On separating about two o'clock, there was not a sober man among them but Appleton. He declined drinking, and was backed in his abstemiousness by Phelim, who knew that sobriety on the part of Sam would leave himself more liquor. Phelim, therefore, drank for them both, and that to such excess, that Larry, by Appleton's advice, left him at his father's in consequence of his inability to proceed homewards. It was not, however, without serious trouble that Appleton could get Phelim and the father separated; and when he did, Larry's grief was bitter in the extreme. By much entreaty, joined to some vigorous shoves towards the door, he was prevailed upon to depart without him; but the old man compensated for the son's absence, by indulging in the most vociferous sorrow as he went along, about “Ma Phelim.” When he reached home, his grief burst out afresh; he slapped the palms of his hands together, and indulged in a continuous howl, that one on hearing it would imagine to be the very echo of misery, When he had fatigued himself, he fell asleep on the bed, without having undressed, where he lay until near nine o'clock the next morning. Having got up and breakfasted, he related to his wife, with an aching head, the result of the last night's proceedings. Everything he assured her was settled: Phelim and Peggy were to be called the following Sunday, as Phelim, he supposed, had already informed her. “Where's Phelim?” said the wife; “an' why didn't he come home wid you last night?” “Where is Phelim? Why, Sheelah, woman sure he did come home wid me last night.” “_Ghrush orrin_, Larry, no! What could happen him? Why, man, I thought you knew where he was; an' in regard of his bein' abroad so often at night, myself didn't think it sthrange.” Phelim's absence astounded them both, particularly the father, who had altogether forgotten everything that had happened on the preceding night, after the period of his intoxication. He proposed to go back to Donovan's to inquire for him, and was about to proceed there when Phelim made his appearance, dressed in his own tender apparel only. His face was three inches longer than usual, and the droop in his eye remarkably conspicuous. “No fear of him,” said the father, “here's himself. Arrah, Phelim, what became of you last night? Where wor you?” Phelim sat down very deliberately and calmly, looked dismally at his mother, and then looked more dismally at his father. “I suppose you're sick too, Phelim,” said the father. “My head's goin' round like a top.” “Ate your breakfast,” said his mother; it's the best thing for you.” “Where wor you last night, Phelim?” inquired the father. “What are you sayin', ould man?” “Who wor you wid last night?” “Do, Phelim,” said the mother, “tell us, aroon. I hope it wasn't out you wor. Tell us, avourneen?” “Ould woman, what are you talking about?”