mother, or a broken Sunday coat on himself; and instead of drinking his
little earning in a shebeen-house, and then eating his praties dry, he'd
take care to have something to kitchen* them; so that he was not only
snug and dacent of a Sunday, regarding wearables, but so well-fed and
rosy, that a point of a rush would take a drop of blood out of his
cheek.** Then he was the comeliest and best-looking young man in the
parish, could tell lots of droll stories, and sing scores of merry songs
that would make you split your sides with downright laughing; and when
a wake or a dance would happen to be in the neighborhood, maybe there
wouldn't be many a sly look from the purty girls for pleasant Jack
Magennis!

* The straits to which the poor Irish are put for what is
termed kitchen--that is some liquid that enables them to
dilute and swallow the dry potato--are grievous to think of.
An Irishman in his miserable cabin will often feel glad to
have salt and water in which to dip it, but that alluded to
in the text is absolute comfort. Egg milk is made as
follows:--A measure of water is put down suited to the
number of the family; the poor woman then takes the proper
number of eggs, which she beats up, and, when the water is
boiling, pours it in, stirring it well for a couple of
minutes. It is then made, and handed round in wooden
noggins, every one salting for themselves. In color it
resembles milk, which accounts for its name.

Our readers must have heard of the old and well known luxury
of "potatoes and point," which, humorous as it is, scarcely
falls short of the truth. An Irish family, of the cabin
class, hangs up in the chimney a herring, or "small taste" of