Chapter II: Part 2

This, however, was an unexpected blow to Peter, who knew that an English grace would be incompatible with his “college feeding,” yet was unprovided with any in Latin--The eyes of the company were now fixed upon him, and he blushed like scarlet on finding himself in a predicament so awkward and embarrassing. “_Aliquid, Petre, alliquid; 'de profundis'--si habes nihil aliud_,” said Father Philemy, feeling for his embarrassment, and giving him a hint. This was not lost, for Peter began, and gave them the _De profundis_--a Latin psalm, which Roman Catholics repeat for the relief of the souls in, purgatory. They forgot, however, that there was a person in company who considered himself as having an equal claim to the repetition of at least the one-half of it; and accordingly, when Peter got up and repeated the first verse, Andy Lalor got also on his legs, and repeated the response.* This staggered Peter a little, who hesitated, as uncertain how to act.

* This prayer is generally repeated by two persons, who
recite each a verse alternately.

“_Perge, Petre, perge_,” said Father Philemy, looking rather wistfully at his egg--“_perge, stultus est et asinus quoque_.” Peter and Andy proceeded until it was finished, when they resumed their seats.

The conversation during breakfast was as sprightly, as full of fun and humor as such breakfasts usually are. The priest, Phaddhy, and the young collegian, had a topic of their own, whilst the rest were engaged in a kind of by play, until the meal was finished.

“Father Philemy,” said Phaddhy, in his capacity of host, “before we begin we'll all take a dhrop of what's in the bottle, if it's not displasing to yer Reverence; and, sure, I know, 'tis the same that doesn't come wrong at a station, any how.”

This, _more majorum_, was complied with; and the glass, as usual, went round the table, beginning with their Reverences. Hitherto, Father Philemy had not had time to bestow any attention on the state of Kitty's larder, as he was in the habit of doing, with a view to ascertain the several items contained therein for dinner. But as soon as the breakfast-things were removed, and the coast clear, he took a peep into the pantry, and, after throwing his eye over its contents, sat down at the fire, making Phaddhy take a seat beside him, for the especial purpose of sounding him as to the practicability of effecting a certain design, which was then snugly latent in his Reverence's fancy. The fact was, that on taking the survey of the premises aforesaid, he discovered that, although there was abundance of fowl, and fish, and bacon, and hung-beef--yet, by some unaccountable and disastrous omission, there was neither fresh mutton nor fresh beef. The priest, it must be confessed, was a man of considerable fortitude, but this was a blow for which he was scarcely prepared, particularly as a boiled leg of mutton was one of his fifteen favorite joints at dinner. He accordingly took two or three pinches of snuff in rapid succession, and a seat at the fire, as I have said, placing Phaddhy, unconscious of his design, immediately beside him.

Now, the reader knows that Phaddhy was a man possessing a considerable portion of dry, sarcastic humor, along with that natural, quickness of penetration and shrewdness for which most of the Irish peasantry are in a very peculiar degree remarkable; add to this that Father Philemy, in consequence of his contemptuous bearing to him before he came in for his brother's property, stood not very high in his estimation. The priest knew this, and consequently felt that the point in question would require to be managed, on his part, with suitable address.

“Phaddhy,” says his Reverence, “sit down here till we chat a little, before I commence the duties of the day. I'm happy to, see that you have such a fine thriving family: how many sons and daughters have you?”

“Six sons, yer Reverence,” replied. Phaddhy, “and five daughters: indeed, sir, they're as well to be seen as their neighbors, considhering all things. Poor crathurs, they get fair play* now, thank Grod, compared to what they used to get--God rest their poor uncle's sowl for that! Only for him, your Reverence, there would be very few inquiring this or any other day about them.”

* By this is meant good food and clothing.

“Did he die as rich as they said, Phaddhy?” inquired his Reverence.

“Hut, sir,” replied Phaddhy, determined to take what he afterwards called a rise out of the priest; “they knew little about it--as rich as they said, sir! no, but three times as rich, itself: but, any how, he was the man that could make the money.”

“I'm very happy to hear it, Phaddhy, on, your account, and that of your children. God be good to him--_requiescat animus ejus in pace, per omnia secula seculorum_, Amen!--he liked a drop in his time, Phaddhy, as well as ourselves, eh?”

“Amen, amen--the heavens be his bed!--he-did, poor man! but he had it at first cost, your Reverence, for he run it all himself in the mountains: he could afford to take it.”

“Yes, Phaddhy, the heavens be his bed, I pray; no Christmas or Easter ever passed but he was sure to send me the little keg of stuff that never saw water; but, Phaddhy, there's one thing that concerns me about him, in regard of his love of drink--I'm afraid it's a throuble to him where he is at present; and I was sorry to find that, although he died full of money, he didn't think it worth his while to leave even the price of a mass to be said for the benefit of his own soul.”

“Why, sure you know, Father Philemy, that he wasn't what they call a dhrinking man: once a quarther, or so, he sartinly did take a jorum; and except at these times, he was very sober. But God look upon us, yer Reverence--or upon myself, anyway; for if he's to suffer for his doings that way, I'm afeard we'll have a troublesome reck'ning of it.”

“Hem, a-hem!--Phaddhy,” replied the priest, “he has raised you and your children from poverty, at all events, and you ought to consider that. If there is anything in your power to contribute to the relief of his soul, you havs a strong duty upon you to do it; and a number of masses, offered up devoutly, would--”

“Why, he did, sir, raise both myself and my childre from poverty,” said Phaddhy, not willing to let that point go farther--“that I'll always own to; and I hope in God that whatever little trouble might be upon him for the dhrop of dhrink, will be wiped off by this kindness to us.”

“He hadn't even a Month's mind!”*

* A Mouth's Mind is the repetition of one or more
masses, at the expiration of a month after death, for
the repose of a departed soul. There are generally more
than the usual number of priests on such occasions:
each of whom receives a sum of money, varying according
to the wealth of the survivors--sometimes five
shillings, and sometimes five guineas.

“And it's not but I spoke to him about both, yer Eeverence.”

“And what did he say, Phaddy?”

“'Phaddy,' said he, 'I have been giving Father M'Guirk, one way or another, between whiskey, oats, and dues, a great deal of money every year; and now, afther I'm dead,' says he, 'isn't it an ungrateful thing of him not to offer up one mass for my sowl, except I leave him payment for it?'”

“Did he say that, Phaddhy?”

“I'm giving you his very words, yer Reverence.”

“Phaddhy, I deny it; it's a big lie--he could not make much use of such words, and he going to face death. I say you could not listen to them; the hair would stand on your head if he did; but God forgive him--that's the worst I wish him. Didn't the hair stand on your head, Phaddhy, to hear him?”

“Why, then, to tell yer Reverence God's truth, I can't say it did.”

“You can't say it did! and if I was in your coat, I would be ashamed to say it did not. I was always troubled about the way the fellow died, but I hadn't the slightest notion: that he went off such a reprobate. I fought his battle and yours hard enough yesterday; but I knew less about him than I do now.”

“And what, wid submission, did you fight our battles about, yer Reverence?” inquired Phaddhy.

“Yesterday evening, in Parrah More Slevin's, they had him a miser, and yourself they set down as very little better.”

“Then I don't think I desarved that from Parrah More, anyhow, Father Philemy; I think I can show myself as dacent as Parrah More or any of his faction.”

“It was not Parrah More himself, nor his family, that said anything about you, Phaddhy,” said the priest, “but others that were present. You must know that we were all to be starved here to-day.”

“Oh! ho!” exclaimed Phaddhy, who was hit most palpably upon the weakest side--the very sorest spot about him, “they think bekase this is the first station that ever was held in my house, that you won't be thrated as you ought; but they'll be disappointed; and I hope, for so far, that yer Reverence and yer friends had no rason to complain.”

“Not in the least, Phaddhy, considering that it was a first station; and if the dinner goes as well off as the breakfast, they'll be biting their nails: but I should not wish myself that they would have it in their power to sneer or throw any slur over you about it.--Go along, Dolan,” exclaimed his Reverence to a countryman who came in from the street, where those stood who were for confession, to see if he had gone to his room--“Go along, you vagrant, don't you see I'm not gone to the tribunal yet?--But it's no matter about that, Phaddhy, it's of other things you ought to think: when were you at your duty?”

“This morning, sir,” replied the other--“but I'd have them to understand, that had the presumption to use my name in any such manner, that I know when and where to be dacent with any mother's son of Parrah More's faction; and that I'll be afther whispering to them some of these fine mornings, plase goodness.”

“Well, well, Phaddhy, don't put yourself in a passion about it, particularly so soon after having been at confession--it's not right--I told them myself, that we'd have a leg of mutton and a bottle of wine at all events for it was what they had; but that's not worth talking about--when were you with the priest before Phaddhy?”

“If I wasn't able, it would be another thing, but as long as I'm able, I'll let them know that I've the spirit”--said Phaddhy, smarting under the implication of niggardliness--“when was I at confession before, Father Philemy? Why, then, dear forgive me, not these five years;--and I'd surely be the first of the family that would show a mane spirit, or a want of hospitality.”

“A leg of mutton is a good dish, and a bottle of wine is fit for the first man in the land!” observed his Reverence; “five years!--why, is it possible you stayed away so long, Phaddhy! how could you expect to prosper with five years' burden of sin upon your conscience--what would it cost you--?”

“Indeed, myselfs no judge, your Reverence, as to that; but, cost what it will, I'll get both.”

“I say, Phaddhy, what trouble would it cost you to come to your duty twice a year at the very least; and, indeed, I would advise you to become a monthly communicant. Parrah More was speaking of it as to himself, and you ought to go--”

“And I will go and bring Parrah More here to his dinner, this very day, if it was only to let him see with his own eyes--”

“You ought to go once a month, if it was only to set an example to your children, and to show the neighbors how a man of substance and respectability, and the head of a family, ought to carry himself.”

“Where is the best wine got, your Reverence?”

“Alick M'Loughlin, my nephew, I believe, keeps the best wine and spirits in Ballyslantha.--You ought also, Phaddy, to get a scapular, and become a scapularian; I wish your brother had thought of that, and he wouldn't have died in so hardened a state, nor neglected to make a provision for the benefit of his soul, as he did.”

“Lave the rest to me, yer Reverence, I'll get it; Mr. M'Loughlin will give me the right sort, if he has it betune him and death.”

“M'Laughlin! what are you talking about?”

“Why, what is your Reverence talking about?”

“The scapular,” said the priest.

“But I mane the wine and the mutton,” says Phaddhy.

“And is that the way you treat me, you reprobate you?” replied his Reverence in a passion: “is that the kind of attention you're paying me, and I, advising you, all this time, for the good of your soul? Phaddhy, I tell you, you're enough to vex me to the core--five years!--only once at confession in five years! What do I care about your mutton and your wine!--you may get dozens of them if you wish; or, may be, it would be more like a Christian to never mind getting them, and let the neighbors laugh away. It would teach you humility, you hardened creature, and God knows you want it; for my part, I'm speaking to you about other things; but that's the way with the most of you--mention any spiritual subject that concerns your soul, and you turn a deaf ear to it--here, Dolan, come in to your duty. In the meantime, you may as well tell Katty not to boil the mutton too much; it's on your knees you ought to be at your rosary, or the seven penitential psalms, any way.”

“Thrue for you, sir,” says Phaddhy; “but as to going wanst a month, I'm afeard, your Rev'rence, if it would shorten my timper as it does Katty's, that we'd be bad company for one another; she comes home from confession, newly set, like a razor, every bit as sharp; and I'm sure that I'm within the truth when I say there's no bearing her.”

“That's because you've no relish for anything spiritual yourself, you nager you,” replied his Reverence, “or you wouldn't see her temper in that light--but, now that I think of it, where did you get that stuff we had at breakfast?”

“Ay, that's the sacret; but I knew your Rev'rence would like it; did Parrah More aiquil it? No, nor one of his faction couldn't lay his finger on such a dhrop.”

“I wish you could get me a few gallons of it,” said the priest; “but let us drop that; I say, Phaddhy, you're too worldly and too careless about your duty.”

“Well, Father Philemy, there's a good time coming; I'll mend yet.”

“You want it, Phaddhy.”

“Would three gallons do, sir?”

“I would rather you would make it five, Phaddhy; but go to your rosary.”

“It's the penitential psalms, first, sir,” said Phaddhy, “and the rosary at night. I'll try, anyhow; and if I can make off five for you, I will.”

“Thank you, Phaddhy; but I would recommend you to say the rosary before night.”

“I believe yer Reverence is right,” replied Phaddhy, looking somewhat slyly in the priest's face; “I think it's best to make sure of it now, in regard that in the evening, your Reverence--do you persave?”

“Yes,” said his Reverence, “you're in a better frame of mind at present, Phaddhy, being fresh from confession.”

So saying, his Reverence--for whom Phaddhy, with all his shrewdness in general, was not a match--went into his room, that he might send home about four dozen of honest, good-humored, thoughtless, jovial, swearing, drinking, fighting Hibernians, free from every possible stain of sin and wickedness!

“Are you all ready now?” said the priest to a crowd of country people who were standing about the kitchen door, pressing to get the “first turn” at the tribunal, which on this occasion consisted of a good oaken chair, with his Reverence upon it.

“Why do you crush forward in that manner, you ill-bred spalpeens? Can't you stand back, and behave yourselves like common Christians?--back with you! or, if you make me get my whip, I'll soon clear you from about the dacent man's door. Hagarty, why do you crush them two girls there, you great Turk, you? Look at the vagabonds! Where's my whip,” said he, running in, and coming out in a fury, when he commenced cutting about him, until they dispersed in all directions. He then returned into the house; and, after calling in about two dozen, began to catechize them as follows, still holding the whip in his hand, whilst many of those individuals, who at a party quarrel or faction fight, in fair or market, were incapable of the slightest terror, now stood trembling before him, absolutely pale and breathless with fear.

“Come, Kelly,” said he to one of them, “are you fully prepared for the two blessed sacraments of Penance and the Eucharist, that you are about to receive? Can you read, sir?”

“Can I read, is id?--my brother Barney can, yor Rev'rence,” replied Kelly, sensible, amid all the disadvantages around him, of the degradation of his ignorance.

“What's that to me, sir?” said the priest, “what your brother Barney can do--can you not read yourself?”

“I can not, your Reverence,” said Kelly, in a tone of regret.

“I hope you have your Christian Doctrine, at all events,” said the priest. “Go on with the Confiteor.”

Kelly went on--“Confeetur Dimnipotenmti batchy Mary semplar virginy, batchy Mickletoe Archy Angelo, batchy Johnny Bartisty, sanctris postlis--Petrum hit Paulum omnium sanctris, et tabby pasture, quay a pixavit minus coglety ashy hony verbum et offer him smaxy quilia smaxy quilta--sniaxy maxin in quilia.” *

* Let not our readers suppose that the above version in
the mouth of a totally illiterate peasant is
overcharged; for we have the advantage of remembering
how we ourselves used to hear it pronounced in our
early days. We will back the version in the text
against Edward Irving's new language--for any money.--
Original note.

“Very well, Kelly, right enough, all except the pronouncing, which wouldn't pass muster in Maynooth, however. How many kinds of commandments are there?”

“Two, sir.”

“What are they?”

“God's and the Church's.”

“Repeat God's share of them.”

He then repeated the first commandment according to his catechism.

“Very good, Kelly, very good. Well now, repeat the commandments of the Church.”

“First--Sundays and holidays, Mass thou shalt sartinly hear;

“Second--All holidays sanctificate throughout all the whole year.

“Third--Lent, Ember days, and Virgins, thou shalt be sartain to fast;

“Fourth--Fridays and Saturdays flesh thou shalt not, good, bad or indifferent, taste.

“Fifth--In Lent and Advent, nuptial fastes gallantly forbear.

“Sixth--Confess your sins, at laste once dacently and soberly every year.

“Seventh--Resave your God at confission about great Easter-day;

“Eighth--And to his Church and his own frolicsome clargy neglect not tides (tithes) to pay.”

“Well,” said his Eeverence, “now, to great point is, do you understand them?”

“Wid the help of God, I hope so, your Rev'rence; and I have also the three thriptological vartues.”

“Theological, sirrah!”

“Theojollyological vartues; the four sins that cry to heaven for vingeance; the five carnal vartues--prudence, justice, timptation, and solitude; (* Temperance and fortitude) the seven deadly sins; the eight grey attitudes--”

“Grey attitudes! Oh, the Boeotian!” exclaimed his Eeverence, “listen to the way in which he's playing havoc among them. Stop, sir,” for Kelly was going on at full speed--“Stop, sir. I tell you it's not gray attitudes, but bay attitudes--doesn't every one know the eight beatitudes?”

“The eight bay attitudes; the nine ways of being guilty of another's sins; the ten commandments; the twelve fruits of a Christian; the fourteen stations of the cross; the fifteen mystheries of the passion--”

“Kelly,” said his Eeverence, interrupting him, and heralding, the joke, for so it was intended, with a hearty chuckle, “you're getting fast out of your teens, ma bouchal?” and this was of course, honored with a merry peal; extorted as much by an effort of softening the rigor of examination, as by the traditionary duty which entails upon the Irish laity the necessity of laughing at a priest's jokes, without any reference at all to their quality. Nor was his Reverence's own voice the first to subside into that gravity which became the solemnity of the occasion; or even whilst he continued the interrogatories, his eye was laughing at the conceit with which it was evident the inner man was not competent to grapple. “Well, Kelly, I can't say but you've answered very well, as far as the repealing of them goes; but do you perfectly understand all the commandments of the church?”

“I do, sir,” replied Kelly, whose confidence kept pace with his Reverence's good-humor.

“Well, what is meant by the fifth?”

“The fifth, sir?” said the other, rather confounded--“I must begin agin, sir, and go on till I come to it.”

“Well,” said the priest, “never mind that; but tell us what the eighth means?”

Kelly stared at him a second time, but was not able to advance “First--Sundays and holidays, mass thou shalt hear;” but before he had proceeded to the second, a person who stood at his elbow began to whisper to him the proper reply, and in the act of so doing received a lash of the whip across the ear for his pains.

“You blackguard, you!” exclaimed Father Philemy, “take that--how dare you attempt to prompt any person that I'm examining?”

Those who stood around Kelly now fell back to a safe distance, and all was silence, terror, and trepidation once more.

“Come, Kelly, go on--the eighth?”

Kelly was still silent.

“Why, you ninny you, didn't you repeat it just now. 'Eighth--And to his church neglect not tithes to pay.' Now that I have put the words in your mouth, what does it mean?”

Kelly having thus got the cue, replied, in the words of the Catechism, “To pay _tides_ to the lawful _pasterns_ of the church, sir.”

“Pasterns!--oh, you ass you! _Pasterns!_ you poor; base, contemptible, crawling reptile, as if we trampled you under our hooves--oh, you scruff of the earth! Stop, I say--it's pastors.”

“Pastures of the church.”

“And, tell me, do you fulfil that commandment?”

“I do, sir.”

“It's a lie, sir,” replied the priest, brandishing the whip over his head, whilst Kelly instinctively threw up his guard to protect himself from the blow. “It's a lie, sir,” repeated his Eeverence; “you don't fulfil it. What is the church?”

“The church is the congregation of the faithful that purfiss the true faith, and are obadient to the Pope.”

“And who do you pay tithes to?”

“To the parson, sir.”

“And, you poor varmint you, is he obadient to the Pope?”

Kelly only smiled at the want of comprehension which prevented him from seeing the thing according to the view which his Reverence took of it.

“Well, now,” continued Father Philemy, “who are the lawful pastors of God's church?”

“You are, sir: and all our own priests.”

“And who ought you to pay your tithes to?”

“To you, sir, in coorse; sure I always knew that, your Rev'rence.”

“And what's the reason, then, you don't pay them to me, instead of the parson?”

This was a puzzler to Kelly, who only knew his own side of the question. “You have me there, sir,” he replied, with a grin.

“Because,” said his Reverence, “the Protestants, for the present, have, the law of the land on their side, and power over you to compel the payment of tithes to themselves; but we have right, justice, and the law of God on ours; and, if every thing was in its proper place, it is not to the parsons, but to us, that you would pay them.”

“Well, well, sir,” replied Kelly, who now experienced a community of feeling upon the subject with his Reverence, that instantly threw him into a familiarity of manner which he thought the point between them justified--“who knows, sir?” said he with a knowing smile, “there's a good time coming, yer Rev'rence.”

“Ay,” said Father Philemy, “wait till we get once into the Big* House, and if we don't turn the scales--if the Established Church doesn't go down, why, it won't be our fault. Now, Kelly, all's right but the money--have you brought your dues?”

* Parliament. This was written before the passing of
the Emancipation Bill.

“Here it is, sir,” said Kelly, handing him his dues for the last year.

It is to be observed here, that, according as the penitents went to be examined, or to kneel down to confess, a certain sum was exacted from each, which varied according to the arrears that might have been due to the priest. Indeed, it is not unusual for the host and hostess, on these occasions, to be refused a participation in the sacrament, until they pay this money, notwithstanding the considerable expense they are put to in entertaining not only the clergy, but a certain number of their own friends and relations.

“Well, stand aside, I'll hear you first; and now, come up here, you young gentleman, that laughed so heartily a while ago at my joke--ha, ha, ha!--come up here, child.”

A lad now approached him, whose face, on a first view, had something simple and thoughtless in it, but in which, on a closer inspection, might be traced a lurking, sarcastic humor, of which his Reverence never dreamt.

“You're for confession, of course?” said the priest.

“_Of coorse_,” said the lad, echoing him, and laying a stress upon the word, which did not much elevate the meaning of the compliance in general with the rite in question.

“Oh!” exclaimed the priest, recognizing him when he approached--“you are Dan Fagan's son, and designed for the church yourself; you are a good Latinist, for I remember examining you in Erasmus about two years ago--_Quomodo sehabet corpus tuum, charum lignum sacredotis_”

“_Valde, Domine_,” replied the lad, “_Quomodo se habet anima tua, charum exemplar sacerdotage, et fulcrum robustissium Ecclesiae sacrosancte_?”

“Very good, Harry,” replied his Reverence, laughing--“stand aside; I'll hear you after Kelly.”

He then called up a man with a long melancholy face, which he noticed before to have been proof against his joke, and after making two or three additional and fruitless experiments upon his gravity, he commenced a cross fire of peevish interrogatories, which would have excluded him from the “tribunal” on that occasion, were it not that the man was remarkably well prepared, and answered the priest's questions very pertinently.

This over, he repaired to his room, where the work of absolution commenced; and, as there was a considerable number to be rendered sinless before the hour of dinner, he contrived to unsin them with an alacrity that was really surprising.

Immediately after the conversation already detailed between his Reverence and Phaddhy, the latter sought Katty, that he might communicate to her the unlucky oversight which they had committed, in neglecting to provide fresh meat and wine. “We'll be disgraced forever,” said Phaddhy, “without either a bit of mutton or a bottle of wine for the gintlemen, and that big thief Parrah More Slevin had both.”

“And I hope,” replied Katty, “that you're not so mane as to let any of that faction outdo you in dacency, the nagerly set? It was enough for them to bate us in the law-shoot about the horse, and not to have the laugh agin at us about this.”

“Well, that same law-shoot is not over with them yet,” said Phaddhy; “wait till the spring fair comes, and if I don't have a faction gathered that'll sweep them out of the town, why my name's not Phaddhy! But where is Matt till we sind him off?”

“Arrah, Phaddhy,” said Katty, “wasn't it friendly of Father Philemy to give us the hard word about the wine and mutton?”

“Very friendly,” retorted Phaddhy, who, after all, appeared to have suspected the priest--“very friendly, indeed, when it's to put a good joint before himself, and a bottle of wine in his jacket. No, no, Katty! it's not altogether for the sake of Father Philemy, but I wouldn't have the neighbors say that I was near and undacent; and above all tilings, I wouldn't be worse nor the Slevins--for the same set would keep it up agin us long enough.”

Our readers will admire the tact with which Father Philemy worked upon the rival feeling between the factions; but, independently of this, there is a generous hospitality in an Irish peasant which would urge him to any stratagem, were it even the disposal of his only cow, sooner than incur the imputation of a narrow, or, as he himself terms it, “undacent” or “nagerly” spirit.

In the course of a short time, Phaddhy dispatched two messengers, one for the wine, and another for the mutton; and, that they might not have cause for any unnecessary delay, he gave them the two reverend gentlemen's horses, ordering them to spare neither whip nor spur until they returned. This was an agreeable command to the messengers, who, as soon as they found themselves mounted, made a bet of a “trate,” to be paid on arriving in the town to which they were sent, to him who should first reach a little stream that crossed the road at the entrance of it, called the “Pound burn.” But I must not forget to state, that they not only were mounted on the priest's horses, but took their great-coats, as the day had changed, and threatened to rain. Accordingly, on getting out upon the main road, they set off, whip and spur, at full speed, jostling one another, and cutting each other's horses as if they had been intoxicated; and the fact is, that, owing to the liberal distribution of the bottle that morning, they were not far from it.

“Bliss us!” exclaimed the country people, as they passed, “what on airth can be the matther with Father Philemy and Father Con, that they're abusing wan another at sich a rate!”

“Oh!” exclaimed another, “it's apt to be a sick call, and they're thrying, maybe, to be there before the body grows cowld.”

“Ay, it may be,” a third conjectured, “it's to old Magennis, that's on the point of death, and going to lave all his money behind him.”

But their astonishment was not a whit lessened, when, in about an hour afterwards, they perceived them both return; the person who represented Father Con having an overgrown leg of mutton slung behind his back like an Irish harp, reckless of its friction against his Reverence's coat, which it had completely saturated with grease; and the duplicate of Father Philemy with a sack over his shoulder, in the bottom of which was half a dozen of Mr. M'Laughlin's best port.

Phaddhy, in the meantime, being determined to mortify his rival Parrah More by a superior display of hospitality, waited upon that parsonage, and exacted a promise from him to come down and partake of the dinner--a promise which the other was not slack in fulfilling. Phaddhy's heart was now on the point of taking its rest, when it occurred to him that there yet remained one circumstance in which he might utterly eclipse his rival, and that was to ask Captain Wilson, his landlord, to meet their Reverences at dinner. He accordingly went over to him, for he only lived a few fields distant, having first communicated the thing privately to Katty, and requested that, as their Reverences that day held a station in his house, and would dine there, he would have the kindness to dine along with them. To this the Captain, who was intimate with both the clergymen, gave a ready compliance, and Phaddhy returned home in high spirits.

In the meantime, the two priests were busy in the work of absolution; the hour of three had arrived, and they had many to shrive; but, in the course of a short time, a reverend auxiliary made his appearance, accompanied by one of Father Philemy's nephews, who was then about to enter Maynooth. This clerical gentleman had been appointed to a parish; but, owing to some circumstances which were known only in the distant part of the diocese where he had resided, he was deprived of it, and had, at the period I am writing of, no appointment in the church, though he was in full orders. If I mistake not, he incurred his bishop's displeasure by being too warm an advocate for Domestic Nomination,* a piece of discipline, the re-establishment of which was then attempted by the junior clergymen of the diocese wherein the scene of this station is laid. Be this as it may, he came in time to assist the gentlemen in absolving those penitents (as we must call them so) who still remained unconfessed.

* Domestic Nomination was the right claimed by a
portion of the Irish clergy to appoint their own
bishops, independently of the Pope.

During all this time Katty was in the plenitude of her authority, and her sense of importance manifested itself in a manner that was by no means softened by having been that morning at her duty. Her tones were not so shrill, nor so loud as they would have been, had not their Reverences been within hearing; but what was wanting in loudness, was displayed in a firm and decided energy, that vented, itself frequently in the course of the day upon the backs and heads of her sons, daughters, and servants, as they crossed her path in the impatience and bustle of her employment. It was truly ludicrous to see her, on encountering one of them in these fretful moments, give him a drive head-foremost against the wall, exclaiming, as she shook her fist at him, “Ho, you may bless your stars, that they're under the roof, or it wouldn't go so asy wid you; for if goodness hasn't said it, you'll make me lose my sowl this blessed and holy day: but this is still the case--the very time I go to my duty, the devil (between us and harm) is sure to throw fifty temptations acrass me, and to help him, you must come in my way--but wait till tomorrow, and if I, don't pay you for this, I'm not here.”

That a station is an expensive ordinance to the peasant who is honored by having one held in his house, no one who knows the characteristic hospitality of the Irish people can doubt. I have reason, however, to know that, within the last few years, stations in every sense have been very much improved, where they have not been abolished altogether. The priests now are not permitted to dine in the houses of their parishioners, by which a heavy tax has been removed from the people.

About four o'clock the penitents were at length all despatched; and those who were to be detained for dinner, many of whom had not eaten anything until then, in consequence of the necessity of receiving the Eucharist fasting, were taken aside to taste some of Phaddhy's poteen. At length the hour of dinner arrived, and along with it the redoubtable Parra More Slevin, Captain Wilson, and another nephew of Father Philemy's, who had come to know what detained his brother who had conducted the auxiliary priest to Phaddhy's. It is surprising on these occasions, to think how many uncles, nephews, and cousins, to the forty-Second degree, find it needful to follow their Reverences on messages of various kinds; and it is equally surprising to observe with what exactness they drop in during the hour of dinner. Of course, any blood-relation or friend of the priests must be received with cordiality; and consequently they do not return without solid proofs of the good-natured hospitality of poor Paddy, who feels no greater pleasure than in showing his “dacency” to any one belonging to his Reverence.

I dare say it would be difficult to find a more motley and diversified company than sat down to the ungarnished fare which Katty laid before them. There were first Fathers Philemy, Con, and the Auxiliary from the far part of the diocese; next followed Captain Wilson, Peter Malone, and Father Philemy's two nephews; after these came Phaddhy himself, Parrah More Slevin, with about two dozen more of the most remarkable and uncouth personages that could sit down to table. There were besides about a dozen of females, most of whom by this time, owing to Katty's private kindness, were in a placid state of feeling. Father Philemy _ex officio_, filled the chair--he was a small man with cherub cheeks as red as roses, black twinkling eyes, and double chin; was of the fat-headed genus, and, if phrenologists be correct, must have given indications of early piety, for he was bald before his time, and had the organ of veneration standing visible on his crown; his hair from having once been black, had become an iron gray, and hung down behind his ears, resting on the collar of his coat according to the old school, to which, I must remark, he belonged, having been educated on the Continent. His coat had large double breasts, the lappels of which hung down loosely on each side, being the prototype of his waistcoat, whose double breasts fell downwards in the same manner--his black small-clothes had silver buckles at the knees, and the gaiters, which did not reach up so far, discovered a pair of white lamb's-wool stockings, somewhat retreating from their original color.

Father Con was a tall, muscular, able-bodied young man, with an immensely broad pair of shoulders, of which he was vain; his black hair was cropped close, except a thin portion of it which was trimmed quite evenly across his eyebrows; he was rather bow-limbed, and when walking looked upwards, holding out his elbows from his body, and letting the lower parts of his arms fall down, so that he went as if he carried a keg under each; his coat, though not well made, was of the best glossy broadcloth--and his long clerical boots went up about his knees like a dragoon's; there was an awkward stiffness about him, in very good keeping with a dark melancholy cast of countenance, in which, however, a man might discover an air of simplicity not to be found in the visage of his superior Father Philemy.

The latter gentleman filled the chair, as I said, and carved the goose; on his right sat Captain Wilson; on his left, the auxiliary--next to them Father Con, the nephews, Peter Malone, _et cetera_. To enumerate the items of the dinner is unnecessary, as our readers have a pretty accurate notion of them from what we have already said. We can only observe, that when Phaddhy saw it laid, and all the wheels of the system fairly set agoing, he looked at Parrah More with an air of triumph which he could not conceal. It is also unnecessary for us to give the conversation in full; nor, indeed, would we attempt giving any portion of it, except for the purpose of showing the spirit in which a religious ceremony such as it is, is too frequently closed.

The talk in the beginning was altogether confined to the clergymen and Mr. Wilson, including a few diffident contributions from “Peter Malone” and the “two nephews.”

“Mr. M'Guirk,” observed Captain Wilson, after the conversation had taken several turns, “I'm sure that in the course of your professional duties, sir, you must have had occasion to make many observations upon human nature, from the circumstance of seeing it in every condition and state of feeling possible; from the baptism of the infant, until the aged man receives the last rites of your church, and the soothing consolation of religion from your hand.”

“Not a doubt of it, Phaddhy,” said Father Philemy to Phaddhy, whom he had been addressing at the time, “not a doubt of it; and I'll do everything in my power to get him _in_* too, and I am told he is bright.”

* That is--into Maynooth college--the great object of
ambition to the son of an Irish peasant or rather to
his parent.

“Uncle,” said one of the nephews, “this gentleman is speaking to you.”

“And why not?” continued his Eeverence, who was so closely engaged with Phaddhy, that he did not even hear the nephew's appeal--“a bishop--and why not? Has he not as good a chance of being a bishop as any of them? though, God knows, it is not always merit that gets a bishopric in any church, or I myself might--But let that pass.” said he, fixing his eyes on the bottle. “Father Philemy,” said Father Con, “Captain Wilson was addressing himself to you in a most especial manner.”

“Oh! Captain, I beg ten thousand pardons, I was engaged talking with Phaddhy here about his son, who is a young shaving of our cloth, sir, he is intended for the Mission*--Phaddhy, I will either examine him myself, or make Father Con examine him by-and-by.--Well, Captain?” The Captain now repeated what he had said.

* The Church of Rome existing in any heretical country--
that is, where she herself is not the State church--is
considered a missionary establishment; and taking
orders in her is termed “Going upon the Mission.” Even
Ireland is looked upon as _in partibus infidelium_,
because Protestantism is established by law--hence the
phrase above.

“Very true, Captain, and we do see it in as many shapes as ever--Con, what do you call him?--put on him.”

“Proteus,” subjoined Con, who was famous at the classics.

Father Philemy nodded for the assistance, and continued--“but as for human nature, Captain, give it to me at a good rousing christening; or what is better again, at a jovial wedding between two of my own parishioners--say this pretty fair-haired daughter of Phaddhy Shemus Phaddhy's here, and long Ned Slevin, Parrah More's son there--eh Phaddhy, will it be a match?--what do you say, Parrah More? Upon my veracity I must bring that about.”

“Why, then, yer Reverence,” replied Phaddhy, who was now a little softened, and forgot his enmity against Parrah More for the present, “unlikelier things might happen.”

“It won't be my fault,” said Parrah More, “if my son Ned has no objection.”

“He object!” replied Father Philemy, “if' I take it in hands, let me see who'll dare to object; doesn't the Scripture say it? and sure we can't go against the Scripture.”

“By the by,” said Captain Wilson, who was a dry humorist, “I am happy to be able to infer from what you say, Father Philemy, that you are not, as the clergymen of your church are supposed to be, inimical to the Bible.”

“Me an enemy to the Bible! no such thing, sir; but, Captain, begging your pardon we will have nothing more about the bible; you see we are met here, as friends and good fellows, to enjoy ourselves after the severity of our spiritual duties, and we must relax a little; we can't always carry long faces like Methodist parsons--come, Pairah More, let the Bible take a nap, and give us a song.”

His Reverence was now seconded in his motion by the most of all present, and Parrah More accordingly gave them a song. After a few songs more, the conversation went on as before.

“Now, Parrah More,” said Phaddhy, “you must try my wine; I hope it's as good as what you gave his Reverence yesterday.” The words, however, had scarcely passed his lips, when Father Philemy burst out into a fit of laughter, clapping and rubbing his hands in a manner the most irresistible. “Oh, Phaddhy, Phaddhy!” shouted his Reverence, laughing heartily, “I done you for once--I done you, my man, cute as you thought yourself: why, you nager you, did you think to put us off with punch, and you have a stocking of hard guineas hid in a hole in the wall?”

“What does yer Rev'rence mane,” said Phaddhy; “for myself can make no understanding out of it, at all at all?”

To this his Reverence only replied by another laugh.

“I gave his Reverence no wine,” said Parrah More, in reply to Phaddhy's question.

“What!” said Phaddhy, “none yesterday, at the station held with you?”

“Not a bit of me ever thought of it.”

“Nor no mutton?”

“Why, then, devil a morsel of mutton, Phaddhy; but we had a rib of beef.”

Phaddhy now looked over to his Reverence rather sheepishly, with the smile of a man on his face who felt himself foiled. “Well, yer Reverence has done me, sure enough,” he replied, rubbing his head--“I give it up to you, Father Philemy; but any how, I'm glad I got it, and you're all welcome from the core of my heart. I'm only sorry I haven't as much more now to thrate you all like gintlemen; but there's some yet, and as much punch as will make all our heads come round.”

Our readers must assist us with their own imaginations, and suppose the conversation to have passed very pleasantly, and the night, as well as the guests, to be somewhat far gone. The principal part of the conversation was borne by the three clergymen, Captain Wilson, and Phaddy; that of the two nephews and Peter Malone ran in an under current of its own; and in the preceding part of the night, those who occupied the bottom of the table, spoke to each other rather in whispers, being too much restrained by that rustic bashfulness which ties up the tongues of those who feel that their consequence is overlooked among their superiors. According as the punch circulated, however, their diffidence began to wear off; and occasionally an odd laugh or so might be heard to break the monotony of their silence. The youngsters, too, though at first almost in a state of terror, soon commenced plucking each other; and a titter, or a suppressed burst of laughter, would break forth from one of the more waggish, who was put to a severe task in afterwards composing his countenance into sufficient gravity to escape detection, and a competent portion of chastisement the next day, for not being able to “behave himself with betther manners.”

During these juvenile breaches of decorum, Katty would raise her arm in a threatening attitude, shake her head at them, and look up at the clergy, intimating more by her earnestness of gesticulation than met the ear. Several songs again went round, of which, truth to tell, Father Philomy's were by far the best; for he possessed a rich, comic expression of eye, which, added to suitable ludicrousness of gesture, and a good voice, rendered him highly amusing to the company. Father Con declined singing, as being decidedly serious, though he was often solicited.

“He!” said Father Philemy, “he has no more voice than a woolpack; but Con's a cunning fellow. What do you think, Captain Wilson, but he pretends to be too pious to sing, and gets credit for piety,--not because he is devout, but because he has a bad voice; now, Con, you can't deny it, for there's not a man in the three kingdoms knows it better than myself; you sit there with a face upon you that might go before the Lamentations of Jeremiah the Prophet, when you ought to be as jovial as another.”

“Well, Father Philemy,” said Phaddhy, “as he won't sing, may be, wid submission he'd examine Briney in his Latin, till his mother and I hear how's he doing at it.”

“Ay, he's fond of dabbling at Latin, so he may try him--I'm sure I have no objection--: so, Captain, as I was telling you--”

“Silence there below!” said Phaddhy to those at the lower end of the table, who were now talkative enough; “will yez whisht there till Father Con hears Briney a lesson in his Latin. Where are you, Briney? come here, ma bouchal.”

But Briney had absconded when he saw that the tug of war was about to commence. In a few minutes, however, the father returned, pushing the boy before him, who in his reluctance to encounter the ordeal of examination, clung to every chair, table, and person in his way, hoping that his restiveness might induce them to postpone the examination till another occasion. The father, however, was inexorable, and by main force dragged him from all his holds, and, placed him before Father Con.

“What's come over you, at all at all, you unsignified shingawn you, to affront the gintleman in this way, and he kind enough to go for to give you an examination?--come now, you had betther not vex me, I tell you, but hould up your head, and spake out loud, that we can all hear you: now, Father Con, achora, you'll not be too hard upon him in the beginning, till he gets into it, for he's aisy dashed.”

“Here, Briney,” said Father Philemy, handing him his tumbler, “take a pull of this and if you have any courage at all in you it will raise it;--take a good pull.” Briney hesitated.

“Why, but you take the glass out of his Reverence's hand, sarrah,” said the father--“what! is it without dhrinking his Reverence's health first?”

Briney gave a most melancholy nod at his Reverence, as he put the tumbler to his mouth, which he nearly emptied, notwithstanding his shyness.

“For my part,” said his Reverence, looking at the almost empty tumbler, “I am pretty sure that that same chap will be able to take care of himself through life. And so, Captain,--” said he, resuming the conversation with Captain Wilson--for his notice of Briney was only parenthetical.

Father Con now took the book, which was AEsop's Fables, and, in accordance with Briney's intention, it opened exactly at the favorite fable of Gallus Gallinacexis. He was not aware, however, that Briney had kept that place open during the preceding part of the week, in order to effect this point. Father Philemy, however, was now beginning to relate another anecdote to the Captain, and the thread of his narrative twined rather ludicrously with that of the examination.

Briney, after, a few hems, at length proceeded--“_Gallus Gallinaceus_, a dung-hill cock--”

“So, Captain, I was just after coming out of Widow Moylan's--it was in the Lammas fair--and a large one, by the by, it was--so, sir, who should come up to me but Branagan. 'Well, Branagan,' said I, 'how does the world go now with you?'----”

“_Gallus Gallinaceus_, a dunghill cock----”

----“Says he. 'And how is that?' says I.

“_Gallus Gallinaceus_----”

-----“Says he, 'Hut tut, Branagan,' says I--'you're drunk.' 'That's the thing, sir' says Branagan, 'and I want to explain it all to your Reverence.' 'Well,' said I, 'go on---”

“_Gallus Gallinaceus_, a dunghill cock----”

----“Says he,----Let your Gallus Gallinaceus go to roost for this night, Con,” said Father Philemy, who did not relish the interruption of his story; “I say, Phaddhy, send the boy to bed, and bring him down in your hand to my house on Saturday morning, and we will both examine him, but this is no time for it, and me engaged in conversation with Captain Wilson.--So, Captain ____'Well, sir,' says Branagan, and he staggering,--'I took an oath against liquor, and I want your Reverence to break it,' says he. 'What do you mean?' I inquired. 'Why, please your Reverence,' said he, 'I took an oath against liquor, as I told you, not to drink more nor a pint of whiskey in one day, and I want your Reverence to break it for me, and make it only half a pint; for I find that a pint is too much for me; by the same token, that when I get that far, your Reverence, I disremember the oath entirely.”

The influence of the bottle now began to be felt, and the conversation absolutely blew a gale, wherein hearty laughter, good strong singing, loud argument, and general good humor blended into one uproarious peal of hilarity, accompanied by some smart flashes of wit and humor which would not disgrace a prouder banquet. Phaddhy, in particular, melted into a spirit of the most unbounded benevolence--a spirit that would (if by any possible means he could effect it) embrace the whole human race; that is to say, he would raise them, man, woman, and child, to the same elevated state of happiness which he enjoyed himself. That, indeed, was happiness in perfection, as pure and unadulterated as the poteen which created it. How could he be otherwise than happy?--he had succeeded to a good property, and a stocking of hard guineas, without the hard labor of acquiring them; he had the “clargy” under his roof at last, partaking of a hospitality which he felt himself well able to afford them; he had settled with his Reverence for five years' arrears of sin, all of which had been wiped out of his conscience by the blessed absolving hand of the priest; he was training up Briney for the Mission, and though last, not least, he was--far gone in his seventh tumbler!