very high, hung a pair of long bony arms, whose motions seemed rather
the effect of machinery than volition. His hair, which was a bad black,
was cropped close, and trimmed across his eye-brows, like that of a
Methodist preacher; the small-clothes he wore were of the same web which
had produced Father Ned's, and his body-coat was a dark blue, with black
buttons. Each wore a pair of gray woollen mittens.

"There, Pether," said Father Ned, as he entered, "hook my bridle along
with your own, as your hand is in--God save all here! Paddy Smith,
ma bouchal, put these horses in the stable, till we dry ourselves a
bit--Father Pether and I."

"Musha, but you're both welcome," said Nancy, wishing to wipe out the
effects of the last tift with Father Ned, by the assistance of the
stranger's punch; "will ye bounce, ye spalpeens, and let them to the
fire? Father Ned, you're dhreepin' with the rain; and, Father Pether,
avourneen, you're wet to the skin, too."

"Troth, and he is, Nancy, and a little bit farther, if you knew but all.
Mr. Morrow, how do you do, sir?--And--eh?--Who's this we've got in the
corner? A gintleman, boys, if cloth can make one! Mr. Morrow, introduce
me."

"Indeed, Father Ned, I hav'nt the pleasure of knowing the gintleman
myself."

"Well, no matter--come up, Pether. Sir, I have the honor of introducing
you to my curate and coadjutor, the Reverend Pether M'Clatchaghan, and
to myself, his excellent friend, but spiritual superior, the Reverend
Edward Deleery, Roman Catholic Rector of this highly respectable and