When he thought he kissed his own.
Here's to the man who rocks his child,
And rocks his child alone;
For there's many a man rocked another man's child
When he thought he rocked his own.

About ten o'clock there seemed to be a lull in the storm, so I went
out into the open air with two young men who were going the road I
had to travel. The rain had stopped for a moment, but a high wind
was blowing as we made our way to a public-house to get a few
biscuits and a glass of beer before we started. A sleepy barmaid,
who was lolling behind the counter with a novel, pricked up her ears
when she heard us talking of our journey.

'Surely you are not going to Ballydavid,' she said, 'at such an hour
of a night like this.'

We told her we were going to a place which was further away.

'Well,' she said, 'I wouldn't go to that place to-night if you had a
coach-and-four to drive me in, and gave me twenty pounds into the
bargain! How at all will you get on in the darkness when the roads
will be running with water, and you'll be likely to slip down every
place into some drain or ditch?'

When we went out, and began to make our way down the steep hill
through the town, the night seemed darker than ever after the glare
of the bar. Before we had gone many yards a woman's voice called out
sharply from under the wall: 'Mind the horse.' I looked up and saw
the black outline of a horse's head standing right above me. It was