in their time,--and quite another guess sort, the Larkens from these
Gallaghers.

_Mr. H._ And what has become of the Larkens, I pray?

_Biddy._ They are still living up yonder, by the bush of Bannow, in a snug
little place of a cabin--that is, the Widow Kelly.

_Mr. H._ Kelly!--but I am looking for Larken.

_Biddy._ Oh, Larken! that's Kelly: 'tis all one--she was a Kelly before she
was married, and in this country we stick to the maiden's name throughout.

_Mr. H._ The same in our country--often.

_Biddy._ Indeed! and her daughter's name is Mabel, after the Kellys; for
you might have noticed, if it ever happened your honour to hear it, an ould
song of Mabel Kelly--_Planxty_ Kelly. Then the present Mabel is as sweet a
cratur as ever the ould Mabel Kelly was--but I must mind the pratees. (_She
goes to lift a pot off the fire._)

_Mr. H._ Hold! my gude girl, let me do that for you; mine is a strong
haund.

_Biddy._ I thank your honour,--it's too much trouble entirely for a
jantleman like you; but it's always the best jantleman has the _laste_
pride.--Then them Kellys is a good race, ould and young, and I love 'em,
root and branch. Besides Mabel the daughter, there's Owen the son, and as
good a son he is--no better! He got an edication in the beginning, till
the troubles came across his family, and the boy, the child, for it's bare