. As we approached, the volume of
smoke that poured out of the chimney assured us our friend was holding
high revel, and sure enough, when we opened the door, the atmosphere
that rushed out was like that of an oven, for the place was barely
fifteen feet square, and in the fireplace was a roaring fire, large
enough to roast a bullock. In the middle of the room, on a small table
on which were spread the remnants of a somewhat meagre feast, sat the
owner of the cabin in his shirt sleeves, while beads of perspiration
trickled down his jolly red face. His right hand grasped a pannikin, and
his left beat time on the table to the strains of the "Shan Van Voght,"
which he was shouting at the top of his voice. Father Maguire was a
kindly, jolly old soul, who loved not to mortify the flesh. The weekly
Friday fasts were a sore trial to him; and it was rumoured, with what
truth I know not, that he went down to the camp at Deadman's Creek,
there to hold mass, and afterwards invariably called upon the
Commissioner, who was not one of the faithful. That young gentleman was
glad enough to entertain the jolly old priest, and always invited him to
dinner, an invitation always cheerfully accepted, for the host was a man
of taste, and his dinners, besides being abundant, had a refinement and
a variety about them which most other dinners at that time lacked.

"By me sowl," Father Maguire would say, as he rose from the table, "by
me sowl, but it's Friday, and it's meself has forgot that same." And
as long as those dinners lasted the father continued to eat them, and
invariably made the same remark afterwards. Peace be to his ashes--he
has long since been gathered to his fathers. He was a jovial, merry old
soul, fulfilling to the letter the Pauline behest, "to think no evil."
and if he did eat some few more dinners than the rules of his Church
allowed, good dinners did not often come in his way, and I trust he will
not be hardly judged for them.

The moment he saw us he dropped the pannikin, and rose to greet us, a
funny round tub of a man, with his braces dangling behind him.

"Och, sure, an' it's the bhoys! Come yez in, an' a merry Christmas to
yez. Come yez in, an' I 'll brew yez some scaltheen in honor av the
day."

Scaltheen was what Father Maguire was famous for, and exactly what we
had come for. It was, in truth, rather a potent drink, consisting as
it did of whisky, sugar, butter, and water, all boiled together in the
little black