“He’s so gallows jealous,” said the lady, “that one hasn’t the life of a dog. He, and his other wives”--(for it would appear that in the connubial line Mr. Spicer had dealt largely)--“were always murderin’ one another--ay, and before the beak every week, and sometimes twice too. How, I have been married to him two months come Saturday, and sorra mark he could show agen me but one black eye--for I can bare a dale of provokashin--and that he brought upon himself too.” She then continued to remark, that Mr. Spicer’s temper was but indifferent, and when he had “the cross glass in” a saint wouldn’t stand him. He had also “a most aggravatin’ tongue,”--and that evening, in alluding to a former acquaintanceship which had existed between herself and a drummer in the Guards, he used terms of so little delicacy, that a mutual interchange of compliments resulted--Mrs. Spicer, receiving the contents of a pewter pint, which token of connubial endearment was as promptly acknowledged with the boot-jack, by which it appeared an upper tooth had been effectually removed without the assistance of a dentist--a loss, on Mr. Spicer’s part, ill to bear, as it was the only specimen of natural ivory he possessed. In such light and pleasing conversation an hour passed unheeded--for minutes winged with pleasure fly unnoticed. Harmony prevailed; and, by a philosophic effort, Mr. Malone forgot his loss, and at the request of the company, and assisted by a violin accompaniment of the gentleman with the wooden-leg, he chaunted “The Groves of Blarney.” It is right to observe that, in the selection of the song, an affectionate deference to the taste of the deceased was observed, the said “Groves” being an especial favourite of his departed companion. If ever wake proved pleasant, Mrs. Malone’s bade fair to be so. All were happy--Mrs. Bunee declared the ratcatcher an agreeable man--and the sooner that Mr. Spicer looked after his truant spouse the better--for, were the truth known, Mark Antony was making a wild inroad on a heart that hitherto, had not “loved wisely, but too well.” “A change came o’er the spirit of the” night--the door unclosed--and a square-built man, with a grizzled head and most infelicitous aspect, was seen in the door-way, fixing a basilisk glance on “that fair frail one” who rested on the fosterer’s knee. An interjectional remark from Mrs. Spicer left the identity of the personage indubitable--as she observed, “That’s the ould divil, and no mistake--and maybe there won’t be a reglar shindy!” Though the gentleman paused in the doorway, he lost no time in opening the conversation. “So ye’r there, Sally Spicer!” and the remainder of the sentence was couched in language which the Court Journal would pronounce irregular. “And where else should I be, ye ould, batter’d-out apology for a Christian?” “Come out o’ that--tramp home--an may be ye wont catch it!” “Can ye spare another tooth convaniently?” responded his rebellious helpmate.