spicable old Papist?"

"I mean that you wouldn't marry her to a man she doesn't like, as you're
goin' to do. That's a bad way to make her happy, at any rate."

"Overlook the word Papist, Mr. Reilly, that I applied to that old
idolater--the fellow worships images; of course you know, as a Papist,
he does--ahem!--but to show you that I don't hate the Papist without
exception, I beg to let you know, sir, that I frequently have the Papist
priest of our parish to dine with me; and if that isn't liberality the
devil's in it. Isn't that true, you superstitious old Padareen? No, Mr.
Reilly, Mr. Mahon--Willy, I mean--I'm a liberal man, and I hope we'll
be all saved yet, with the exception of the Pope--ahem! yes, I hope we
shall all be saved."

"Throth, sir," said Andy, addressing himself to Reilly, "he's a quare
gentleman, this. He's always abusing the Papists, as he calls us, and
yet for every Protestant servant undher his roof he has three Papists,
as he calls us. His bark, sir, is worse than his bite, any day."

"I believe it," replied Reilly in a low voice, "and it's a pity that
a good and benevolent man should suffer these idle prejudices to sway
him."

"Divil a bit they sway him, sir," replied Andy; "he'll damn and abuse
them and their religion, and yet he'll go any length to serve one o'
them, if they want a friend, and has a good character. But here, now
we're at the gate of the avenue, and you'll soon see the _Cooleen Bawn_"

"Hallo!" the squire shouted out, "what the devil! are you dead or asleep
there? Brady, you Papist scoundrel, why not open the gate?"

The porter's wife came out as he uttered the words, saying, "I beg your
honor's pardon. Ned is up at the Castle;" and whilst speaking she opened
the gate.

"Ha, Molly!" exclaimed her master in a tone of such bland good nature as
could not for a moment be mistaken; "well, Molly, how is little Mick? Is
he better, poor fellow?"

"He is, thank God, and your honor."

"Hallo, Molly," said the squire, laughing, "that's Popery again. You are
thanking God and me as if we were intimate acquaintances. None of that
foolish Popish nonsense. When you thank God, thank him; and when you
thank me, why thank me; but don't unite us, as you do him and your
Popish saints, for I tell you, Molly, I'm no saint; God forbid! Tell the
doctorman to pay him every attention, and to send his bill to me when
the child is properly recovered; mark that--properly recovered."

A noble aven