Well, if you didn't, God help you! I used to read a book sometimes--sometimes Father Gratry's "Month of May," sometimes that good little book by the Abbé Berlioux. But when the people began to yawn I flung the book aside, and said a few simple words to the congregation. And I spoke out of a full heart, a very full heart, and the waters flowed over, and flooded all the valleys. * * * * * The 31st of May fell on Sunday; and it was on this Sunday evening Father Letheby was to preach in the cathedral. I told the people all about it; and we offered the evening devotions for his success. Somehow I thought there was a note of emphasis in the "Holy Marys" that evening; and a little additional pathos in the children's voices. Miss Campion presided at the harmonium that evening in place of Father Letheby. I think, indeed, that the people considered that prayers for their young curate were a little superfluous; because, as we came out, I was able to hear a few comments and predictions:-- "Faith, you may make your mind aisy about him. They never heard anything like it before, I promise you." "I heard they used to say over there in England that Father Burke himself couldn't hould a candle to him." "If he'd spake a little aisier," said a village critic, who had a great opinion of himself, since he was called upon to propose a resolution at a Land-League meeting, "and rise his wice, he'd bate thim all." "Did you ever hear Father Mac?" said an old laborer, dressed in the ancient Irish fashion, but old Father Time had been snipping at his garments as he couldn't touch himself. "That was the pracher! He hadn't his aiqual in Ireland. I rimimber wance a Good Friday sermon he prached in Loughboro'. Begor, you couldn't stick a pin between the people, they were so packed together. He kem out on the althar, and you could hear a pin dhrop. He had a crucifix in his hand, and he looked sorrowful like. 'In the Name av the Father,' sez he; thin he shtopped and looked round; 'and av the Holy Ghost,' sez he, and he shtopped ag'in; 'but where's the Son?' sez he, rising his wice; and begor, 't was like the day of gineral jedgment. Thin he tore off a black veil that was on the crucifix, and he threw it on the althar, and he held up the crucifix in the air, and he let a screech out of him that you could hear at Moydore; and--" "Was that all the sarmon?" said a woman who was an interested listener. "Was that all?" cried the narrator indignantly. "It wasn't all. He prached that night two mortial hours, and"--he looked around to command attention and admiration--"_he never fetched a sup of wather the whole time, though it was tender his hands_." "Glory be to God," said the listeners; "sure 't was wandherful. And is he dead, Jer?" "Dead?" cried Jer, rather contemptuously, for he was on the lofty heights of success; "did ye never hear it?" "Wisha, how could we, and 't is so far back?"