“I bleeve he's takin' advantage, sir, of the frost, to get in his praties to-day, in respect of the bad footin', sir, for the horses in the bog when there's not a frost. Any how, betune that and a bit of a sore head that he got, yer Reverence, on Thursday last in takin' part wid the O'Scallaghans agin the Bradys, I bleeve he had to stay away to-day.” “On the Sabbath day, too, without my leave! Well, tell him from me, that I'll make an example of him to the whole parish, if he doesn't attend mass better. Will the Bradys and the O'Scallaghans never be done with their quarrelling? I protest, if they don't live like Christians, I'll read them out from the altar. Will you tell Parrah More that I'll hold a station in his house on next Wednesday?” “I will, sir; I will, yer Reverence.” “_On Thursday, in Phaddhy Sheemus Phaddhy's of the Esker_. Are you there, Phaddhy?”' “Wid the help of God, I'm here, sir.” “Well, Phaddhy, how is yer son Briney, that's at the Latin? I hope he's coming on well at it.” “Why, sir, he's not more nor a year and a half at it yet, and he's got more books amost nor he can carry; he'll break me buying books for him.” “Well, that's a good sign, Phaddhy; but why don't you bring him to me till I examine him?” “Why, never a one of me can get him to come, sir, he's so much afeard of yer Reverence.” “Well, Phaddhy, we were once modest and bashful ourselves, and I'm glad to hear that he's afraid of his clargy; but let him be prepared for me on Thursday, and maybe I'll let him know something he never heard before; I'll open his eyes for him.” “Do you hear that, Briney?” said the father, aside to the son, who knelt at his knee; “you must give up yer hurling and idling now, you see. Thank yer Reverence; thank you, docthor.” “_On Friday, in Barny O'Darby's, alias Barny Butters_. Are you there, Barny?” “All that's left of me is here, sir.” “Well, Barny, how is the butter trade this season?” “It's a little on the rise, now, sir: in a, month or so I'm expecting it will be brisk enough. Boney, sir, is doing that much for us anyway.” “Ay, and, Barny, he'll do more than that for us: God prosper him at all events; I only hope the time's coming, Barny, when every one will be able to eat his own butter, and his own beef, too.” “God send it, sir.” “Well, Barny, I didn't hear from your brother Ned these two or three months; what has become of him?” “Ah, yer Reverence, Pentland done him up.” “What! the gauger?” “He did, the thief; but maybe he'll sup sorrow for it, afore he's much oulder.” “And who do you think informed, Barny?” “Oh, I only wish we knew that, sir.” “I wish I knew it, and if I thought any miscreant here would become an informer, I'd make an example of him. Well, Barny, on Friday next: but I suppose Ned has a drop still--eh, Barny?” “Why, sir, we'll be apt to have something stronger nor wather, anyhow.”