“And where will you get a Miss Kelly now-a-days? It’s not out of every bush you’ll kick a lady, lame of a leg, and twenty thousand down upon the nail!” “What was she the worse for that?” says Sir Thomas. “Don’t ye mind what my grandfather said to Lord Castletown the week after. ‘Didn’t I,’ says my grandfather, ‘manage the matter well, my lord?’ ‘Ye did in troth, Ulic--and ye made a grate hit of it, if ye’r amiable lady was only right upon the pins.’ ‘Well, my lord,’ says he--‘what the divil matter if she is a wee bit lame? Does your lordship suppose, that men marry wives to run races with them?’” Well, there’s no use makin’ a long story about it. At Killcrogher things couldn’t be worse than they were; and, when we had finished a second bottle of poteeine, we all agreed that the divil a chance, good, bad, or indifferent, was left, but for Dick Macnamara to marry a wife with a fortune--and with or without a spavin---just as the Lord would direct it. This was all mighty well, but where was the lady to be found? Of heiresses, there was no scarcity in Galway, if their own story was but true; but then their fortunes were so well secured, that nather principal nor interest could be got at. “England’s the place,” says the ould master. “Dick would get twenty thousand for the askin’.” “And how is he to go there?” says the priest. “He must travel like a gentleman, or they wouldn’t touch him with a tent pole--and where’s the money for that?” “Let Izzy drive the tenants.” “Arrah, Sir Thomas! it’s asy talkin’--the divil a pound I could drive out of them to save yer life. _Mona-sin-dhiaoul!_ ye might as well expect blood from a turnip, or to borrow knee-buckles off a Hielanman.” Well, we were fairly nonplushed for a time, but we got matters right afterwards. The ould ladies, the master’s sisters, had a trifle by them, if any body could manage to get at it. Well, the priest put it to them, for the glory of God; and Sir Thomas, for the honour of the family. They came down at last, and, between them, for a hundred. Sir Thomas lent us his own pistols, and Izzy Blake passed his word in Galway for the clothes. By St. Patrick! we were in such bad credit there, that over the whole town we wouldn’t have got as much as would have made a surtout for a Lochryman. * On the strength of Izzy, however, we taught book-keeping to a tailor. His name, I mind, was Jerry Riley--and I fancy we’re in his ledger to this day. I’ll never forget the mornin’ we started. “We set out at six o’clock, as we had to ride to Moylough to catch the Tuam mail. Every soul in Killerogher was astir, and waitin’ at door or windy to see us off--some givin’ their blessin’, and others their good advice. “Mind yer eye, Dick!” said the ould gentleman from the parlour. “Don’t take any thing but what’s ready,” cried the priest from the hall door. “Remember you’re of the Coolavins by the mother’s side,” called my lady from her bed-room; “so look to blood as well as suet, Dick.”