They were always stuck low down on his nose, so that he could sce over them when he wished it, and this he did for all distant objects; while for reading he was obliged to throw his head back to bring his eyes to bear through the glasses; and this, forcing the rear of his wig downwards on the collar of his coat, shoved it forward on his forehead and stripped the back of his pate: in the former case, his eyes were as round as an owl's; and in the other, closed nearly into the expression of disdain, or at least of great consequence. His coat was of grey frieze, and his nether garment of buckskin, equalling the polish of his wig, and surpassing that of his shoes, which indeed were not polished, except on Sunday, or such occasions as the priest of the parish was expected to pay his school a visit—and then the polish was produced by the brogues being greased, so that the resemblance to the wig was more perfect. Stockings he had, after a sort; that is to say, he had woollen cases for his legs, but there were not any feet to them they were stuffed into the shoe to make believe, and the deceit was tolerably well executed in front, where Phelim had them under his eye; but, like Achilles, he was vulnerable in the heel-indeed, worse off than that renowned hero, for he had only one heel unprotected, while poor Phelim had both. On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, Phelim had a shirt-you saw he had; but towards the latter end of the week, from the closelybuttoned coat, and the ambuscade of a spotted handkerchief round his neck, there was ground for suspicion that the shirt was under the process of washing, that it might be ready for service on Sunday; when, at mass, Phelim's shirt was always at its freshest.

There was a paramount reason, to be sure, why Phelim sported a clean shirt in chapel on Sunday: he officiated as clerk during the service-or, as it would be said amongst the peasantry, he 'sarved mass'; and in such a post of honour personal decency is indispensable. In this service he was assisted by a couple of boys, who were the head of his school, and enjoyed great immunities in consequence. In the first place they were supposed, from virtue of the dignity to which they were advanced, to understand more Latin than any of the rest of the boys; and from the necessity of their being decently clad, they were of course the sons of the most comfortable farmers in the district, who could afford the luxury of shoes and stockings to their children, to enable the act as acolytes. The boys themselves

seemed to like the thing well enough, as their frequent passing and repassing behind the priest at the altar, with various genuflexions, gave them a position of importance before the neighbours that was gratifying; and they seemed to be equally pleased up to one point, and to proceed in perfect harmony until the ringing of a little bell, and that was the signal for a fight between them. When I say fight, I do not mean that they boxed each other before (or rather behind) the priest, but to all intents and purposes there was a struggle who should get the bell, as that seemed the grand triumph of the day; and the little bell certainly had a busy time of it, for the boy that had it seemed endued with a prodigious accession of devotion; and as he bent himself to the very earth, he rattled the bell till it seemed choking with its superabundant vibration; while the Christianity of his brother acolyte seemed to suffer in proportion to the piety of his rival, for he did not bow half so low, and was looking with a sidelong eye and sulky mouth at his victorious coadjutor.

As for Phelim, his post of honour was robing and unrobing the priest before the altar; for in the humble little chapel where all this was wont to occur there was no vestry-the priest was habited in his vestments in the presence of his congregation. But Phelim's grand triumph seemed to be assisting his clergy in sprinkling the flock with holy water. This was done by means of a large sprinkling-brush, which the priest dipped from time to time in a vessel of holy water which Phelim held, and waving it to the right and left, cast it over the multitude. For this purpose, at a certain period, the little gate of a small area railed round the altar was opened, and forth stepped the priest followed by Phelim bearing the holy water. Now it happened that the vessel which held it was no other than a bucket. I do not mean this irrever ently, for holy water would be as holy in a bucket as in a golden urn; but, God forgive me! I could not help thinking it rather queer to see Phelim bearing this great bucket of water, with a countenance indicative of the utmost pride and importance, following the priest who advanced through the crowd, that opened and bowed before him as his reverence ever and anon turned round, popped his sprinkling-brush into the water, and slashed it about right and left over his flock, that courted the shower, and were the happier the more they were wet. Poor people! if it made them happy, where was the harm of it? A

man is not considered unworthy of the blessings of the constitution of Great Britain by getting wet to the skin in the pelting rain of the equinox; and I cannot, nor ever could see, why a few drops of holy water should exclude him.-But hang philosophy! what has it to do with a novel?

Phelim, like a great many other hedge-schoolmasters, held his rank in the Church of Rome from his being able to mumble some scraps of Latin, which, being the only language his Sable Majesty does not understand, is therefore the one selected for the celebration of the mass. How a prince of his importance could be so defient in his education may well create surprise, particularly as he is so constant an inmate of our universities.

Phelim's Latin, to be sure, could scarcely 'shame the d-1,' though certainly it might have puzzled him. It was a barbarous jargon, and but for knowing the phrases he meant to say, no one could comprehend him. Spiritu tuo was from his mouth, 'Sperchew chew ô,' and so on. Nevertheless, it was not in chapel alone that Phelim sported his Latin-nor in his school either, where, for an additional twopence a week, he inducted his scholars into the mysteries of the classics (and mysteries might they well be called)—but even in his social intercourse he was fond of playing the pedant and astonishing the vulgar; and as poaching piscators throw medicated crumbs into the water where they fish, so Phelim flung about his morsels of Latin to catch his gudgeons. Derivations were his forte; and, after elucidating something in that line, he always said, 'Derry wather!' and took snuff with an air of sublimity. Or, if he overcame an antagonist in an argument, which was seldom the case, because few dared to engage with him -but, when any individual was rash enough to encounter Phelim, he always slaughtered him with big words, and instead of addressing his opponent, he would turn to the company present and say, 'Now I'll make yiz all sinsible to a demonstheration;' and then, after he had held them suspended in wonder for a few minutes at the jumble of hard words which neither he nor they understood, he would look round the circle with a patronising air, saying, You persaive-Q. E. D. what was to be demonstherated!'

This always finished the argument in the letter, but not in the spirit; for Phelim, though he secured silence, did not produce persuasion his adversary often kept his own opinion, but kept

it a secret too, as long as Phelim was present; 'for how,' as they themselves said when his back was turned, 'could it be expected for them to argufy with him when he took to discoorsin' them out o' their common sense ?-and the hoighth o' fine language it sartainly was-but sure it wouldn't stand to raison.' How many a speech in higher places is worthy of the same commentary!

Perhaps I have lingered too long in detailing these peculiarities of Phelim; but he was such an original that a sketch of him was too great a temptation to be resisted: besides, as he is about to appear immediately, I wished the reader to have some idea of the person he was.

sort of

The evening was closing as Phelim O'Flanagan strolled up the boreen leading to the widow O'More's cottage. On reaching the house, he saw the widow witting at the door knitting.

'God save you, Mrs. O'More!' said Phelim.

'God save you kindly!' answered the widow.

‘Faith, then, it's yourself is the industherous woman, Mrs. O'More, for it is working you are airly and late and to think of your being at the needles now, and the evenin' closin' in '

'Oh, I don't call this work,' said the widow; 'it is only jist to have something to do, and not be lost with idleness, that I'm keepin' my hands goin'.'

'And your eyes too, 'faith-and God spare them to you.'

Amin, dear,' said the widow.

'And where is the colleen, that she isn't helpin' you?'

'Oh, she's just gone beyant the meadow there, to cut nettles for the chickens-she'll be in in a minit. Won't you sit down, Mr. O'Flanagan ?-you'd betther dhraw a sate.'

'I'm taller standin', Mrs. O'More-thank you all the same, ma'am. And where would Rory be?'

'Why, indeed, the Scholar wint out shootin', and Rory wint wid him. It's fond of the sport he is, Mr. O'Flanagan, as you

know.'

Thrue for you, ma'am; it's hard if I wouldn't, when I sot over him for five years and betther; and hard it was to keep him undher! for he was always fond o' sport.'

'But not the taste o' vice in him, Phelim dear,' said the mother.

'No, no, Mrs. O'More, by no manes-nothing but heart and fun in him; but not the sign o' mischief. And why wouldn't he

like to go a start with the young gintleman a-shootin'?—the dog and the gun is tempting to man ever since the days o' Vargil himself, who says, with great beauty and discrimination, “ Arma virumque cano;" which manes, Arms, men, and dogs," which is three things that always goes together since the world began.'

'Think o' that now!' said the widow: 'and so Vargo used to go shootin'!'

'Not exactly, Mrs. O'More, my dear: besides, the man's name was not Vargo, but Vargil. Vargo, Mrs. O'More, manes the Virgin.'

'God forgi' me!' said the widow; 'is it the blessed Vargin I said wint shootin'?' and she crossed herself.

'No, Mrs. O'More, my dear-by no manes. Vargo means only vargin; which is not blessed without you join it to something else. But Vargil was the man's name; he was a great Roman pote.'

'Oh, the darlin'!' said the widow; 'and was he a Roman ?' 'Not as you mane it, Mrs. O'More, my dear he was not a good Catholic-and more's the pity, and a sore loss to him! But he didn't know betther, for they were lost in darkness in them days, and had not the knowledge of uz. But whin I say he was a Roman, I mane he was one of that famous nation-(and tarin' fellows they wor)-Romani populi, as we say, his nativity being cast in Mantua, which is a famous port of that country, you persaive, Mrs. O'More.'

Here Mrs. O'More dropped her ball of worsted; and Phelim, not wishing a word of his harangue to be lost, waited till the widow was reseated and in a state of attention again.

'Mantua, I say, Mrs. O'More, a famous port of the Romani populi-the port of Mantua-which retains to this day the honour of Vargil's nativity bein' cast in that same place, you persaive, Mrs. O'More?'

'Yis, yis, Mr. O'Flanagan, I'm mindin' you, sir. Oh, what a power o'larnin' you have! Well, well, but it's wondherful!— and sure I never heerd afore of any one bein' born in a port

mantia,'

'Oh! ho, ho, ho! Mrs. O'More! No, my dear ma'am,' said Phelim laughing, 'I didn't say he was born in a portmantia: I said the port of Mantua, which was a territorial possession, or