"Childre' of sober and religious parents,--whose hearts are broken," chimed in Mrs. Deady. "Wisha, thin, without manin' any disrespect to your riverence, would you be plazed to mintion these dacent people? An' if these religious parents wor mindin' their childre', insted of colloguing and placin' their nabors, their religious childre' wouldn't be lying drunk in Mrs. Haley's public house. But of coorse 't is Jim Deady here and Jim Deady there; and if the thruth wos towld, he's as good as any of 'em, though I shouldn't say it to his face. Come along, you poor fool." "I must do what I came for," said Jem, solemnly. Then, with an air of awful determination, as if he were binding iron bars and padlocks on his thirsty lips, Jem took the pledge. Mrs. Deady, in high dudgeon, had gone down the street. Jem and I were alone. "Tell me, yer reverence," he whispered, "did that mane scut of a tailor insult ye the other night?" "Oh, not at all, Jem," I cried, fearing the consequences to the tailor. "I have an eye on him this long time," said Jem, "and faith, he'll come to grief soon." "Now, Jem," I warned emphatically, "no violence, mind. The unfortunate fellow is sorry." "All right, your reverence; we are not going to waste violence on the likes of him. But--" Here Jem fell into a profound reverie. "Begor, your reverence, ye did that little job nately," he cried, waking up. "That woman's tongue didn't lave me worth tuppence. God bless yer reverence, and spare ye long to us." He took my hand, and kissed it till it was blistered by the sharp bristles of his unshaven lips. Poor fellows! how they warm to us! and how, with all their faults, we fling around them something more than maternal love! CHAPTER XVII A CLERICAL SYMPOSIUM