“O, dear! _so you’ve caught me_,” said Brian, “who are you?” “Ah, ha! I’ve caught you, have I? I’ll let you know who I am. Here, Mr. Mungavan! Mr. Mungavan! quick! come out! jump up! here’s a man staylin’ your cabbages! Take that, you scoundrel; how dare you come here!” And here Mehicle began whacking him as hard as he could. “Don’t strike me!” said Brian, “don’t! _I’ll do any thing you like._ Oh! Oh! don’t! Don’t you see it’s _me_ that’s here?” “O, I see you well enough! Come out, Mr. Mungavan!” said Mehicle, continuing to beat him. “O, stop! and God reward you! stop! Sure _I’m Mr. Mungavan_!” “O, thunder, and pratees, and buttermilk! Why didn’t you tell me so before! Sure I wouldn’t do such a thing if I _didn’t_ know it was you. Come in to the house. Poor man! are you _much_ hurt?” And now, many were the explanations on both sides. When they came in, Brian set to work, and called up all that were in the house, as it was now daylight. “And,” said he, “here, in the name of all that’s good and bad, let’s have breakfast, for I’m famished, not to spake of the scaldin’ and batin’ I got; but sure it’s all accidents, and can’t be helped.” Breakfast was prepared and finished, and Brian got, gradually however, into better humor. But when that was over, his wife called him aside, and said, “Now, Brian, all these accidents happened through your own fault; so, by all the books in Connemara, you must take my advice to-day. Have a fine dinner, and make them ate and drink enough; and if it’s Eileen that boy wants, faith, he’s a smart young man, and we couldn’t do better. Say you’ll give her a hundred pounds, or two, if one wont satisfy him; but, for goodness sake, give that Mehicle enough to ate.” What a truly sensible speech was this. Here was the proper view of the question. Brian Mungavan overcame himself for once, and was generous. And there was _such_ a dinner! Eileen took good care of _that_. Turkeys, geese, and all manner of delicacies, graced the board. Take the words of a contemporaneous poet:— “Mutton, and good fat bacon Was there, like turf in creels.” Or rather in the language of the old song:— “There was _lashins_ of beef there, And _stammins_ of sheep there, And whiskey came pourin’ _galore_.” And then it was, when all, including Mr. Mungavan, were in that happy state denominated _soft_, that Mehicle opened his unerring batteries, never yet known to fail. Let us merely now wish them a happy wedding; but we somehow cannot help thinking there is in this tale a MORAL. Be _ever_ hospitable; but, if you invite a friend or two, _beware_, when you say “Take away;” for you know not whether some time or another you may not fall in with a Mehicle O’Kelopauthrick. ----- [1] The invariable salutation, in the West of Ireland, on approaching one who is at work. [2] Old stingy fellow. * * * * *