This they all promised, and the words were scarcely concluded, when Art entered and joined them. As a great portion of their conversation did not bear upon the subject matter of this narrative, it is therefore unnecessary to record it. After about two hours, during which Art had unconsciously drunk at least three glasses of whiskey, disguised in cordial, the topic artfully introduced by Toal was the Temperance Movement. “As for my part,” said he, “I'm half ashamed that I ever joined it. As I was never drunk, where was the use of it? Besides, it's an unmanly thing for any one to have it to say that he's not able to keep himself sober, barrin' he takes an oath, or the pledge.” “And why did you take it then?” said Art. “Bekaise I was a fool,” replied Toal; “devil a thing else.” “It's many a good man's case,” observed Art in reply, “to take an oath against liquor, or a pledge aither, an' no disparagement to any man that does it.” “He's a betther man that can keep himself sober widout it,” said Toal dryly. “What do you mane by a betther man?” asked Art, somewhat significantly; “let us hear that first, Toal.” “Don't be talking' about betther men here,” said Jerry Shannon; “I tell you, Toal, there's a man in this room, and when you get me a betther man in the town of Ballykeerin, I'll take a glass of punch wid you, or a pair o' them, in spite of all the pledges in Europe!” “And who is that, Jerry,” said Toal. “There he sits,” replied Jerry, putting his extended palm upon Art's shoulder and clapping it. “May the divil fly away wid you,” replied Toal; “did you think me a manus, that I'd go to put Art Maguire wid any man that I know? Art Maguire indeed! Now, Jerry, my throoper, do you think I'm come to this time o' day, not to know that there's no man in Ballykeerin, or the parish it stands in--an' that's a bigger word--that could be called a betther man that Art Maguire?” “Come, boys,” said Art, “none of your nonsense. Sich as I am, be the same good or bad, I'll stand the next trate, an' devilish fine strong cordial it is.” “Why, then, I don't think myself it's so good,” replied young Scaddhan; “troth it's waiker than we usually have it; an' the taste somehow isn't exactly to my plaisin'.” “Very well,” said Art; “if you have any that 'ill plaise yourself betther, get it; but in the mane time bring us a round o' this, an' we'll be satisfied.” “Art Maguire,” Toal proceeded, “you were ever and always a man out o' the common coorse.” “Now, Toal, you're beginnin',” said Art; “ha, ha, ha--well, any way, how is that!” “Bekaise the divil a taste o' fear or terror ever was in your constitution. When Art, boys, was at school--sure he an' I wor schoolfellows--if he tuck a thing into his head, no matter what, jist out of a whim, he'd do it, if the divil was at the back door, or the whole world goin' to stop him.”