(gift); and my oh! but he's powerfu' in the talk!"

I shall now beg to introduce among our Glen characters a person of a totally different style and character, illustrating an extreme case, and an exception to the canon rule of general order and propriety which existed among our church-people. This man was a Protestant, a drunken mad fellow, and as it fell, upon a day he came along the Glen staggering and singing, to the terror of the passersby; for this C. was a tall, squinting, seminude, raw-boned giant; when, whom should he descry, but "wee Robin " Wilkinson, of Tullybrae, "a modest' boy," coming along quietly. In either hand the Bacchanalian held a large stone, probably on the tight-rope principle of preserving his equilibrium, and regarding Robin manifestly as an offering sent, against whom, as from a catapult, he might discharge the same, he accosted the little man, and told him "he was going to knock him down with one stone and knock him up with the other!"

But Robin was "still caulm and canny," and answered: "Well, James, wait a while, my oh! but you look drouthy, man! I wager you a glass of beer that I run and reach the Miltown public-house before you, and then you must pay for it a'."

The giant, with a savage whoop, dropped both 1 "Modest" signifies "well-behaved."

stones, and shot past wee Robin, who was pretending to run, but the moment after he vaulted over a low wall on the road-side, and made up the hill to his own quiet and orderly home.

One more trait of my Glenswillians and I have done. They exhibit a devouring curiosity to know who you are on all occasions. I shall mention a rencounter I had with one of these "curious impertinents" as I was riding on a lonely road near the Glen; he too was on horseback, and, spurring up his pony alongside of me, the following dialogue took place :

Traveller: "Thou's a braw day for the craps." Myself: "It is.”

66

Traveller: "I reckon you are from Strabane side?"

Myself: "No."

Traveller (seductively): "Likely you're in the saft goods line in Darry?”

Myself: "I've not that honour."

Traveller: "Well, well; I should not wonder if you were one of Ractor Stopford's schulmeasters from Latterkenny!"

Myself: "You are quite wrong."

Traveller (getting desperate): "I'm no that

sure that you a'n't an Exciseman."

Myself: "I have not such happiness."

My oh! my oh! mon, but

Traveller (excited): "My oh!

it's steff you are, who eare you at all?"

Here I spurred on, leaving him in a perfect agony of inquisitiveness; when he bellowed after me, "Ech man, what's your name, what's your name? to which, turning in my saddle, I answered in a sonorous voice

“ Τὸν δ ̓ ἀπαμειβόμενος προέφη πόδας ωκὺς ̓Αχιλλεύς,”

leaving the baffled catechist in despair.

"Sic me servavit Apollo."

CHAPTER VI.

THE Bishop of Raphoe at this time, 1833, was, as I have said, Doctor Bisset. He was an Englishman, a very eminent classical scholar, and a strong opposer of the sweeping measures of so-called Church Reform, which had now begun to be agitated in the House of Commons, and which have since terminated in the spoliation of the Irish Church. The Bishop was a kind and hospitable man, and when the cholera came like a ravening wolf amid the cabins and the cottages round about Raphoe, his Lordship offered to remove his carriages and horses, and that his coach-houses and stables should be fitted up as a cholera hospital for the poor-a noble act, which he would have carried out, only a much more convenient building was found.

He conversed well and impressively, but was inclined to be a little Johnsonian, and too antithetical in his speech; as when in a loud voice he addressed a servant who had brought in to the breakfast-table a piece of burnt toast: "Take it

away, sir. As toast, 'tis bad; as bread, 'tis spoiled." Yet after all perhaps this was but "his humour."

His predecessor had been Dr. William Magee, afterwards Archbishop of Dublin. He had come to Raphoe in 1819, and had ruled the diocese with activity and zeal. The late Dean of Ripon, Hugh M'Neile, was licensed by him as curate of Stranorlar, and afterwards became the Bishop's son-in-law; he was succeeded in this curacy by Richard Pope, of whom I have already spoken. John C. Lloyd, also mentioned before, filled this post, and likewise Mr. Lovett, afterwards the wellknown minister of Marboeuf Chapel in Paris. The Bishop certainly collected the best men about him, and his own excellent son, John Magee, was labouring at Meevagh, a wild and obscure parish lying on "the North Sea's foam," high up in Donegal. Mr. Lovett was nephew to the Rector of Stranorlar, Rev. Robert Butt, "an elegant and accomplished scholar," and father to Mr. Isaac Butt, the present leader of the Home Rulers in the House of Commons, who at this time must have heen a very young man, if not a mere lad. Towards Mr. Butt, sen., the Bishop had such kindly feelings of respect and regard, that when he became ill at one time, and his curate was absent, the Bishop told him to keep his mind at ease, for that he would supply him with a brother minister each Sunday to do his