Dinner came. I, since I breathed the keen air of Connemara, had felt a quickened appetite; but "Master Johnny" double-distanced me easily as a trencher-man, and he, in turn, could not hold a candle to the nephew of the defunct priest. Peter Feaghan was a silent and a steady workman, and I firmly believe the drumsticks were regularly skeletonized before the priest's heir was disposed to cry "Hold, enough!" At last the cloth was removed; and a quart-bottle, a basin of sugar, with a jug of boiling water of enormous capacity, were set down. "What an infernal night it is!" ejaculated the younger traveller, as a gust of wind drove the hail against the window. "Were you not in luck," he continued, "that chance drove two Christian men, like Peter and me, among the mountains? Honest Tim is speechless by this hour, or he has shortened his allowance greatly since I was here last. No flirting in the house, for Mrs. Corrigan is a Carmelite, and _Brideen dhu_[54] has bundled off with a _peeler_.[55] In short, you must have got drunk in self-defence, and, for lack of company, as I have often done, drank one hand against the other." "Or," said I, "diluted the poteen with a draught of 'The Devil's Elixir.'" "The Devil's Elixir!" repeated the foxy-headed traveller; "and pray what may that be?" In reply, I handed him a volume of the Prussian Counsellor; he looked at the title-page, and read the motto, "_In that yeare the Deville was als seene walking publiclie on the streetes of Berline_." Laughing loudly, he turned to the priest's heir. "Holy Mary! had your poor uncle Paul been in town, he would have had a shy at ould Beelzebub, or made him quit the flagway." "And who was Uncle Paul?" I inquired of the stranger. "What!" he exclaimed, in manifest astonishment, "not know that excellent and gifted churchman,--one before whom the devil shook like a whipped schoolboy?" "And was Mr. Feaghan's influence over him, surnamed 'the Morning Star,' so extraordinary?" "Extraordinary you may well call it," resumed Foxy-Head. "The very mention of Paul's name would produce an ague-fit. Many a set-to they had--a clear stage and no favour--and in all and every, the devil was regularly floored. There is the old house of Knockbraddigan,--for months, man, woman, or child could not close an eye. Priest, monk, and friar, all tried their hands in vain. Holy-water was expended by the gallon--masses said thrice a week--a saint's finger borrowed for the occasion, and brought all the way from Cork,--and even the stable-lantern had a candle in it, blessed by the bishop. For all these 'Clooty' did not care a button, when Father Paul toddled in, and saved the house and owner." "Indeed?"