“Come now, Frank, none of your moralizin',” the truth is, that the punch was beginning rapidly to affect his head; “none of your moralizin', throth it's a preacher you ought to be, or a lawyer, to lay down the law. Here, Madgey, bring him to me; that's my son, that there isn't the like of in Ballykeerin, any way. Eh, Frank, it's ashamed of him I ought to be, isn't it? Kiss me, Art, and then kiss your uncle Frank, the best uncle that ever broke the world's bread is the same Frank--that's a good boy, Art; come now, drink your darlin' mother's health in this glass of brave punch; my mother's health, say, long life an' happiness to her! that's a man, toss it off at wanst, bravo; arra, Frank, didn't he do that manly? the Lord love him, where 'ud you get sich a fine swaddy as he is of his age? Oh, Frank, what 'ud become of me if anything happened that boy? it's a mad-house would hould me soon. May the Lord in heaven save and guard him from all evil and clanger!” Frank saw that it was useless to remonstrate with him at such a moment, for the truth is, intoxication was setting in fast, and all his influence over him was gone. “Here, Atty, before you go to bed agin, jist a weeshy sup more to drink your little sisther's health; sure Kate Sharpe brought you home a little sisther, Atty.” “The boy's head will not be able to stand so much,” said Frank; “you will make him tipsy.” “Divil a tipsy; sure it's only a mere draineen.” He then made the little fellow drink the baby's health, after which he was despatched to bed. “Throth, it's in for a penny in for a pound wid myself. I know, Frank, that--that there's something or other wrong wid my head, or at any rate wid my eyes; for everything, somehow, is movin'. Is everything movin', Frank?” “You think so,” said Frank, “because you're fast getting tipsy--if you arn't tipsy all out.” “Well, then, if I'm tip--tipsy, divil a bit the worse I can be by another tumbler. Come, Frank, here's the ould blood of Ireland--the Maguires of Fermanagh! And now, Frank, I tell you, it would more become you to drink that toast, than to be sittin' there like an oracle, as you are; for upon my sowl, you're nearly as bad. But, Frank.” “Well, Art.” “Isn't little Toal Finnigan a civil little fellow--that is--is--if he was well made. 'There never stood,' says he, 'sich a couple in the chapel of--of Aughindrumon, nor there never walked sich a couple up or down the street of Ballykeerin--that's the chat,' says he: an' whisper, Frank, ne--neither did there. Whe--where is Margaret's aiquil, I'd--I'd like to know? an' as for me, I'll measure myself across the shouldhers aginst e'er a--a man, woman, or child in--in the parish. Co--come here, now, Frank, till I me--measure the small o' my leg ag--aginst yours; or if--if that makes you afeard, I'll measure the--the ball of my leg aginst the ball of yours. There's a wrist, Frank; look at that? jist look at it.” “I see it; it is a powerful wrist.” “But feel it.”