“Picture to yourselves a fellow-creature in distress--suppose him to have neither hat, shoe, nor stocking--[this was a touch of the pathetic]--and altogether in a state of utter destitution! Can there be a more melancholy picture than this? No, there can't. But 'tisn't the tithe of it!--a barefaced robbery is the same tithe--think of him without father, mother, or friend upon the earth--both dead, and ne'er another to be had for love or money--maybe he has poor health--maybe he's sick, an' in a sthrange country--[here Jemmy's mother and friends sobbed aloud, and the contagion began to spread]--the priest, in fact, knew where to touch--his face is pale--his eyes sunk with sickness and sorrow in his head--his bones are cuttin' the skin--he knows not where to turn himself--hunger and sickness are strivin' for him.--[Here the grief became loud and general, and even the good-natured preacher's own voice got somewhat unsteady.]--He's in a bad state entirely--miserable! more miserable!! most miserable!!! [och, och, oh!] sick, sore, and sorry!--he's to be pitied, felt for, and compassionated!--[a general outcry!]--'tis a faver he has, or an ague, maybe, or a rheumatism, or an embargo (* lumbago, we presume) on the limbs, or the king's evil, or a consumption, or a decline, or God knows but it's the falling sickness--[ooh, och, oh!--och, och, oh!] from the whole congregation, whilst the simple old man's eyes were blinded with tears at the force of the picture he drew.--[Ay, maybe it's the falling-sickness, and in that case how on earth can he stand it.--He can't, he can't, wurra strew, wurra strew!--och, och, oh!--ogh, ogh, ogh!]--The Lord in heaven look down upon him--[amin, amin, this blessed an' holy Sunday that's in it!--och, oh!]--pity him--[amin, amin!--och, och, an amin!]--with miseracordial feeling and benediction! He hasn't a rap in his company!--moneyless, friendless, houseless, an' homeless! Ay, my friends, you all have homes--but he has none! Thrust back by every hard-hearted spalpeen, and he, maybe, a better father's son than the Turk that refuses him! Look at your own childre, my friends! Bring the case home to yourselves! Suppose he was one of them--alone on the earth, and none to pity him in his sorrows! Your own childre, I say, in a strange land.--[Here the outcry became astounding; men, women, and children in one general uproar of grief.]--An'--this may all be Jemmy M'Evoy's case, that's going in a week or two to Munster, as a poor scholar--may be his case, I say, except you befriend him, and show your dacency and your feelings, like Christians and Catholics; and for either dacency or kindness, I'd turn yez against any other congregation in the diocess, or in the kingdom--ay, or against Dublin, itself, if it was convanient, or in the neighborhood.” Now here was a coup de main--not a syllable mentioned about Jemmy M'Evoy, until he had melted them down, ready for the impression, which he accordingly made to his heart's content.