l I shall be glad of a little
fresh light, for my mind is in a most chaotic state, induced by the
intellectual preparation that you have made me undergo during the past
month. I dreamed last night that I was conducting a mothers' meeting
in Ronald's new parish, and the subject for discussion was the Small
Livings Scheme, the object of which is to augment the stipends of the
ministers of the Church of Scotland to a minimum of 200 pounds per
annum. I tried to keep the members to the point, but was distracted
by the sudden appearance, in all corners of the church, of people who
hadn't been 'asked to the party.' There was Brian Boru, Tony Lumpkin,
Finn McCool, Felicia Hemans, Ossian, Mrs. Delany, Sitric of the Silken
Beard, St. Columba, Mickey Free, Strongbow, Maria Edgeworth, and the
Venerable Bede. Imagine leading a mothers' meeting with those people
in the pews,--it was impossible! St. Columbkille and the Venerable Bede
seemed to know about parochial charges and livings and stipends and
glebes, and Maria Edgeworth was rather helpful; but Brian and Sitric
glared at each other and brandished their hymn-books threateningly,
while Ossian refused to sit in the same pew with Mickey Free, who
behaved in an odious manner, and interrupted each of the speakers in
turn. Incidentally a group of persons huddled together in a far corner
rose out of the dim light, and flapping huge wings, flew over my head
and out of the window above the altar. This I took to be the Flight of
the Earls, and the terror of it awoke me. Whatever my parish duties
may be in the future, at least they cannot be any more dreadful and
disorderly than the dream."

"I don't know which is more to blame, the seed that I sowed, or the
soil on which it fell," said Salemina, laughing heartily at Francesca's
whimsical nightmares; "but as I said, this is an anniversary. The famous
battle of Clontarf was fought here in Dublin on this very day eight
hundred years ago, and Brian Boru routed the Danes in what was the last
struggle between Christianity and heathenism. The greatest slaughter
took place on the streets along which we drove yesterday from Ballybough
Bridge to the Four Courts. Brian Boru was king of Munster, you remember"
(Salemina always says this for courtesy's sake), "or at least you have
read of that time in Ireland's history when a fair lady dressed in fine
silk and gold and jewels could walk unmolested the length of the land,
because of the love the people