"It's little, I'm thinking, I and Barry'll be having to do together,
unless it be about the brads; and the law about them now, thank God,
makes no differ for Roman and Protesthant. Anty's as good a Catholic
as ever breathed, and so was her mother before her; and when she's Mrs
Kelly, as I mane to make her, Master Barry may shell out the cash and
go to heaven his own way for me."

"It ain't the family then, you're fond of, Martin! And I wondher at
that, considering how old Sim loved us all."

"Niver mind Sim, John! he's dead and gone; and av' he niver did a good
deed before, he did one when he didn't lave all his cash to that
precious son of his, Barry Lynch."

"You're prepared for squalls with Barry, I suppose?"

"He'll have all the squalling on his own side, I'm thinking, John. I
don't mane to squall, for one. I don't see why I need, with £400 a-year
in my pocket, and a good wife to the fore."

"The £400 a-year's good enough, av' you touch it, certainly," said the
man of law, thinking of his own insufficient guinea a-week, "and you
must look to have some throuble yet afore you do that. But as to the
wife--why, the less said the better--eh, Martin?

"Av' it's not asking too much, might I throuble you, sir, to set
anywhere else but on my shouldher?" This was addressed to a very fat
citizen, who was wheezing behind Martin, and who, to escape suffocation
in the crowd, was endeavouring to raise himself on his neighbour's
shoulders. "And why the less said the better?--I wish yourself may