, lo! the voice
from the inner shrine demanding compensation and future immunity.
Everything has prospered with you. Religion has progressed, with leaps
and bounds, since you came to the parish; the people adore you, and you
have the satisfaction of knowing that you are that most difficult of
heroic successes, a conqueror because a reformer; and because you have
met one reverse, you are going to turn your back on your work, and seek
the curse of those who put pillows under their armpits and garlands of
roses in their hair. Did you imagine that Satan, a living, personal, and
highly intelligent force, was going to allow you to have everything your
own way here,--to fold his arms while you were driving back his forces
in utter rout and confusion? If you did, you were greatly mistaken. You
have met a slight reverse, and it has become a panic. _Sauve qui peut!_
And the commander--the successful general--is the first to turn his
back, throw down his sword, and flee."

"Say no more, Father Dan, for God's sake. I am heartily ashamed of
myself."

A good scolding is almost equal to a cold bath as a tonic for disordered
nerves.

I went home with a satisfied conscience, murmuring, _Per la impacciata
via, retro al suo duce_. I think I know whither he is tending.

A demoralized, woe-begone, wilted, helpless figure was before me in the
hall. If he had been under Niagara for the last few hours he could not
be more hopelessly washed out. It was Jem Deady in the custody of his
wife, who was now in the ascendant.

"Here he is, your reverence,--a misfortunate angashore! For the love of
God make him now a patthern to the parish! Cling him to the ground, or
turn him into somethin'; make him an example forever, for my heart is
broke with him."

Whilst I was turning over in my mind into which of the lower animals it
would be advisable to cause the immortal soul of Jem to transmigrate and
take up a temporary residence, I thought I saw a glance upwards from his
eye, visibly pleading for mercy.

"It is quite clear, Jem," I said, "that your Christmas dinner disagreed
with you."

"Begor, thin, your reverence," broke in Mrs. Deady, setting herself in a
rather defiant attitude, "he had as good a dinner as any poor man in
your parish. He had a roast goose, stuffed by thim two hands with
praties and inguns, until the tears ran down my face; and he had a pig's
cheek, and lashins of cabbage."

"And why don't you tell his reverence about the r