"It's a song we're after wanting," cried the gate-keeper; "shure you'll give us a song, gentlemen?" "Well, you shall have one to begin with, and you shall have a dozen when we come back from the wedding," cried Fitz, and he struck up-- "As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine, When she saw me she stumbled, The pitcher it tumbled, And all the sweet buttermilk water'd the plain. "`Och! what shall I do now? 'Twas looking at you now; Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again; 'Twas the pride of my dairy, Och, Barney McCleary, You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine.'" So Fitz ran on, verse after verse, and tune after tune, till he stopped for want of breath. Highly delighted, the old pikeman insisted on shaking us all round by the hand, and then, running in, brought us out a glass of whisky each. He was much surprised to find Denis and I declined taking it. Daley, however, prevented his feelings being offended by singing another song. Then Larry gave them a second tune on the fiddle, which pleased him still more, and he set to work with Phil to put to rights the harness, which had been considerably disarranged by the prancing of our steeds. Then he exclaimed-- "Good luck to you. You'll give us some more tunes when you come back. Off with you now. Success! success!" Phil lashing on the horses, away we went, laughing heartily at our adventure. We soon arrived at the castle, where we found the guests rapidly assembling. I won't describe the ceremony. My brother and Kathleen O'Brien were indissolubly united. No sooner was it over than every one rushed forward to kiss the blushing bride, and then we all heartily congratulated each other at the happy event. My mother took charge of her new daughter-in-law, who cried a little, but, soon recovering, looked as bright and blooming as any of her fair bridesmaids.