In due time the fair Magnolia made the amorous and formidable O’Flaherty happy.  Single blessedness was not for her, and it is due to her to say, she turned out one of the best house-wives in Chapelizod, and made the fireworker account for every shilling of his pay and other revenues, and managed the commissariat and all other departments to admiration.  She cured her lord very nearly of boozing, and altogether of duelling.  One combat only he fought after his marriage, and it was rumoured that the blooming Magnolia actually chastised the gigantic delinquent with her own fair hand.  That, however, I don’t believe.  But unquestionably she did, in other ways, lead the contumacious warrior so miserable a life for some months after that, as he averred to the major, with tears in his eyes, it would have been ’more to his teeste to have been shot on the occasion.’  At first, of course, the fireworker showed fight, and sometimes broke loose altogether; but in the end ‘his mouth was made,’ his paces formed, and he became a very serviceable and willing animal.  But if she was strong she was also generous, and very popular for her good nature and fearlessness.  And they made a very happy, as well as a comely couple.  And many handsome children were nursed at her fair breast, and drew many a Celtic virtue from that kindly fountain and one of the finest grenadiers who lay in his red coat and sash within the French lines on the field of Waterloo, in that great bivouac which knows no reveille save the last trumpet, was a scion of that fine military stock.

At length came the day of the nuptials—­a grand day for Belmont—­a grand day for the town.  Half-a-dozen flags were up and floating in the autumnal sun.  The band of the Royal Irish Artillery played noble and cheering strains upon the lawns of Belmont.  There were pipers and fiddlers beside for rustic merry-makers under the poplars.  Barrels of strong ale and sparkling cider were broached on the grass; and plenty of substantial fare kept the knives and forks clattering under the marquees by the hedgerow.  The rude and hospitable feudalism of old times had not died out yet; marriage being an honourable estate, the bride and bridegroom did not steal away in a travelling carriage, trying to pass for something else, to unknown regions, but remained courageously upon the premises, the central figures of a genial gala.

Need I describe the wedding?  It always seems to me that I saw it, and see it still, I’ve heard the old folk talk it over so often.  The reader’s fancy will take that business off my hands.  ’What’s a play without a marriage? and what is a marriage if one sees nothing of it?’ says Sir Roger in Gay’s tragi-comic pastoral.  ’Let him have his humour, but set the doors wide open, that we may see how all goes on.’

(Sir Roger at the door, pointing.)

’So natural! d’ye see now, neighbours?  The ring, i’faith.  To have and to hold!  Right again; well play’d, doctor; well play’d, son Thomas.  Come, come, I’m satisfied.  Now for the fiddles and dances.’