Now no one had spoken, Till silence was broken By the Abbot, who said,-- "Friends, I'm come to unite By the conjugal rite The young pair who would wed. But, pray, which is the bridegroom, and which is the bride?-- Are you firmly resolved, then, to have your fates tied In a very tight knot, which you neither can sever, Though you're sick of each other, as folks must get ever? As the poet so justly has said, (who so wise?) 'In the best-ordered families rows will arise.' So I'll wait a few moments, just out of humanity, Till you've thought o'er again what may prove quite insanity. Now, young bridegroom, just think--are you feeling quite sure That for life you the ways of this dame can endure; And with joy hear her chatter from morning till night (About nothing at all, mind,)--with unfeigned delight? For Plato remarks, 'That he ne'er in his life Heard an orator speak half so much as his wife. She would prate when she woke, and still chattering keep Until night, and would even then talk in her sleep.' Now, could you bear this to the end of your days, Supposing that always she spoke to your praise? Which by no means the case is, as sages declare, (For of course in such matters we priests have no share). Now I somewhere have read, but where, by mishap, Can't remember at present--the fair are a trap Made to catch the poor men, just like so many birds, With a few pretty looks and a lot of sweet words, Which persuade them to think they would not mind it much, And they yield as a prey to the feminine clutch. When, lo!--but I'll not track this sad history farther; Than e'er marry myself I would really die rather." "Sour grapes! sour grapes!" whispered Jonas, "'tis plain. But how lucky that single he still can remain! Sure I married have been thirty years, and ne'er found The discomforts with which the said state does abound." "Very likely," was Flanagan's smothered reply; "But _I've_ found all he said more than true by the bye; So it is, after all, but a matter of taste, And it really seems foolish so much time to waste. But that Murphy is mad there is less than no doubt, Or he would the young wife, not the old one seek out. For I've seen the fair damsel of whom he was speaking, As pretty a girl as you'd find, though far seeking; With such beautiful eyes, such a sweet little nose; And such neat little ankles, and delicate toes: That, though t'other's your niece, sir, you fain must agree He must have some good reasons, or lunatic be. Sure I felt much surprised when I heard he was going To marry dame Neale, for I thought he was sowing All the seeds of affection in little Joan's heart. But most likely they've quarrelled, and settled to part." "Hush," said Jonas; "the Abbot is speaking again; That a screw has got loose appears perfectly plain. How I wish I could speak with the dame all alone! I should learn rather more, then, concerning poor Joan. But he seems in a hurry to marry them, now,--