After some farther chat, Toal, who, we should have informed our readers, had removed from his father's old residence into Ballykeerin, took his departure, quite proud at the notion of being a godfather at all; for in truth it was the first occasion on which he ever had an opportunity of arriving at that honor. Art was a strictly conscientious man; so much so, indeed, that he never defrauded a human being to the value of a farthing; and as for truth, it was the standard principle of his whole life. Honesty, truth, and sobriety are, indeed, the three great virtues upon which all that is honorable, prosperous, and happy is founded. Art's conscientious scruples were so strong, that although in point of fact the term of his oath had expired at twelve o'clock in the forenoon, he would not permit himself to taste a drop of spirits until after twelve at night. “It's best,” said he to his brother, “to be on the safe side at all events: a few hours is neither one way nor the other. We haven't now more than a quarther to go, and then for a tight drop to wet my whistle, an' dhrink the little girshas health an' her mother's. Throth I've put in a good apprenticehip to sobriety, anyhow. Come, Madjey,” he added, addressing the servant-maid, “put down the kettle till we have a little jorum of our own; Frank here and myself; and all of yez.” “Very little jorum will go far wid me, you know, Art,” replied his brother; “an' if you take my advice, you'll not go beyond bounds yourself either.” “Throth, Frank, an' I'll not take either yours nor any other body's, until little Kate's christened. I think that afther a fast of seven years I'm entitled to a stretch.” “Well, well,” said his brother; “I see you're on for it; but as you said yourself a while ago, it's best to be on the safe side, you know.” “Why, dang it, Frank, sure you don't imagine I'm goin' to drink the town dhry; there's raison in everything.” At length the kettle was boiled, and the punch made; Art took his tumbler in hand, and rose up; he looked at it, then glanced at his brother, who observed that he got pale and agitated. “What ails you?” said he; “is there any thing wrong wid you?” “I'm thinkin',” replied Art, “of what I suffered wanst by it; an' besides, it's so long since I tasted it, that somehow I jist feel for all the world as if the oath was scarcely off of me yet, or as if I was doin' what's not right.” “That's mere weakness,” said Frank; “but still, if you have any scruple, don't drink it; I bekaise the truth is, Art, you couldn't have a scruple that will do you more good than one against liquor.” “Well, I'll only take this tumbler an' another to-night; and then we'll go to bed, plase goodness.” His agitation then passed away, and he drank a portion of the liquor.