classics, college stories, tales of the mission, etc.; and now we were to part.

"Good by, Father Tom," I said. "You know, there's always a bite and a sup and a bed, whenever you come hither. Good by. God knows, I'm sorry to part with you."

"Good by," he said. Not another word. I watched and waited, till I saw the melancholy procession fade away, and until he became a speck on the horizon. Then, with a heavy heart I turned homewards.

If I had the least doubt about the wonderful elasticity of the Irish mind, or its talent for adaptation, it would have been dispelled as I passed again through the village. I had no idea I was so popular, or that my little labors were so warmly appreciated.

"Well, thank God, we have himself whatever."

Gentle reader, "himself" and "herself" are two pronouns, that in our village idioms mean the master and mistress of the situation, beyond whom there is no appeal.

"Wisha, the Lord spare him to us. God help us, if he wint."

"The heads of our Church, God spare them long! Wisha, your reverence might have a copper about you to help a poor lone widow?"

I must say this subtle flattery did not raise my drooped spirits. I went home, sat down by my little table, and gave myself up to gloomy reflections.

It must have been eight o'clock, or more, for the twilight had come down, and my books and little pictures were looking misty, when a rat-tat-tat rang at the door. I didn't hear the car, for the road was muddy, I suppose; but I straightened myself up in my arm-chair, and drew my breviary towards me. I had read my Matins and Lauds for the following day, before dinner; I always do, to keep up the old tradition amongst the Irish priests; but I read somewhere that it is always a good thing to edify people who come to see you. And I didn't want any one to suspect that I had been for a few minutes asleep. In a moment, Hannah, my old housekeeper, came in. She held a tiny piece of card between her fingers, which were carefully covered with her check apron, lest she should soil it. I took it—while I asked—

"Who is it?"

"I don't know, your reverence."

"Is 't a priest?"

"No, but I think he's a gintleman," she whispered. "He talks like the people up at the great house."

She got a candle, and I read:—

Rev. Edward Letheby, B. A., C. C.

"'T is the new curate," I said.

"Oyeh," said Hannah, whose dread and admiration for the "strange gintleman" evaporated, when she found he was a mere curate.

I went out and welcomed with what warmth I could my new coöperator. It was too dark for me to see what manner of man he was; but I came to some rapid conclusions from the way he spoke. He bit off his words, as riflemen bite their cartridges, he chiselled every consonant, and gave full free scope to every vowel. This was all the accent he had, an accent of precision and determination and formalism, that struck like a knell, clear and piercing on my heart.

"I took the liberty of calling, Sir," he said, "and I hope you will excuse my troubling you at such an unseasonable hour; but I am utterly unacquainted with the locality, and I should be thankful to you if you would refer me to a hotel."

"There's but one hotel in the village," I replied slowly. "It has also the advantage of being the post-office, and the additional advantage of being an emporium for all sorts of merchandise, from a packet of pins to Reckitt's blue, and from pigs' crubeens to the best Limerick flitches. There's a conglomeration of smells," I continued, "that would shame the City on the Bosphorus; and there are some nice visitors there now in the shape of two Amazons who are going to give selections from 'Maritana' in the school-house this evening; and a drunken acrobat, the leavings of the last circus."

"Good heavens," he said under his breath.

I think I astonished him, as I was determined to do. Then I relented, as I had the victory.

"If, however," said I, "you could be content with the humble accommodation and poor fare that this poor presbytery affords, I shall be delighted to have you as my guest, until you can secure your own little domicile."

"I thank you very much, Sir," said he, "you are extremely kind. Would you pardon me a moment, whilst I dismiss the driver and bring in my portmanteau?"

He was a little humbled and I was softened. But I was determined to maintain my dignity.

He followed me into the parlor, where the lamp was now lighting, and I had a good opportunity of observing him. I always sit with my back to the light, which has the double advantage of obscuring my own features and lighting up the features of those whom I am addressing. He sat opposite me, straight as an arrow. One hand was gloved; he was toying gently with the other glove. But he was a fine fellow. Fairly tall, square shouldered, not a bit stout, but clean cut from head to spur, I thought I should not like to meet him in a wrestling bout, or try a collision over a football. He had a mass of black hair, glossy and curled, and parted at the left side. Large, blue-black luminous eyes, that looked you squarely in the face, were hardly as expressive as a clear mouth that now in repose seemed too quiet even for breathing. He was dressed ad ——. Pardon me, dear reader, I have had to brush up my classics, and Horace is like a spring eruption. There was not a line of white visible above his black collar; but a square of white in front, where the edges parted. A heavy chain hung from his vest; and his boots glistened and winked in the lamplight.

"You'll take something?" I said. "You have had a long drive."

"If not too much trouble," he said, "I'll have a cup of tea."

I rang the bell.

"Get a cup of tea, Hannah," I said.

"A cup of wha—at?" queried Hannah. She had the usual feminine contempt for men that drink tea.

"A cup of tea," I said decisively, "and don't be long."

"Oyeh!" said Hannah. But she brought in a few minutes later the tea and hot cakes that would make an alderman hungry, and two poached eggs on toast. I was awfully proud of my domestic arrangements. But I was puzzled. Hannah was not always so courteous. She explained next day.

"I didn't like him at all, at all," she said, "but whin I came out and saw his portmanty all brass knobs, and took up his rug, whew! it was that soft and fine it would do to wrap up the Queen, I said to myself, 'this is a gintleman, Hannah; who knows but he's the Bishop on his tower.'"

"I hope you like your tea?" I said.

"It's simply delicious," he answered.

He ate heartily. Poor fellow, he was hungry after a long drive; but he chewed every morsel as a cow would chew the cud on a lazy summer afternoon, without noise or haste, and he lifted my poor old china cup as daintily as if it were Sèvres. Then we fell to talking.

"I am afraid," I said tentatively, "that you'll find this place dull after your last mission. But have you been on the mission before?"

"Oh yes, Father," he said, "I thought the Bishop might have written to you."

"Well," I said, "I had reason to know you were coming; but the Bishop is rather laconic in his epistles. He prides himself on his virtue of reticence."

I said this, because it would never do to let him suppose that the Bishop would send me a curate without letting me know of it. And I thought I was using select language, an opinion which, after the nine years and more of Horace, I have no reason to alter.