"No, thank ye, missus; I've just had my supper."

"And would that privint ye from takin' the cup I'd be offering ye, wid a
taste of somethin' in it against the damps, barrin' the bottle was
empty?"

"Well, I'm not particular--as you are so pressing. Thank ye, mum; here's
your good health."

I heard the watchman say this, though at the moment I dared not peep,
and then I heard him cough.

"My sakes, Biddy, you make your--coffee--strong."

"Strong, darlin'? It's pure, ye mane. It's the rale craythur, that, and
bedad! there's a dhrop or two left that's not worth the removing, and
we'll share it anyhow. Here's to them that's far--r away."

"Thank you, thank you, woman."

"Thim that's _near_, and thim that's far away!" said Biddy, improving
upon her toast.

There was a pause. I could hear the old woman packing up her traps, and
then the man (upon whom the coffee and whisky seemed to produce a
roughening rather than a soothing effect) said coarsely, "You're a rum
lot, you Irish!"

"We are, dear," replied Biddy, blandly; "and that's why we'd be comin'
all the way to Lancashire for the improvement of our manners." And she