“No matter,” continued the other, who found a good deal of difficulty in restraining his prejudices on that point, no matter, sir, no matter, Mr.--a--a--oh, yes, Reilly, we will have nothing to do with religion--away with it--confound religion, sir, if it prevents one man from being thankful, and grateful too, to another, when that other has saved his life. What's your state and condition in society, Mr.--? confound the scoundrel! he'd have shot me. We must hang that fellow--the Red Rapparee they call him--a dreadful scourge to the country; and, another thing, Mr.--Mr. Mahon--you must come to my daughter's wedding. Not a word now--by the great Boyne, you must. Have you ever seen my daughter, sir?” “I have never had that pleasure,” replied Reilly, “but I have heard enough of her wonderful goodness and beauty.” “Well, sir, I tell you to your teeth that I deny your words--you have stated a falsehood, sir--a lie, sir.” “What do you mean, sir?” replied Reilly, somewhat indignantly. “I am not in the habit of stating a falsehood, nor of submitting tamely to such an imputation.” “Ha, ha, ha, I say it's a lie still, my friend. What did you say? Why, that you had heard enough of her goodness and beauty. Now, sir, by the banks of the Boyne, I say you didn't hear half enough of either one or other. Sir, you should know her, for although you are a Papist you are a brave man, and a gentleman. Still, sir, a Papist is not--curse it, this isn't handsome of me, Willy. I beg your pardon. Confound all religions if it goes to that. Still at the same time I'm bound to say as a loyal man that Protestantism is my forte, Mr. Reilly--there's where I'm strong, a touch of Hercules about me there, Mr. Reilly--Willy, I mean. Well, you are a thorough good fellow, Papist and all, though you--ahem!--never mind though, you shall see my daughter, and you shall hear my daughter; for, by the great Boyne, she must salute the man that saved her father's life, and prevented her from being an orphan. And yet see, Willy, I love that girl to such a degree that if heaven was open for me this moment, and that Saint Peter--hem!--I mean the Apostle Peter, slid to me, 'Come, Folliard, walk in, sir,' by the great Deliverer that saved us from Pope and Popery, brass money, and--ahem! I beg your pardon--well, I say if he was to say so, I wouldn't leave her. There's affection for you; but she deserves it. No, if ever a girl was capable of keeping an old father from heaven she is.” “I understand your meaning, sir,” replied Reilly with a smile, “and I believe she is loved by every one who has the pleasure of knowing her--by rich and poor.” “Troth, Mr. Reilly,” observed Andy, “it's a sin for any one to let their affections, even for one of their own childer, go between them and heaven. As for the masther, he makes a god of her. To be sure if ever there was an angel in this world she is one.”