When Ussher first came into the parlour at Ballycloran, he asked after Thady, and it will be necessary to explain why he did so; the terms on which the two men stood towards each other not being such as to render it probable that either should be very anxious for the presence of the other.

It had come to the knowledge of Denis McGovery that Brady had asked to the wedding a lot of men from Drumleesh, and some also from Mohill — characters with whom Denis was not apt to consort himself, and whom he looked on as paupers and rapparees. He had also made out, it is presumed with the aid of his affianced, that some other motive was probably ensuring their attendance than merely that of doing honour to his, Denis’s, nuptials. Pat Brady was not likely to have made a confidant of his sister or of Denis on the occasion; but nevertheless, the bridegroom had discovered that the meeting was, to some extent, to be a political one, and moreover, that Thady Macdermot was expected to be there.

Now McGovery, although it must be presumed that, in common with all Irishmen of the lower order, he conceived that he was to a certain degree injured and oppressed by the operation of the existing laws, nevertheless had always thought it the wiser course to be with the laws, bad as they might be, than against them. When, therefore, he learnt that the brothers of the men whom Ussher had put into prison were to be of the party, and that many of their more immediate neighbours would be there, and remembered also that Captain Ussher himself had promised to come to the “divarsion,” mighty fears suggested themselves to him, and he began to dread that the occasion would be taken for offering some personal injury to the latter! In which case, might not all be implicated? — and among the number that dear person for whom Denis felt the tenderest regard — viz., himself?

Actuated by these apprehensions, Denis, on the morning of the wedding, had gone to Ussher to unfold his budget of dreadful news — to assure the Captain that his only object “was to get himself married,” and to see that the “pigs and the thrifle of change were all right,”— and strongly to advise the Captain to stay away; “not that it wouldn’t be a great honer for a poor boy like him to see his honer down there, for he had the greatest rispect in life for him, and all that wore the King’s sword; but there war no knowing what them boys might be afther when they got the dhrink in them.”

Ussher thanked Denis for his communication, but at the same time begged him not to disquiet himself — told him that there was no danger in life; and declared that he felt so confident of the good feeling of the men through the country towards him, particularly those at Drumleesh and Mohill, that he should always feel perfectly safe in their company — in fact, that he looked on their presence as a protection. Poor Denis stared hard at him; but as he soon perceived that the Captain was laughing at him for his solicitude, he retreated with a grin on his face, remarking that he had meant all for the best.

Though Captain Ussher affected to set no value on McGovery’s tale, he nevertheless thought that there might be something in it. He determined, however, not to be deterred from going to the wedding. Though in many respects a bad man, Ussher was very vigilant in the performance of his official duties, and, as has been before said, was possessed of sufficient courage. It had been part of McGovery’s disclosure that Thady Macdermot was to be at the wedding, and it occurred to Ussher, that at any rate no personal violence would be offered as long as young Macdermot was with him; he therefore determined to see him first, and tell him what he had heard. It is true he had no great love for the poor fellow; still he would have been sorry to see him, from any cause of uneasiness or distress, throw himself into the hands of men who might probably induce him to join in acts which would render him subject to the severest penalties of the law. Ussher understood Thady’s character tolerably well; and though he had no real sympathy for his sufferings, still he had manly feeling enough to wish to save him, as Feemy’s brother, from the danger into which he believed him so likely to fall.

It was for the purpose of talking on this subject that he asked for Thady; but when he found he was not in the house, nor expected home to dinner, he was obliged to postpone what he had to say till he met him at Mary Brady’s wedding.

About seven o’clock, Feemy and her lover arrived at Mrs. Mehan’s little whiskey shop, where the marriage was to take place. The whole party were already there: Father John was standing with his back to a huge turf fire, in the outer room — the usual drinking room of the establishment — amusing the bystanders with jokes, apparently at the expense of the bridegroom. Mary Brady was dressed in a white muslin gown, which, though it was quite clean, seemed to have been neither mangled nor ironed, so multitudinous had been the efforts to make it fit her ungainly person. She had a large white cap on her head, extending widely over her ears; and her hair, parted on her left brow, was smeared flat over her forehead with oil: her arms were bare, and quite red, and her hands were thrust into huge white cotton gloves, which seemed to make them so ashamed of themselves as utterly to unfit them for their ordinary uses. Everyone that entered, said, “Well, Mary,” or, “Well, alanna, how’s yourself?” or some greeting of the kind, to which she answered only with a grin. She and her future husband seemed totally unacquainted with each other, for since he came in he hadn’t spoken to her. In fact, poor Mary, as she expressed herself to Feemy, “Couldn’t get her sperrits up at all, and felt quite cowed like.”

Biddy, from Ballycloran, was her bridesmaid, and she, though she did not emulate the bride in her white dress, had also thrust her head into a huge cap, which, if it did not much add to her beauty, at any rate made her sufficiently remarkable to show that she was one of the principal characters of the evening.

Denis had procured himself a second-hand light brown coat, with metal buttons; this was the only attempt at wedding finery which he had made; but even this seemed to make him somewhat beside himself, and gave him a strong resemblance to that well-known martyr to unaccustomed grandeur — a hog in armour. Pat seemed to scorn the party altogether, though he was to officiate in giving away the bride; he was talking apart to Reynolds and one or two others, and seeing to the proper arrangement and distribution of the good things which were to follow the wedding. Thady was not in the place; he had not yet arrived.

“Ah! Feemy,” began Father John, as she walked in, followed by Ussher, “how are you? and this is kind of you, Captain.”

“Long life to you, Miss Feemy! and you, too, Captain dear,” said Mary, at last excited to speak by the greatness of the occasion.

“Your honers are welcome, Miss; your honers are welcome, Captain Ussher,” said Denis, forgetting that, for the present, he was only a guest himself; and then Brady, and then Shamuth na Pibu’a, the blind piper from County Mayo, “who had made the music out of his own head, all about O’Connell”— and then Biddy, and Mrs. Mehan, and all the boys and girls one after another, got up, and ducked their heads down in token of kindly welcome to the “young misthress and her lover;” and though most of those present, at other times, would have said that it was a pity their own Miss Feemy should be marrying “a born inimey of the counthry, like a Revenue officer, and a black Prothestant too,” it wasn’t now, when she had come to honour the wedding of one of themselves, that they would be remembering anything against her or her lover.

“Well, Mary, so the time’s nearly come,” said Feemy, as she sat down on the bench by the fire, that Mary, regardless of all bridal propriety, wiped down for her with the tail of her white dress; saying, as she did so, “What harum? sure won’t the dust make it worse, when the dancing comes on, and —”

“Whisper, Mary.”

“What is it, Miss?

“Whisper, then.”

“Ah, now! you’ll be at me like the rest of ’em;” and she put her big face down over Feemy’s. “Are the sheets done, Mary?”

“Ah now! Miss, you’re worse than ’em all!” and Mary put her big hand with the big cotton glove, with the fingers widely extended, before her face to hide the virgin blush.

“What’s that, Feemy?” said Father John; “what’s that I heard?”

“Go asy, now, Father John, do;” and Mary gave the priest a playful push, which nearly put him into the fire; “for God’s sake, Miss, don’t be telling him, now; you won’t, darlint?”

“What was it, Feemy? all’s fair now, you know.”

“Only just something Mary was to get ready for her husband, then, Father John — nothing particular. You’ll never be married yourself, you know, so you needn’t ask.”

“Oh! part of the fortune, was it? Trust Denis, he’ll look to that; is it the pigs, eh, Denis?”

“No, Father John, it jist a’nt the pigs,” said Mary.

“Come, what is it? — out with it Denis.”

“Sorrow a one of me knows what you’re talking about,” said Denis.

“It a’nt the calf at last, Denis, is it?”

“Bad luck to it for a calf!” exclaimed McGovery; and then, sidling up to the priest, “you wouldn’t be setting all the boys laughing at me, Father John, and thim sthrangers, too.”

“Well, well, Denis, but why didn’t you tell me the whole?”

When Ussher had first entered, Brady had come up, expressly to welcome him; and there was something in his extreme servility which made Ussher fear all was not quite right. But Ussher had become habituated to treat the servility of the poor as the only means they had of deprecating the injuries so frequently in his power to inflict; he had, too, from his necessity of not attending to their supplications, acquired a habit of treating them with constant derision, which they well understood and appreciated; and the contempt which he always showed for them was one of the reasons why he was so particularly hated through the country. Though now a guest of Brady’s, he could not help showing the same feeling. Moreover, Ussher, who as far as the conduct of man to man is concerned had nothing of treachery about him, strongly suspected Pat’s true character, and was therefore less likely to treat him with respect.

“Thank you, Brady, I’ll do very well; don’t you expect Mr. Thady here?”

“Is it the young masthur, Captain? In course we do. Mary wouldn’t be married av he warn’t to the fore.”

“Indeed! I didn’t know you’d so much respect for Mr. Macdermot as that.”

“Is it for the masthur, Captain?”

“For the matter of that, Brady, you wouldn’t much mind how many masters you had if they all paid you, I’m thinking.”

“And that’s thrue for you, Captain,” said Pat, grinning in his perplexity, for he didn’t know whether to take what Ussher said for a joke or not.

“Keegan, now, wouldn’t be a bad master,” said Ussher.

“And what puts him in your head, Captain Ussher?”

“Only they say he pays well to a sharp fellow like you.”

“‘Deed I don’t know who he pays. They do be saying you pay a few of the boys too an odd time or two yourself.”

“Is it I? What should I be paying them for?”

“Jist for a sight of a whiskey still, or a little white smoke in the mountains on a fine night or so. They say that same would be worth a brace of guineas to a boy I could name.”

“You’re very sharp, Mr. Brady; but should I want such assistance, I don’t know any I’d sooner ask than yourself.”

“Don’t go for to throuble yourself, for I don’t want to be holed of a night yet; and that’s what’ll happen them that’s at that work, I’m thinking; and that afore long — not that I’m blaming you, for, in course, every one knows it’s only your dooty.”

“You’re very kind; but when will Mr. Thady be here?”

“‘Deed I wonder he a’nt here, Captain; but war you wanting him?”

“Not in particular. Is it true the brothers of those poor fellows I took up at Loch Sheen are here to-night?”

“They is, both of ’em; there’s Joe Reynolds, sitting behind there — in the corner where I was when you and Miss Feemy come in.”

“It’s lucky he wasn’t with his brother, that’s all: and he’d better look sharp himself, or he’ll go next.”

“Oh, he’s a poor harmless boy, Captain. He never does nothing that way: though, in course, I knows nothing of what they do be doing; how should I?”

“How should you, indeed! though you seem to be ready enough to answer for your friend Reynolds. However, I don’t want to be taking any more of the boys at Drumleesh; so if he is a friend of yours, you’d better warn him, that’s all:” and he walked away.

“And it’s warning you want yourself, Captain, dear,” said Pat to himself; “how clever you think yourself, with your Mr. Keegan and your spies, and your fine lady Miss, there; but if you a’nt quiet enough before Christmas, it’s odd, that’s all.”

They were called into the inner room now, as Father John was going to perform the ceremony; and such marshalling and arranging as he had! — trying to put people into their proper places who would be somewhere else — shoving down the forms out of the way — moving the tables — removing the dishes and plates; for the supper was to be eaten off the table at which the couple were to be married. And though all the company had probably been at weddings before, and that often, they seemed new to the proceedings.

“Denis, you born fool, will you come here, where I told you? and don’t keep the mutton spoiling all night;” and he shoved McGovery round the table.

“Mary Brady, if you wish to change the ugly name that’s on you this night, will you come here?” and he seized hold of the young woman’s arm and dragged her round; “and who’s wanting you, Biddy?” as the girl followed close behind her principal.

“Shure, Father John, a’nt I to be bridesmaid then?”

“You, bridesmaid, and Miss Feemy to the fore! stay where you are. Come, Feemy.”

“Oh! Father John, I a’nt bridesmaid.”

“Oh! but you will be; and, as Thady a’nt here, Captain Ussher’ll be best man; come round, Captain,”— and Ussher came round. “And mind, Captain,” he added, whispering, “when I come to ‘salute nostra’— those are the last words — you’re to kiss the bride; you are to kiss her first, and then you’ll be married yourself before the year’s out.”

“But I am not all ambitious that way.”

“Never mind, do as I tell you; and don’t forget to have a half-crown in your hand, or so, when I bring the plate round. Come, Pat, where are you? you’ve to give her away.”

“She’ll jist give herself away, then, Father John; by dad, she’s ready and willing enough!”

“Do as I tell you, and don’t stand bothering. You want to keep those shiners in your pocket — I know you;” and Brady, shamed into compliance, also went into his place.

“Now, Denis, the other side of her, boy; why, you’re as awkward to marry as shoeing a colt.”

“Why then, Father John, that’s thrue; for I shod many a colt, and never was married.”

“You’ll not be so long, avick; and may be you’ll know more about it this time next week. But here’s the plate; what do you mean to give the bride? you must put something handsome here for Mary.”

“Faix then I forgot about that;” and he put his hand into his pocket and forked out half-a-crown, which, with a sheepish look, he put in the plate.

“Half-a-crown, indeed, for a tradesman like you! There’s Corney Dolan there, who don’t seem to have a coat that fits him too well, would do more for his wife, if it was God’s pleasure he was to have one this night.”

“Well, there;” and Denis put down another half-crown. This money, which is always put down just before the marriage, is a bridal present to the bride, and becomes her exclusive property.

“Well, Mary, you must be getting the rest of it from him another time.”

“Let her alone for that, yer riverence,” said Corney Dolan — who considered that Father John’s allusion to his coat privileged him to put in his joke —“let her alone for that; she knows how to be getting the halfpence, and to hoult them too.”

“It’s a great deal you’re knowing about it, I’m thinking, Mr. Dolan,” retorted Denis; “it’s a pity you couldn’t keep the hoult of any yerself.”

“Wisht, boys! how am I to marry you at all, if you go on this way? Come, Mary, off with that glove of yours; now for the ring, Denis:” and Mary hauled away at the glove, which the heat of her hand prevented her from pulling off.

“Drat it for a glove, then!”

“Ah, alanna, gloves come so nathural to your purty hand, they don’t like to lave it at all.”

At last, however, Mary got her hands ready for action; the ring was in the plate with the two half-crowns; Father John was standing between the two matrimonial aspirants; Ussher and Feemy were close behind Mary, and Brady was sitting down on the right hand of Denis; and the priest opened his book and began.

The marriage ceremony took about five minutes; but during this time Father John found occasion to whisper Ussher to come up close to the bride; and then, after hurrying over a great part of the service almost under his breath, he pronounced the final words —salute nostra— in a loud voice, adding at the same time to Ussher, “Now, my boy!”

Ussher, in obedience to the priest’s injunction, seized hold of the bride at one side, to kiss her; while McGovery, determined to vindicate his own right, pounced on her on the other; justly thinking that the first kiss she should have after her wedding ought to be given to her by her lawful married husband.

But, alas! both aspirants were foiled, and Mary got no kiss at all. She, in her dismay at the energy of the two aspirants, ducked her head down nearly to the level of the table, and Denis, in his zeal and his hurry, struck Ussher in the face with his own forehead with no slight force. The Captain retreated, half-stunned, and not very well pleased with the salute he had received; and Denis was so shocked at what he had done, that he forgot his wife — and, apparently even the pigs and the money — in his regrets and apologies.

“Egad, Captain,” said Father John, “that’s more of a kiss than I meant to get you; why, you’re as awkward, McGovery, as a bullcalf. Who’d have thought to see you butting at the Captain, like an old goat on his hind legs!”

“Faix then, yer riverence, I didn’t intend to be trating the Captain in that way; but any way the Captain’s head is ‘amost as hard as my own, for the flashes isn’t out of my eyes yet.”

“Never mind,” said Ussher; “and if you always take care of your wife the same way, my good fellow, you’ll be sure she’ll not come to any harm, for want of looking after.”

In the meantime Mary had escaped from the salute intended for her, and was, with the aid of Biddy, Mrs. Mehan, and sundry others of her visitors, engaged in extricating two legs of mutton, a ham, and large quantities of green cabbages from the pots in which they had been boiling in the outer room.

“God bless you, Sally dear, and will you drain them pratees? they’ll be biled to starch. And Mrs. Mehan, darling, my heart’s broke with the big pot here, will you lend me a hand? good luck to you then. There’s Denis and Pat, bad manners to them, they’d see me kilt with all the bother, and stand there doing nothing under the sun.”

And poor Mary McGovery, as we must now call her, toiled and groaned under the labours of her wedding day till the perspiration ran from under her wedding cap; and her wedding-dress gave manifold signs of her zeal in preparing the wedding-supper.

Whilst Mary was dishing the mutton, &c., Father John was employed in the not less important business of collecting his dues.

Between McGovery and Pat Brady he had succeeded in getting two th............