As soon as the ice _is_ thus broken, sundry meetings take place at the houses of both the suitor and the sought. In former days, countless were the gallons of whiskey swallowed on these occasions, and bitter the disputes. I have known a match broken off altogether from a discussion as to which party was to provide the spirits for the wedding banquet; but they are frequently annulled, even now, by a dispute about a pig, which one side insists on being added to the “fortune,” and the other refuses. And now you see, my fair readers, that love has but little to do with _these_ matches. I can positively state, and many will bear out my assertion, that the blooming bride, and the happy bridegroom, have frequently never before set eyes on each other until they stand up to the ceremony, and it is singular to see the lady nudge a neighbour on the arm, and say “_which av ’em is it?_” Yet these things are; though I’ve no doubt they will gradually wear out, become matters of history, and Clare grow “_like the rest of the world_.” It is but justice to my country people to say, that in all my life, I have never heard of an unhappy match. _Unfortunate_ it may be, and the dire cravings of hunger may be often felt; but though these strange people may show but a faint trace of what we call love in these matrimonial _speculations_, of which I have given you a slight outline, that they possess the strongest affections for their partners, in their joys and sorrows, cannot for one instant be questioned. In sickness, health, joy, sorrow, fortunes, and reverses, we will, for constancy and affection, defend the “choice of the Shanahus” against the whole world. Will it, then, be considered amiss, if we pass away one of these evenings, or wet days, as the case may be, by relating a few of the more remarkable doings of a pretty good specimen of the _genus_, who existed, or (as we may truly say) _flourished_, in the county of Clare, some little time ago?