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They're the ganders for men, so they are,” was her uncomplimentary soliloquy as she "raked" the fire-which process means the preserving of some turf in a smouldering state under a heap of dry ashes, to act as kindling next morning. "They b'lieves every single word that's said to them, an' would sooner be takin' care of their ancesthors than their own little haggarts,* just as if their ancesthors would ever be the value of a pratie to 'em. What do I care av they were killin' one another from mornin' till night long ago! They're welcome, so long as nobody comes to kill ourselves; an' the long an' the short of it is, Barney must vote for the captin, that owns the roof over him, if all our ancesthors was to die on the spot."

But this valorous determination Mrs. Barney wisely kept to herself, so far as the public were concerned. She drew her red cloak over her pretty head, with its plentiful hair, and dutifully followed her lord and master, about a yard in his rear, next morning (Sunday) to the chapel, carrying in her hand the ponderous "brogues" which clenched her full dress, but would not be put on her feet until she arrived at the corner of the road next the place of worship. Verily, she was much lighter for travelling without them; the soles were a curious mosaic of nail-heads, and looked as durable as a piece of ordnance, and well nigh as uncomfortable to wear. And, as the pair trudged along, Mr. Brallaghan vouchsafed to talk condescendingly to her over his shoulder; in fact, she had a continual little run to keep up with his stride. Nobody would have guessed how completely the tables were turned indoors, and which was the veritable ruler.

* Potato or cabbage-ground.

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CHAPTER XXIV.

FATHER COSTELLO'S SERMON.

THERE was generally half an hour of waiting in the chapel-yard for the arrival of his Reverence-a space of time improved variously by his congregation. Much business was transacted, on the principle of another Exchange, without seeing the property in question. Much gossip slipped from tongue to tongue, chiefly among the women. All the news of the neighbourhood, and of many neighbourhoods, was retailed. Matches were made up, sometimes; labourers were hired, bargains were struck. The people had never learned "Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work; but the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt do no manner of work." It was simply a holiday: not all a holy day.

Of course at this time the coming election engrossed everybody's thoughts, more or less, and it was anticipated that Father Pat Costello would "give a sermon from the althar" on this day concerning the same subject; whence there was, perhaps, a larger attendance than usual, drawn from neighbouring parishes for the nonce, by the interesting alliance of politics with religion.

At last the steady old grey horse, which had borne his Reverence for many a year at the same hour, to the same place, on the same day, was seen turning the corner of the road under the elder-hedge; whereupon the women shook out their blue petticoats, and let down their skirts, which had been pinned up for preservation, and turned back the hoods of their cloaks a little more; and children's hair was smoothed with mothers' fingers, and the men doffed their caubeens;" for the magnate of the parish was passing by. He alighted at the gate of the chapel-yard, under the pair of poplars

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which flourished there; a dozen boys pressed forward to take charge of the steed, and lead him to the grassy end of the inclosure, where he fed himself during mass. The parish clerk, carrying a bundle of his master's vestments, came close behind, and shared in the bows and curtseys bestowed on the principal personage. He was a pleasant-looking middle-aged priest, verging on the antique; plenty of grey hairs were round the tonsure, now bared in the sunshine. He had a clear, penetrating eye, which could comprehend most things at a glance, and produced tremendous effects on the evil-doers of his parish. Right and left, wherever he looked, his people did obeisance. He dropped a few words here and there, "shook hands to" three or four of the wealthier and more powerful of his flock, and passed into the chapel smiling. Already in the chapel was the ecclesiastical personage known as the "cowjutherer," being Father Costello's coadjutor or curate, Rev. Conner Cregan. Tall, and lank, and cadaverous, he was the very antipodes of his goodhumoured chief; severe about his own duties, he was severe about everybody else's too, and was a fierce United Irishman at heart.

Father Pat donned his vestments in public, at one side of the altar, and, the clerk having lighted the two tall candles, the congregation flocked in, and packed themselves everywhere on the ample floor. There were no pews or seats of any kind; down on his knees went each person as he entered, after having dipped a finger and thumb in the holy water and crossed himself as a preliminary exorcism. Many could not get into the building at all; they knelt round the doorway and the open windows, quite satisfied that they were "getting mass" all right so long as they could hear the sound of the priest's voice. Of course comprehension was out of the question, even for those nearest the altar; though Mr. Brian Boru O'Doherty, Philomath, used to look very wise and abstracted, in lofty contemplation, as though he understood it all.

So the awful travestie of the awfullest event of earth, the passion

and death of our Saviour Christ, went on as usual; and, when the wafer-God was raised up over the bended head of the priest, all the people fell upon their faces. Did Father Costello believe that he had indeed transmuted bread, flour-and-water cakelets, made by his own clerk under his own eye, into a thing Divine-nay, into a person Divine? We cannot tell. Habit and education blind a man strangely; he behaved in all respects as if he did. But how unlike to the faith which the Gospel requires and the Holy Spirit gives was the credulity and superstition of priest and people! What a mournful lack of spiritual insight and feeling! The Virgin was exalted, the wafer was worshipped; but the one Saviour, crucified for us, was almost forgotten.

When the mass was over, the people rose to their feet with a subdued murmur of expectation, and those nearest the altar rails were urged violently against them by a sudden influx of outsiders. Father Pat came forward, adjusting his cope comfortably on his broad shoulders, and began his "sermon."

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My dear friends an' parishioners, I've a word or two to say to yez this day, for which I hope ye'll be the better, an' if ye aren't ye can't say it's my fault anyhow; for it's my business to tell ye what ye ought to do, an' if ye won't do it afther, how can I help ye? Only don't let any man be coming to me wid his complaints, an' sayin', 'Yer rev'rence, I'm in an ocean o' trouble through the manes of that advice you gev us to keep clear of the Right-boys an' Defendhers, for the chaps have burnt down me little cabin, or rooted me pratie-garden, or whatever else they did.' Whereas, I tell ye plain an' clane, the law's dead against Right-boys, an' Defendhers, an' United Irishmen, an' I can't do more than give ye fair warnin', an' tell ye 'tis best to take care of yerselves in time."

Here the worthy priest was seized with a vehement fit of clearing his throat and coughing, and Jemmy Davis, the clerk, had to bring him his red handkerchief from the crown of his hat.

An' while yer about it, Jemmy, ye might as well bring me my horsewhip too; for throth I'm thinkin' I'll have to lay it on some of them unmannerly rapscallions over at the dure that's pushin' an' sthrivin' as if the place was a fair. I'm lookin' at ye, Jerry Scanlan!" he roared, in a stentorian voice, which startled some of the nearest women; "I'm looking at ye, elbowin' Mrs. Cassidy, honest woman, as if she hadn't no manner of feelin', ye big bosthoon! My hand to ye, if I was over widin arm's length, but ye'd taste what a lashin' is!" The individual thus signalized shrank out of sight as quickly as might be, and the grateful Mrs. Cassidy preened her ruffled plumage with a reddened face. "I promise ye, if Mike was to the fore—the heavens be his bed this day!—instead of her bein' a lone widder over her couple of orphants-ye'd think twice afore ye'd knock her roughly, Jerry Scanlan! An' I never knew a man cross an' hard to a woman, but he was a coward inside in his heart.

"As I was sayin' to ye," continued Father Pat, resuming his normal tone, and wiping his heated brow, "'tis between the fryin'pan an' the fire wid ye, poor people. Of course every man has his complaints to make; an', b'lieve me, the Catholic clargy aren't widout their own share. But these Right-boys, an' Defendhers, an' United Irishmen, are only dhrawing down the army upon us entirely; and the whole of it is, boys, ye've yer choice betune bein' hung an' bein' piked or burnt; an' if 'twas offered to meself, I'd be in a quandary which to choose, they are both so pleasant." The orator made a wry face at this juncture, and his flock grinned a universal grin. They knew well the meaning of all the foregoing studied ambiguity, and also that Father Pat dared not speak plainer his encouragement of sedition. The dark "cowjutherer" standing beside the altar thought his chief too enigmatical; but, then, he had been a shorter time in this world of danger than Father Pat.

"Now, boys, ye'll be wantin' to know somethin' about this election that's comin' on Friday. I'm fond of a whole skin an'a