ve everything ready for houldin' the weddin'
the Monday afther the last call. By the hole o' my coat, the minute I
get the clo'es we'll be spliced, an' thin for the honeymoon!"

"How much money shall I give him?" said the priest.

"Indeed, sir, I think you ought to know that; I'm ignorant o' what 'ud
make a dacent weddin'. We don't intend to get married undher a hedge;
we've frinds an both sides, an' of course, we must have them about us,
plase Goodness."

"Be gorra, sir, it's no wondher I'm fond of her, the darlin'? Bad win to
you, Mrs. Doran, how did you come over me at all?"

"Bridget," said the priest, "I have asked you a simple question,
to which I expect a plain answer. What money am I to give this
tallow-hearted swain of yours?"

"Why, your Reverence, whatsomever you think may be enough for full, an'
plinty, an' dacency, at the weddin'."

"Not forgetting the thatch for me, in the mane time," said Phelim.
"Nothin' less will sarve us, plase your Reverence. Maybe, sir, you'd
think 'of comin' to the weddin' yourself?"

"There are in my hands," observed the priest, "one hundred and
twenty-two guineas of your money, Bridget. Here, Phelim, are ten for
your wedding suit and wedding expenses. Go to your wedding! No!
don't suppose for a moment that I countenance this transaction in the
slightest degree. I comply with your wishes, because I heartily
despise you both; but certainly this foolish old woman most. Give me an
acknowledgment for this, Phelim."

"God bless you, sir!" said Phelim, as if he had paid them a compliment.
"In regard o' the acknowledgment, sir, I acknowledge it wid all my
heart; but bad luck to the scrape at all I can write."

"Well, no matter. You admit, Bridget, that I give this money to this
blessed youth by your authority and consent."

"Surely, your Reverence; I'll never go back of it."

"Now, Phelim," said the priest, "you have the money; pray get married as
soon as possible."

"I'll give you my oath," said Phelim; "an' be the blessed iron tongs in
the grate there, I'll not lose a day in gettin' myself spliced. Isn't
she the tendher-hearted sowl, your Reverence? Augh, Mrs. Doran!"

"Leave my place," said the priest. "I cannot forget the old proverb,
that one fool makes many, but an old fool is worse than any. So it is
with this old woman."

"Ould woman! Oh, thin, I'm sure I don't desarve this from your
Reverence!" exclaimed the housekeeper, wiping her eyes: "if I'm a little
seasone