Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 December 1879 — Irish Match-Making. [ARTICLE]

Irish Match-Making.

While the landlady was at work, two old men strolled in for refreshment. One of them was evidently a small farmer. He wore his hat pulled down over his eyes, and appeared occupied by a matter of some weight. Talking to him earnestly and in a low tone, his companion, an old fellow with a shabby hat, shiny breeches and much-worn shoes, looked about him with cunning eyes for the most retired nook, and pulling out an old stool, said, “ Sit ye there, man, and we’ll have a pint and a talk.” The colorless potheen was served them, and each drank a tumblerful of it as if it had been water. “Now, man,” said the smaller and older of the two, “ why not make a match between them? He is a smart lad, and she is a fine girl, God bless her! Just say what you will give her, and we can have done with it before the game is out.” “Well,” said the farmer, after pulling and cracking all his fingers, “ I have no thought of being mean. I will give her a cabin, a .quarter acre of land, with the potatoes tilled and brought to the door.” There was silence on the other side. “I will give her a fine feather-bed.” “ Very good, very good,” said he with the cunningeyes. “We’ll have another pint.” They were served with the fiery liquid, and smacking their lips over it, declared it the best. “The players must be near through.” The farmer, staring in the bottom of the cup, added, “I will give her fifteen pounds in gold.” A short quick laugh from his companion was the response: “That’s very good, man; you are doing well, God bless you!” » “ Her mother will give her the best of petticoats—and that is about all” “And enough it is, if her mother would not forget the old silver beads,

ao that she can prepare her soul for Heaven when the end comes.” “What, then,” said the other, a little defiantly, “ has your boy got?” Drawing his stool closer, and fixing his little gray eyes on the old man, he said, “Sorra a ha’penny; but he’s a good lad for all that, and can knock as much work out of a day as any boy in the country, and in alight can bate anybody that stands before him.” “ It isn’t a fighting man I want for my daughter,” responded the farmer, testily; “ there’s little good comes of it.” “Well, well, he need not do that same, but he’s good for it if wantin’.” “I’ll not stand for money, as he’s a nate, tidy boy;” the farmer was somewhat mollified. “ I’ll buy him a boat, and he can knock his living out of it.” “Long life to ye! Shall it be next Thursday? I’ll stop to-night to see the priest and have it all ready.” To my horror, the farmer now called for another pint, with which they sealed their bargain.—J. L. Cloud, in Harper's Magazine for December.