father, "what's all that noise for?"

"_Chrosh orrin!_" (* The cross be about us!) said Molly Donovan, "is that
tundher?"

"Devil carry these piatees," exclaimed Phelim, raking them down with
both hands and all his might, "if there's any sittin' at all upon them!
I'm levellin' them to prevint Peggy, the darlin', from slidderin' an' to
give us time to be talkin', somethin' lovin' to one another. The curse
o' Cromwell an them! One might as well dhrink a glass o' whiskey wid his
sweetheart, or spake a tinder word to her, on the wings of a windmill as
here. There now, they're as level as you plase, acushla! Sit down,
you jewel you, an' give me the egg-shell, till we have our Sup o' the
crathur in comfort. Faith, it was too soon for us to be comin' down in
the world?"

Phelim and Peggy having each emptied the egg-shell, which among the
poorer Irish is frequently the substitute for a glass, entered into
the following sentimental dialogue, which was covered by the loud and
entangled conversation of their friends about the fire; Phelim's arm
lovingly about her neck, and his head laid down snugly against her
cheek.

"Now, Peggy, you darlin' o' the world--bad cess to me but I'm as glad as
two ten-pennies that I levelled these piatees; there was no sittin' an
them. Eh, avourneen?"

"Why, we're comfortable now, anyhow, Phelim!"

"Faith, you may say that--(a loving squeeze). Now, Peggy, begin an' tell
us all about your bachelors."

"The sarra one ever I had, Phelim."

"Oh, murdher sheery, what a bounce! Bad cess to me, if you can spake
a word o' thruth afther that, you common desaver! Worn't you an' Paddy
Moran pullin' a coard?"

"No, in throth; it was given out on us, but we never wor, Phelim.
Nothin' ever passed betune us but common civility. He thrated my father
an' mother wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was
along wid them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed,
in civility an' friendship."

"An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a
sweetheart at all?"

"The nerra one."

"Oh, you thief! Wid two sich lips o' your own, an' two sich eyes o' your
own, an' two sich cheeks o' your own! Oh,--, by the tarn, that won't
pass."

"Well, an' supposin' I had--behave Phelim--supposin' I had, where's the
harm? Sure it's well known all the sweethearts, you had, an' have yet, I
suppose."

"Be gorra, an' that's thruth; an' the more the merrier, you jewel you,
till,