if it be for a political, or any other purpose not decidedly religious,
there will be abundance of that rough, blunt satire and mirth, so keenly
relished by the peasantry, illustrated, too, by the most comical and
ridiculous allusions. That priest, indeed, who is the best master
of this latter faculty, is uniformly the greatest favorite. It is no
unfrequent thing to see the majority of an Irish congregation drowned
in sorrow and tears, even when they are utterly ignorant of the language
spoken; particularly in those districts where the Irish is still the
vernacular tongue. This is what renders notice of the sermon and its
purport necessary; otherwise the honest people might be seriously at a
loss whether to laugh or cry.

"_Elliih avourneen, gho dhe dirsha?_"--"Ellish, my dear, what is he
saying?"

"_Och, musha niel eshighum, ahagur--ta sha er Purgathor, ta
barlhum_."--"Och, I dunna that, jewel; I believe he's on Purgatory."

"_Och, och, oh--och, och, oh--oh, i, oh, i, oh!_"

And on understanding that Purgatory is the subject, they commence their
grief with a rocking motion, wringing their hands, and unconsciously
passing their beads through their fingers, whilst their bodies are bent
forward towards the earth.

On the contrary, when the priest gets jocular--which I should have
premised, he never does in what is announced as a solemn sermon--you
might observe several faces charged with mirth and laughter, turned,
even while beaming with this expression, to those who kneel beside them,
inquiring: