The Station; The Party Fight And Funeral; The Lough Derg Pilgrim. William Carleton

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