"I bequeath unto my son Peter,--and never was there a better son, or a decenter boy!--have you that down? I bequeath unto my son Peter the whole of my two farms of Killimundoonery and Knocksheboora, with the fallow meadows behind Lynch's house; the forge, and the right of turf on the Dooran bog. I give him, and much good may it do him, Lanty Cassara's acre, and the Luary field, with the limekiln; and that reminds me that my mouth is just as dry; let me taste what ye have in the jug." Here the dying man took a very hearty pull, and seemed considerably refreshed by it. "Where was I, Billy Scanlan?" says he; "oh, I remember, at the limekiln; I leave him--that's Peter, I mean--the two potato-gardens at Noonan's Well; and it is the elegant fine crops grows there." "An't you gettin' wake, father, darlin'?" says Peter, who began to be afraid of my father's loquaciousness; for, to say the truth, the punch got into his head, and he was greatly disposed to talk. "I am, Peter, my son," says he; "I am getting wake; just touch my lips again with the jug. Ah, Peter, Peter, you watered the drink!" "No, indeed, father; but it's the taste is leavin' you," says Peter; and again a low chorus of compassionate pity murmured through the cabin. "Well, I'm nearly done now," says my father; "there's only one little plot of ground remaining; and I put it on you, Peter,--as ye wish to live a good man, and die with the same easy heart I do now,--that ye mind my last words to ye here. Are ye listening? Are the neighbors listening? Is Billy Scanlan listening?" "Yes, sir. Yes, father. We're all minding," chorused the audience. "Well, then, it's my last will and testament, and may--Give me over the jug." Here he took a long drink. "And may that blessed liquor be poison to me if I 'm not as eager about this as every other part of my will. I say, then, I bequeath the little plot at the cross-roads to poor Con Cre-gan; for he has a heavy charge, and is as honest and as hard-working a man as ever I knew. Be a friend to him, Peter, dear; never let him want while ye have it yourself; think of me on my death-bed whenever he asks ye for any trifle. Is it down, Billy Scanlan? the two acres at the cross to Con Cregan and his heirs in _secla seclorum_. Ah, blessed be the saints! but I feel my heart lighter after that," says he; "a good work makes an easy conscience. And now I 'll drink all the company's good health, and many happy returns--" What he was going to add, there 's no saying; but Peter, who was now terribly frightened at the lively tone the sick man was assuming, hurried all the people away into another room, to let his father die in peace. When they were all gone Peter slipped back to my father, who was putting on his brogues in a corner. "Con," says he, "ye did it all well; but sure that was a joke about the two acres at the cross."