“Sir--gintleman--miss, over the way there--for throth, for all so close as you're veiled, you haven't a married look--but as I was sayin', we fell in love wid one another by mistake--for there was an ould matchmaker, by name Biddlety Girtha, a daughter of ould Jemmy Trailcudgel's--God be good to him--father of the present strugglin' poor man of that name--and as I had hard of a celebrated beauty that lived about twelve or fifteen miles down the country that I wished to coort--and she, on the other hand, having hard of a very fine, handsome young fellow in my own neighborhood--what does the ould thief do but brings us together, in the fair of Baltihorum, and palms her off on me as the celebrated beauty, and palms myself on her as the fine, handsome young fellow from the parish of Ballytrain, and, as I said, so we fell in love wid one another by mistake, and didn't discover the imposthure that the ould vagabond had put on us until afther the marriage. However, I'm not sorry for it--she turned out a good wife to me, at all events--for, besides bringin' me a stockin' of guineas, she has brought me twelve of as fine childre' as you'd see in the kingdom of Ireland, ay, or in the kingdom of heaven either. Barrin' that she's a little hasty in the temper--and sometimes--do you persave?--has the use of her--there's five of them on each hand at any rate--do you undherstand--I say, barrin' that, and that she often amuses herself--just when she has nothing else to do--and by way of keepin' her hand in--I say, sir, and you, miss, over the way--she now and then amuses herself by turnin' up the little finger of her right hand--but what matter for all that--there's no one widout their little weeny failin's. My own hair's a little sandy, or so--some people say it's red, but I think myself it's only a little sandy--as I said, sir--so out of love and affection for the best of wives, I'll give you her favorite, the 'Red-haired man's wife.' Dandy, you thief, will you help me to do the 'Red-haired man's wife?'” “Wid pleasure, Misther Doran,” replied Dandy, adjusting his dulcimer. “Come now, start, and I'm wid you.” The performance was scarcely finished, when a sob or two was heard from Alley, who, during this ebullition of the grazier's, had been nursing her wrath to keep it warm, as Burns says. “I'm not without friends and protectors, Mr. Doran--that won't see me rantinized in a mail-coach, and mocked and made little of--whereof I have a strong back, as you'll soon find, and a faction that will make you sup sorrow yet.” All this virtuous indignation was lost, however, on the honest grazier, who had scarcely concluded the “Red-haired man's wife,” ere he fell fast asleep, in which state he remained--having simply changed the style and character of his melody, the execution of the latter being equally masterly--until they reached the hotel at which the coach always stopped in the metropolis.