"_Musha, cead millia failtha ghud_ (* A hundred thousand welcomes to you.) to our house, Father Con, avourneen!" says Katty, dropping him a low curtsey, and spreading her new, brown, quilted petticoat as far out on each side of her as it would go--"musha, an' it's you that's welcome from my heart out."

"I thank you," said honest Con, who, as he knew not her name, did not pretend to know it.

"Well, Father Con," said Phaddhy, this is, the first time you have ever come to us this, way; but, plase G.o.d, it won't be the last, I hope."

"I hope not, Phaddhy," said Father Con, who, notwithstanding his simplicity of character, loved a good dinner in the very core of his heart, "I hope not, indeed, Phaddhy." He then threw his eye about the premises, to see what point he might set his temper to during the remainder of the day; for it is right to inform our readers that a priest's temper, at a station, generally rises or falls according to the prospect of his cheer.

Here, however, a little vista, or pantry, jutting out from the kitchen, and left ostentatiously open, presented him with a view which made his very nose curl with kindness. What it contained we do not pretend to say, not having seen it ourselves; we judge, therefore, only by its effects upon his physiognomy.

"Why, Phaddhy," he says, "this is a very fine house you've got over you;" throwing his eye again towards a wooden b.u.t.tress which supported one of the rafters that was broken.

"Why then, your Reverence, it would not be a bad one," Phaddhy replied, "if it had a new roof and new side-walls; and I intend to get both next summer, if G.o.d spares me till then."

"Then, upon my word, if it had new side-walls, a new roof, and new gavels, too," replied Father Con, "it would look certainly a great deal the better for it;--and do you intend to to get them next summer, Paddy?"

"If G.o.d spares me, sir."

"Are all these fine gorsoons yours, Phaddhy?"

"Why, so Katty says, your Reverence," replied Phaddhy, with a good-natured laugh.

"Haven't you got one of them for the church, Phaddhy?"

"Yes, your Reverence, there's one of them that I hope will live to have the robes upon him Come over, Briney, and speak to Father Con. He's not very far in his Latin yet, sir but his master tells me that he hasn't the likes of him in the school for brightness--Briney, will you come over, I say; come over, sarrah, and spake to the gintleman, and him wants to shake hands wid you--come up, man, what are you afeard of?--sure Father Con's not going to examine you now."

"No, no, Briney," said Father Con, "I'm not about to examine you at present."

"He's a little dashed, yer Reverence, be-kase he thought you war going to put him through some of his Latin," said the father, bringing him up like a culprit to Father Con, who shook hands with him, and, after a few questions as to the books he read, and his progress, dismissed him.

"But, Father Con, wid submission," said Katty, "where's Father Philemy from us?--sure, we expected him along wid you, and he wouldn't go to disappoint us?"

"Oh, you needn't fear that, Katty," replied Father Con; "he'll be here presently--before breakfast, I'll engage for him at any rate; but he had a touch of the headache this morning, and wasn't able to rise so early as I was."

During this conversation a little crowd had collected about the door of the room in which he was to hear the confessions, each struggling and fighting to get the first turn; but here, as in the more important concerns of this world, the weakest went to the wall. He now went into the room, and taking Katty herself first, the door was closed upon them, and he gave her absolution; and thus he continued to confess and absolve them, one by one, until breakfast.

Whenever a station occurs in Ireland, a crowd of mendicants and other strolling impostors seldom fail to attend it; on this occasion, at least, they did not. The day, though frosty, was fine; and the door was surrounded by a train of this description, including both s.e.xes, some sitting on stones, some on stools, with their blankets rolled up under them; and others, more ostensibly devout, on their knees, hard at prayer; which, lest their piety might escape notice, our readers may be a.s.sured, they did not offer up in silence. On one side you might observe a st.u.r.dy fellow, with a pair of tattered urchins secured to his back by a sheet or blanket pinned across his breast with a long iron skewer, their heads just visible at his shoulders, munching a thick piece of wheaten bread, and the father on his knees, with a a huge wooden cross in hand, repeating _padareens_, and occasionally throwing a jolly eye towards the door, or through the; window, opposite which he knelt, into the kitchen, as often as any peculiar stir or commotion led him to suppose that breakfast, the loadstar of his devotion, was about to be produced.

Scattered about the door were knots of these, men and women, occasionally chatting together; and when the subject of their conversation happened to be exhausted, resuming their beads, until some new topic would occur, and so on alternately.

The interior of the kitchen where the neighbors were a.s.sembled, presented an appearance somewhat more decorous. Andy Lalor, the ma.s.s-server, in whom the priest had the greatest confidence, stood in a corner examining, in their catechism, those who intended to confess; and, if they were able to stand the test, he gave them a bit of twisted brown paper as a ticket, and they were received at the tribunal.

The first question the priest uniformly puts to the penitent is, "Can you repeat the Confiteor?" If the latter answers in the affirmative, he goes on until he comes to the words, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, when he stops, it being improper to repeat the remainder until after he has confessed; but, if he is ignorant of the "Confiteor,"

the priest repeats it for him! and he commences the rehearsal of his offences, specifically as they occurred; and not only does he reveal his individual crimes, but his very thoughts and intentions. By this regulation our readers may easily perceive, that the penitent is completely at the mercy of the priest--that all family feuds, quarrels, and secrets are laid open to his eye--that the ruling; pa.s.sions of men's lives are held up before him, the weaknesses and propensities of nature--all the unguarded avenues of the human heart and character are brought within his positive knowledge, and that, too, as they exist in the young and the old, the married and the single, the male and the female.

It was curious to remark the ludicrous expression of temporary sanct.i.ty which was apparent on the countenances of many young men and maidens who were remarkable in the neighborhood for attending dances and wakes, but who, on the present occasion, were sobered down to a gravity which sat very awkwardly upon them; particularly in I the eyes of those who knew the lightness and drollery of their characters. This, however, was observable only before confession; for, as soon as, "the priest's blessed hand had been over them," their gloom and anxiety pa.s.sed away, and the thoughtless buoyancy of their natural disposition resumed its influence over their minds. A good-humored nod, or a sly wink, from a young man to his female acquaintance, would now be indulged in; or, perhaps a small joke would escape, which seldom failed to produce a subdued laugh from such as had confessed, or an impatient rebuke from those who had not.

"Tim!" one would exclaim, "arn't ye ashamed or afeared to get an that way, and his Reverence undher the wan roof wid ye?"

"Tim, you had better dhrop your joking," a second would observe, "and not be putting us through other, (* confusing us) when we have our offenses to remimber; you have got your job over, and now you have nothing to trouble you."

"Indeed, it's fine behavior," a third would say, "and you afther coming from the priest's knee; and what more, didn't resave (* Communicate) yet; but wait till Father Con appears, and, I'll warrant, you'll be as grave as another, for all you're so stout now."

The conversation would then pa.s.s to the merits of Father Philemy and Father Con, as Confessors.

"Well," one would observe--"for my part, I'd rather go to Father Philemy, fifty times over, than wanst to Father Con, bekase he never axes questions; but whatever you like to tell him, he hears it, and forgives you at wanst."

"And so sign's an it," observed another; "he could confess more in a day that Father Con could in a week."

"But for all that," observed Andy Lalor, "it's still best to go to the man that puts the questions, you persave, and that won't let the turning of a straw escape him. Whin myself goes to Father Philemy, somehow or other, I totally disremember more nor wan half of what I intinded to tell him, but Father Con misses nothing, for he axes it."

When the last observation was finished, Father Con, finding that the usual hour for breakfast had arrived, came into the kitchen, to prepare for the celebration of ma.s.s. For this purpose, a table was cleared, and just in the nick of time arrived old Moll Brian, the vestment woman, or itinerant sacristan, whose usual occupation was to carry the priests'

robes and other apparatus, from station to station. In a short time, Father Con was surpliced and robed; Andy Lalor, whose face was charged with commensurate importance during the ceremony, sarved Ma.s.s, and answered the priest stoutly in Latin although he had not the advantage of understanding that sacerdotal language. Those who had confessed, now communicated; after which, each of them took a draught, of water out of a small jug, which was handed round from one to another. The ceremony then closed, and those who had partaken of the sacrament, with the exception of such as were detained for breakfast, after filling their bottles with holy water, went home with a light heart. A little before the ma.s.s had been finished, Father Philemy arrived; but, as Phaddy and Katty were then preparing to resave they could not at that moment give him a formal reception. As soon, however, as communion was over, the _cead millia failtha_ was repeated with the usual warmth, by both, and by all their immediate friends. Breakfast was now laid in Katty's best style, and with an originality of arrangement that scorned all precedent. Two tables were placed, one after another, in the kitchen; for the other rooms were not sufficiently large to accommodate the company. Father Philemy filled the seat of honor at the head of the table, with his back to an immense fire. On his right hand sat Father Con; on his left, Phaddhy himself, "to keep the-clargy company;" and, in due succession after them, their friends and neighbors, each taking precedence according to the most scrupulous notions of respectability.

Beside Father Con sat "Pettier Malone," a "young collegian," who had been sent home from Maynooth to try his native air, for the recovery of his health, which was declining. He arrived only a few minutes after Father Philemy, and was a welcome reinforcement to Phaddhy, in the arduous task of sustaining the conversation with suitable credit.

With respect to the breakfast, I can only say, that it was superabundant--that the tea was as black as bog water--that there were hen, turkey, and geese eggs--plates of toast soaked, crust and crumb, in b.u.t.ter; and lest there might be a deficiency, one of the daughters sat on a stool at the fire, with her open hand, by way of a fire screen, across her red, half-scorched brows, toasting another plateful, and, to crown all, on each corner of the table was a bottle of whiskey. At the lower board sat the youngsters, under the surveillance of Katty's sister, who presided in that quarter. When they were commencing breakfast, "Father Philemy," said Katty, "won't yer Rev'rence bless the mate (* food) if ye plase?"

"If I don't do it myself," said Father Philemy, who was just after sweeping the top off a turkey egg, "I'll get them that will. Come," said he to the collegian, "give us grace, Peter; you'll never learn younger."

This, however, was an unexpected blow to Peter, who knew that an English grace would be incompatible with his "college feeding," yet was unprovided with any in Latin--The eyes of the company were now fixed upon him, and he blushed like scarlet on finding himself in a predicament so awkward and embarra.s.sing. "_Aliquid, Petre, alliquid; 'de profundis'--si habes nihil aliud_," said Father Philemy, feeling for his embarra.s.sment, and giving him a hint. This was not lost, for Peter began, and gave them the _De profundis_--a Latin psalm, which Roman Catholics repeat for the relief of the souls in, purgatory. They forgot, however, that there was a person in company who considered himself as having an equal claim to the repet.i.tion of at least the one-half of it; and accordingly, when Peter got up and repeated the first verse, Andy Lalor got also on his legs, and repeated the response.* This staggered Peter a little, who hesitated, as uncertain how to act.

* This prayer is generally repeated by two persons, who recite each a verse alternately.

"_Perge, Petre, perge_," said Father Philemy, looking rather wistfully at his egg--"_perge, stultus est et asinus quoque_." Peter and Andy proceeded until it was finished, when they resumed their seats.

The conversation during breakfast was as sprightly, as full of fun and humor as such breakfasts usually are. The priest, Phaddhy, and the young collegian, had a topic of their own, whilst the rest were engaged in a kind of by play, until the meal was finished.

"Father Philemy," said Phaddhy, in his capacity of host, "before we begin we'll all take a dhrop of what's in the bottle, if it's not displasing to yer Reverence; and, sure, I know, 'tis the same that doesn't come wrong at a station, any how."

This, _more majorum_, was complied with; and the gla.s.s, as usual, went round the table, beginning with their Reverences. Hitherto, Father Philemy had not had time to bestow any attention on the state of Kitty's larder, as he was in the habit of doing, with a view to ascertain the several items contained therein for dinner. But as soon as the breakfast-things were removed, and the coast clear, he took a peep into the pantry, and, after throwing his eye over its contents, sat down at the fire, making Phaddhy take a seat beside him, for the especial purpose of sounding him as to the practicability of effecting a certain design, which was then snugly latent in his Reverence's fancy. The fact was, that on taking the survey of the premises aforesaid, he discovered that, although there was abundance of fowl, and fish, and bacon, and hung-beef--yet, by some unaccountable and disastrous omission, there was neither fresh mutton nor fresh beef. The priest, it must be confessed, was a man of considerable fort.i.tude, but this was a blow for which he was scarcely prepared, particularly as a boiled leg of mutton was one of his fifteen favorite joints at dinner. He accordingly took two or three pinches of snuff in rapid succession, and a seat at the fire, as I have said, placing Phaddhy, unconscious of his design, immediately beside him.

Now, the reader knows that Phaddhy was a man possessing a considerable portion of dry, sarcastic humor, along with that natural, quickness of penetration and shrewdness for which most of the Irish peasantry are in a very peculiar degree remarkable; add to this that Father Philemy, in consequence of his contemptuous bearing to him before he came in for his brother's property, stood not very high in his estimation. The priest knew this, and consequently felt that the point in question would require to be managed, on his part, with suitable address.

"Phaddhy," says his Reverence, "sit down here till we chat a little, before I commence the duties of the day. I'm happy to, see that you have such a fine thriving family: how many sons and daughters have you?"

"Six sons, yer Reverence," replied. Phaddhy, "and five daughters: indeed, sir, they're as well to be seen as their neighbors, considhering all things. Poor crathurs, they get fair play* now, thank Grod, compared to what they used to get--G.o.d rest their poor uncle's sowl for that!

Only for him, your Reverence, there would be very few inquiring this or any other day about them."

* By this is meant good food and clothing.

"Did he die as rich as they said, Phaddhy?" inquired his Reverence.

"Hut, sir," replied Phaddhy, determined to take what he afterwards called a rise out of the priest; "they knew little about it--as rich as they said, sir! no, but three times as rich, itself: but, any how, he was the man that could make the money."

"I'm very happy to hear it, Phaddhy, on, your account, and that of your children. G.o.d be good to him--_requiescat animus ejus in pace, per omnia secula seculorum_, Amen!--he liked a drop in his time, Phaddhy, as well as ourselves, eh?"

"Amen, amen--the heavens be his bed!--he-did, poor man! but he had it at first cost, your Reverence, for he run it all himself in the mountains: he could afford to take it."

"Yes, Phaddhy, the heavens be his bed, I pray; no Christmas or Easter ever pa.s.sed but he was sure to send me the little keg of stuff that never saw water; but, Phaddhy, there's one thing that concerns me about him, in regard of his love of drink--I'm afraid it's a throuble to him where he is at present; and I was sorry to find that, although he died full of money, he didn't think it worth his while to leave even the price of a ma.s.s to be said for the benefit of his own soul."