Every one acquainted with
the country knows this, and no one need be surprised at the delight with
which Art Maguire hailed this agreeable coincidence. Art, we have said
before, was naturally social, and, although he did most religiously
observe his oath, yet, since the truth must be told, we are bound
to admit that, on many and many an occasion, he did also most
unquestionably regret the restraint that he had placed upon himself with
regard to liquor. Whenever his friends were met together, whether at
fair, or market, wedding, christening, or during the usual festivals, it
is certain that a glass of punch or whiskey never crossed his nose
that he did not feel a secret hankering after it, and would often have
snuffed in the odor, or licked his lips at it, were it not that he
would have considered the act as a kind of misprision of perjury. Now,
however, that he was free, and about to have a christening in his house,
it was at least only reasonable that he should indulge in a glass,
if only for the sake of drinking the health of "the young lady." His
brother Frank happened to be in town that evening, and Art prevailed on
him to stop for the night.
"You must stand for the young colleen, Frank," said he, "and who do you
think is to join you?"
"Why, how could I guess?" replied Frank.
"The sorra other but little Toal Finnigan, that thought to take Margaret
from me, you renumber.
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