either--sorrow one of myself cares almost: for a man in his senses, that
ought to know better, to make use of such low language about the blessed
and holy crathurs, that hasn't a stain of sin about them, no more than
the child unborn!"

"So you think."

"So I think! aye, and it would be betther for you that you thought
so, too; but ye don't know what's before ye yet, Phaddhy--and now take
warnin' in time, and mend your life."

"Why what do you see wrong in my life? Am I a drunkard? am I lazy? did
ever I neglect my business? was I ever bad to you or to the childher?
didn't I always give yez yer fill to ate, and kept yez as well clad as
yer neighbors that was richer? Don't I go to my knees, too, every night
and morning?"

"That's true enough, but what signifies it all? When did ye cross
a priest's foot to go to your duty? Not for the last five years,
Phaddhy--not since poor Torly (God be good to him) died of the mazles,
and that'll be five years, a fortnight before Christmas."

"And what are you the betther of all yer confessions? Did they ever mend
yer temper, avourneen? no, indeed, Katty, but you're ten times worse
tempered coming back from the priest than before you go to him."

"Oh! Phaddhy! Phaddhy! God look down upon you this day, or any man
that's in yer hardened state--I see there's no use in spaking to you,
for you'll still be the ould cut."