“'Oh, the saints in heaven be about us!' says I; 'and are you a green jug?' “'I am,' says he; 'and sure I might be worse. Tim Healey's mother is only a cullender, and she died two years before me.' “'Oh! father, darlin',' says I, 'I hoped you wor in glory; and you only a jug all this time!' “'Never fret about it,' says my father; 'it 's the transmogrification of sowls, and we 'll be right by and by. Take me down, I say, and put me near the fire.' “So I up and took him down, and wiped him with a clean cloth, and put him on the hearth before the blaze. “'Darby,' says he, 'I'm famished with the druth. Since you took to coortin' there 's nothing ever goes into my mouth; haven't you a taste of something in the house?' “I wasn't long till I hated some wather, and took down the bottle of whiskey and some sugar, and made a rousing jugful, as strong as need be. “'Are you satisfied, father?' says I. “'I am,' says he; 'you 're a dutiful child, and here 's your health, and don't be thinking of Biddy Finn,' “With that my father began to explain how there was never any rest nor quietness for a man after he married,--more be token, if his wife was fond of talking; and that he never could take his dhrop of drink in comfort afterwards. “'May I never,' says he, 'but I 'd rather be a green jug, as I am now, than alive again wid your mother. Sure it 's not here you'd be sitting to-night,' says he, 'discoorsing with me, av you wor married; devil a bit. Fill me,' says my father, 'and I 'll tell you more.' “And sure enough I did, and we talked away till near daylight; and then the first thing I did was to take the ould mare out of the stable, and set off to Father Curtin, and towld him all about it, and how my father would n't give his consent by no means. “'We'll not mind the marriage,' says his rivirence; 'but go back and bring me your father,--the jug, I mean,--and we 'll try and get him out of trouble; for it 's trouble he 's in, or he would n't be that way. Give me the two pound ten,' says the priest; 'you had it for the wedding, and it will be better spent getting your father out of purgatory than sending you into it. '” “Arrah, aren't you ashamed of yourself?” cried the cook, with a look of ineffable scorn, as he concluded. “Look now,” said Darby, “see this; if it is n't thruth--” “And what became of your father?” interrupted the butler. “And Biddy Finn, what did she do?” said the housemaid. Darby, however, vouchsafed no reply, but sat back in his chair with an offended look, and sipped his liquor in silence.