the divil, as—­as they say he is, in disguise—­ha, ha, ha! he has a civil tongue in his head.”

He then commenced and launched out into the most extravagant praises of himself, his wife, his children; and from these he passed to the ould blood of Ireland, and the Fermanagh Maguires.

“Where,” he said, “whe—­where is there in the country, or anywhere else, a family that has sich blood as ours in their veins?  Very well; an’ aren’t we proud of it, as we have a right to be?  Where’s the Maguire that would do a mane or shabby act? tha—­that’s what I’d like to know.  Isn’t the word of a Maguire looked upon as aiquil to—­to an—­another man’s oath; an’ where’s the man of them that was—­as ever known to break it?  Eh Frank?  No; stead—­ed—­steady’s the word wid the Maguires, and honor bright.”

Frank was about to remind him that he had in his own person given a proof that night that a Maguire could break his word, and commit a disreputable action besides; but as he saw it was useless, he judiciously declined then making any observation whatsoever upon it.