He was a changed man from that day. He never drank too much; he never lost his money over cards; and especially he would not take the world and be out late by himself of a dark night. He was not a fortnight at home until he married Mary, the girl he had been in love with; and it's at their wedding the sport was, and it's he was the happy man from that day forward, and it's all I wish that we may be as happy as he was. GLOSSARY.--_Rann_, a stanza; _kailee (céilidhe)_, a visit in the evening; _wirra (a mhuire)_, "Oh, Mary!" an exclamation like the French _dame_; _rib_, a single hair (in Irish, _ribe_); _a lock (glac)_, a bundle or wisp, or a little share of anything; _kippeen (cipín)_, a rod or twig; _boreen (bóithrín)_ a lane; _bodach_, a clown; _soorawn (suarán)_, vertigo. _Avic (a Mhic)_ = son, or rather, Oh, son. Mic is the vocative of Mac. [Footnote 4: None of Mr. Hyde's stories here given have been published before. They will be printed in the original Irish in his forthcoming _Leabhar Sgeulaigheachta_ (Gill, Dublin).] PADDY CORCORAN'S WIFE. William Carleton. Paddy Corcoran's wife was for several years afflicted with a kind of complaint which nobody could properly understand. She was sick, and she was not sick; she was well, and she was not well; she was as ladies wish to be who love their lords, and she was not as such ladies wish to be. In fact nobody could tell what the matter with her was. She had a gnawing at the heart which came heavily upon her husband; for, with the help of God, a keener appetite than the same gnawing amounted to could not be met with of a summer's day. The poor woman was delicate beyond belief, and had no appetite at all, so she hadn't, barring a little relish for a mutton-chop, or a "staik," or a bit o' mait, anyway; for sure, God help her! she hadn't the laist inclination for the dhry pratie, or the dhrop o' sour buttermilk along wid it, especially as she was so poorly; and, indeed, for a woman in her condition--for, sick as she was, poor Paddy always was made to believe her in _that_ condition--but God's will be done! she didn't care. A pratie an' a grain o' salt was a welcome to her--glory be to his name!--as the best roast an' boiled that ever was dressed; and why not? There was one comfort: she wouldn't be long wid him--long troublin' him; it matthered little what she got; but sure she knew herself, that from the gnawin' at her heart, she could never do good widout the little bit o' mait now and then; an', sure, if her own husband begridged it to her, who else had she a better right to expect it from?