e
don't know how to dhrag yersilf up in the mornin', an' ye wish ye'd got
a dhrink uv beer handy to give ye a sthart, on'y ye haven't the face to
sind for it afore breakfast; but, ye may belave me, ye'll do that wan uv
these days; an' the more ye take uv the pisenin' stuff, the more ye'll
want, an' the wurse ye'll feel, for there's no strength an' no good in
it at all, at all. It jist gives ye a little spurt for the time, but
it's over in a jiffy, an' ye're cross an' fretful wid iverythin' an'
iverybody, an' life's a burdhen from morn till night. An' it's jist the
same wid Jack, poor bhoy. An' thin, whin ye might git a few hours of
plasure, ye're in an' out uv the public-houses till ye're fair fuddled;
an' the nixt day ye've both sore heads and sour tempers, an' yer money's
gone inter the bargain."

"Do you really think there's no good in the beer, Tim? It does seem to
put new life into one; and I hanker after it when I'm weakly."

"Uv coorse, that's nateral, whin ye feel sthronger an' betther afther a
glass; but I've sthudied the quastion, an' wiser heads nor mine'll tell
ye jist as I do,--that it takes out uv a bodhy more nor it iver puts in.
It gives ye for a space what ye want; but ye have to pay for it at an
awful rate uv intherest."

Mrs. Jarvis looked frightened; but Tim proceeded in still graver tones:

"It's the mortal thruth as I'm tellin' ye, indade an' indade; for ye
have to pay for ivery bit uv go that yer glass uv bitther gives ye wid
yer ha'pence first, uv coorse, an' afther wid loss uv yer good timper,
an' the time ye spind in pullin' yersilf togither agin. Ye have to pay
wid a wakely bodhy and a heavy heart; so the childer's sint out uv yer
sayte to git inter mischif an' sin; and yer husban' niver sees yer face
wid a smile on it, an' niver hears ye spake a kindly word. An' sooner
nor later ye'll find ye'll have to pay for yer bitther wid the loss uv
husban' an' childer; for, ye may belave me, the time'll come, bad cess
to ye, whin Jack'll spind ivery blissid night at the public, an' yer
childer will make ye sup sorra be rasin uv turnin' to bad ways; for
there's no worritin' wives at the public, an' no grumblin' mothers round
the sthreet corners. An' that's the last worrud I can say, for the
bell'll ring afore another minit."

With a nod to his wife, and a kindly "good mornin'" to Mrs. Jarvis, Tim
hastened away.

"My missis says I'm to fitch ye home to dinner wid me, Jack, an' she's
tould yer wife