This announcement was followed by such an explosion of mirth that the boy looked fiercely round him, as if he could scarcely believe the fact that the whole party were laughing at him. Malachi Chroak, who was good-naturedly drunk, had discovered an old pair of cracked bellows in a corner, which he placed under his arm, and applying his mouth to the pipe, and working his elbows to and fro, pretended that he was playing upon the bagpipes, every now and then letting the wind escape in a shrill squeak from this novel instrument. “Arrah, ladies and jintlemen, do jist turn your swate little eyes upon me whilst I play for your iddifications the last illigant tune which my owld grandmother taught me. Och hone! 'tis a thousand pities that such musical owld crathurs should be suffered to die, at all at all, to be poked away into a dirthy dark hole, when their canthles shud be burnin' a-top of a bushel, givin' light to the house. An' then it is she that was the illigant dancer, stepping out so lively and frisky, just so.” And here he minced to and fro, affecting the airs of a fine lady. The supposititious bagpipe gave an uncertain, ominous howl, and he flung it down, and started back with a ludicrous expression of alarm. “Alive, is it ye are? Ye croaking owld divil, is that the tune you taught your son? “Och! my owld granny taught me, but now she is dead. That a dhrop of nate whiskey is good for the head; It would make a man spake when jist ready to dhie, If you doubt it--my boys!--I'd advise you to thry. “Och! my owld granny sleeps with her head on a stone,-- 'Now, Malach, don't throuble the gals when I'm gone!' I thried to obey her; but, och, I am shure, There's no sorrow on earth that the angels can't cure. “Och! I took her advice--I'm a bachelor still; And I dance, and I play, with such excellent skill, (_Taking up the bellows, and beginning to dance._) That the dear little crathurs are striving in vain Which first shall my hand or my fortin' obtain.” “Malach!” shouted a laughing group. “How was it that the old lady taught you to go a-courting? “Arrah, that's a sacret! I don't let out owld granny's sacrets,” said Malachi, gracefully waving his head to and fro to the squeaking of the bellows; then, suddenly tossing back the long, dangling, black elf-locks that curled down the sides of his lank, yellow cheeks, and winking knowingly with his comical little deep-seated black eyes, he burst out again-- “Wid the blarney I'd win the most dainty proud dame, No gal can resist the soft sonnd of that same; Wid the blarney, my boys--if you doubt it, go thry-- But hand here the bottle, my whistle is dhry.” The men went back to the field, leaving Malachi to amuse those who remained in the house; and we certainly did laugh our fill at his odd capers and conceits.