empty; I therefore thought it advisable to divert his sorrow, by reminding
him of our national proverb, "_Iss farr doch na skeal_[1]."

[1] A drink is better than a story.

The old man's eyes glistened with pleasure, as he grasped my hand, saying,
"I see, Jack, you are worthy of your name. I was afraid that
school-learning and college would have spoiled your taste for honest
drinking; but the right drop is in you still, my boy. I mentioned,"
continued he, resuming the thread of his story, "that my grandfather died,
leaving to his heirs the topped boots, spurs, buckskin-breeches, and red
waistcoat; but it is about the first-mentioned articles I mean especially
to speak, as it was mainly through their respectable appearance that so
many excellent matches and successful negotiations have been concluded by
our family. If one of our cousins was about to wait on his landlord or his
sweetheart, if he meditated taking a farm or a wife, 'the tops' were
instantly brushed up, and put into requisition. Indeed, so fortunate had
they been in all the matrimonial embassies to which they had been attached,
that they acquired the name of 'the wife-catchers,' amongst the young
fellows of our family. Something of the favour they enjoyed in the eyes of
the fair sex should, perhaps, be attributed to the fact, that all the
Duffys were fine strapping fellows, with legs that seemed made for setting
off topped boots to the best advantage.

"Well, years rolled by; the sons of mothers whose hearts had been won by
the irresistible buckism of Shawn Duffy's boots, grew to maturity, and, in
their turn, furbished up 'the wife-catchers,' when intent upon invading the
affections of other rustic fair ones. At length these invaluable relics
descended to me, as the representative of our family. It was ten years on
last Lady-day since they came into my possession, and I am proud to say,