The Station; The Party Fight And Funeral; The Lough Derg Pilgrim. William Carleton
do, sir.”
“It's a lie, sir,” replied the priest, brandishing the whip over his head, whilst Kelly instinctively threw up his guard to protect himself from the blow. “It's a lie, sir,” repeated his Eeverence; “you don't fulfil it. What is the church?”
“The church is the congregation of the faithful that purfiss the true faith, and are obadient to the Pope.”
“And who do you pay tithes to?”
“To the parson, sir.”
“And, you poor varmint you, is he obadient to the Pope?”
Kelly only smiled at the want of comprehension which prevented him from seeing the thing according to the view which his Reverence took of it.
“Well, now,” continued Father Philemy, “who are the lawful pastors of God's church?”
“You are, sir: and all our own priests.”
“And who ought you to pay your tithes to?”
“To you, sir, in coorse; sure I always knew that, your Rev'rence.”
“And what's the reason, then, you don't pay them to me, instead of the parson?”
This was a puzzler to Kelly, who only knew his own side of the question. “You have me there, sir,” he replied, with a grin.
“Because,” said his Reverence, “the Protestants, for the present, have, the law of the land on their side, and power over you to compel the payment of tithes to themselves; but we have right, justice, and the law of God on ours; and, if every thing was in its proper place, it is not to the parsons, but to us, that you would pay them.”
“Well, well, sir,” replied Kelly, who now experienced a community of feeling upon the subject with his Reverence, that instantly threw him into a familiarity of manner which he thought the point between them justified—“who knows, sir?” said he with a knowing smile, “there's a good time coming, yer Rev'rence.”
“Ay,” said Father Philemy, “wait till we get once into the Big* House, and if we don't turn the scales—if the Established Church doesn't go down, why, it won't be our fault. Now, Kelly, all's right but the money—have you brought your dues?”
* Parliament. This was written before the passing of
the Emancipation Bill.
“Here it is, sir,” said Kelly, handing him his dues for the last year.
It is to be observed here, that, according as the penitents went to be examined, or to kneel down to confess, a certain sum was exacted from each, which varied according to the arrears that might have been due to the priest. Indeed, it is not unusual for the host and hostess, on these occasions, to be refused a participation in the sacrament, until they pay this money, notwithstanding the considerable expense they are put to in entertaining not only the clergy, but a certain number of their own friends and relations.
“Well, stand aside, I'll hear you first; and now, come up here, you young gentleman, that laughed so heartily a while ago at my joke—ha, ha, ha!—come up here, child.”
A lad now approached him, whose face, on a first view, had something simple and thoughtless in it, but in which, on a closer inspection, might be traced a lurking, sarcastic humor, of which his Reverence never dreamt.
“You're for confession, of course?” said the priest.
“Of coorse,” said the lad, echoing him, and laying a stress upon the word, which did not much elevate the meaning of the compliance in general with the rite in question.
“Oh!” exclaimed the priest, recognizing him when he approached—“you are Dan Fagan's son, and designed for the church yourself; you are a good Latinist, for I remember examining you in Erasmus about two years ago—Quomodo sehabet corpus tuum, charum lignum sacredotis”
“Valde, Domine,” replied the lad, “Quomodo se habet anima tua, charum exemplar sacerdotage, et fulcrum robustissium Ecclesiae sacrosancte?”
“Very good, Harry,” replied his Reverence, laughing—“stand aside; I'll hear you after Kelly.”
He then called up a man with a long melancholy face, which he noticed before to have been proof against his joke, and after making two or three additional and fruitless experiments upon his gravity, he commenced a cross fire of peevish interrogatories, which would have excluded him from the “tribunal” on that occasion, were it not that the man was remarkably well prepared, and answered the priest's questions very pertinently.
This over, he repaired to his room, where the work of absolution commenced; and, as there was a considerable number to be rendered sinless before the hour of dinner, he contrived to unsin them with an alacrity that was really surprising.
Immediately after the conversation already detailed between his Reverence and Phaddhy, the latter sought Katty, that he might communicate to her the unlucky oversight which they had committed, in neglecting to provide fresh meat and wine. “We'll be disgraced forever,” said Phaddhy, “without either a bit of mutton or a bottle of wine for the gintlemen, and that big thief Parrah More Slevin had both.”
“And I hope,” replied Katty, “that you're not so mane as to let any of that faction outdo you in dacency, the nagerly set? It was enough for them to bate us in the law-shoot about the horse, and not to have the laugh agin at us about this.”
“Well, that same law-shoot is not over with them yet,” said Phaddhy; “wait till the spring fair comes, and if I don't have a faction gathered that'll sweep them out of the town, why my name's not Phaddhy! But where is Matt till we sind him off?”
“Arrah, Phaddhy,” said Katty, “wasn't it friendly of Father Philemy to give us the hard word about the wine and mutton?”
“Very friendly,” retorted Phaddhy, who, after all, appeared to have suspected the priest—“very friendly, indeed, when it's to put a good joint before himself, and a bottle of wine in his jacket. No, no, Katty! it's not altogether for the sake of Father Philemy, but I wouldn't have the neighbors say that I was near and undacent; and above all tilings, I wouldn't be worse nor the Slevins—for the same set would keep it up agin us long enough.”
Our readers will admire the tact with which Father Philemy worked upon the rival feeling between the factions; but, independently of this, there is a generous hospitality in an Irish peasant which would urge him to any stratagem, were it even the disposal of his only cow, sooner than incur the imputation of a narrow, or, as he himself terms it, “undacent” or “nagerly” spirit.
In the course of a short time, Phaddhy dispatched two messengers, one for the wine, and another for the mutton; and, that they might not have cause for any unnecessary delay, he gave them the two reverend gentlemen's horses, ordering them to spare neither whip nor spur until they returned. This was an agreeable command to the messengers, who, as soon as they found themselves mounted, made a bet of a “trate,” to be paid on arriving in the town to which they were sent, to him who should first reach a little stream that crossed the road at the entrance of it, called the “Pound burn.” But I must not forget to state, that they not only were mounted on the priest's horses, but took their great-coats, as the day had changed, and threatened to rain. Accordingly, on getting out upon the main road, they set off, whip and spur, at full speed, jostling one another, and cutting each other's horses as if they had been intoxicated; and the fact is, that, owing to the liberal distribution of the bottle that morning, they were not far from it.
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