, as for her safe delivery, and the future
welfare of the mother and child. When this was performed, they set
themselves to the distribution of the blithe meat or groaning malt,
a duty which the midwife transferred to them with much pleasure, this
being a matter which, except in matters of necessity, she considered
beneath the dignity of her profession. The servants were accordingly
summoned in due time, and, headed by Nogher, soon made their appearance.
In events of this nature, servants in Ireland, and we believe everywhere
else, are always allowed a considerable stretch of good-humored license
in those observations which they are in the habit of making. Indeed,
this is not so much an extemporaneous indulgence of wit on their part,
as a mere repetition of the set phrases and traditionary apothegms
which have been long established among the peasantry, and as they are
generally expressive of present satisfaction and good wishes for the
future, so would it be looked upon as churlishness, and in some cases,
on the part of the servants, a sign of ill-luck, to neglect them.

"Now," said Honora's mother to the servants of both sexes, "now,
childre, that you've aite a trifle, you must taste something in the way
of dhrink. It would be too bad on this night above all nights we've seen
yet, not to have a glass to the stranger's health at all events. Here,
Nogher, thry this, avick--you never got a glass wid a warmer heart."

Nogher took the liquor, his grave face charged with suppressed humor,
and first looking upon his fellow-servants with a countenance so droll
yet dry, that none but themselves understood, it, he then directed a
very sober glance at the good woman.

"Thank you, ma'am," he exclaimed; "be goxty, sure enough if our hearts
wouldn't get warm now, they'd never warm. A happy night it is for
Fardorougha and the misthress, at any rate. I'll engage the stranger
was worth waitin' for, too. I'll hould a thrifle, he's the beauty o'
the world this minnit--an' I'll engage it's breeches we'll have to be I
gettin for him some o' these days, the darlin'. Well, here's his health,
any way; an' may he----"

"Husth, arogorah!" exclaimed the mid-wife; "stop, I say--the tree afore
the fruit, all the world over; don't you know, an' bad win to you, that
if the sthranger was to go to-morrow, as good might come afther him,
while the paarent stocks are to the fore. The mother an' father first,
acushla, an' thin the sthranger."

"Many