thoroughly amalgamated--as distinguished from the case of King James's
Planters in Ulster, who, to this day are, as a rule, as distinct from
the population amongst whom they live--whether of pure Celtic strain or
with a Norman admixture--as when first they came.

There was an idea in our family that I had a vocation for the
priesthood, and I was being sent to my uncle, Father Michael O'Loughlin,
parish priest of Dromgoolan, County Down, who placed me in charge of Mr.
Johnson, a somewhat noted classical teacher in the neighbouring little
town of Castlewellan.

I have seen but little of Ireland, but during the few months I was here
on this occasion I made the best use of my time. I could have had no
better guide and preceptor than "Priest Mick," as my mother used to call
my uncle. I imagine that the term "Priest," which, in the North of
Ireland, was formerly so much used as a prefix to the name of the
Catholic clergyman, must have arisen amongst those not of his own flock,
and was probably not intended to have exactly a respectful meaning.

Father Michael sometimes came to see his relatives in Liverpool, who
were very numerous. He called them the "Tribe of Brian" (his father's
name) and he made a point of visiting them all, down to the very latest
arrival--indeed, I think he was the only one who knew the whole of the
ramifications of "the Tribe."

He used to say that his father--the aforesaid Brian--had one of the
largest noses in the country. There was only another man, he said, who
could approach him in that respect. If the two men met in a very narrow
"loanan "--what they call a "boreen" in other parts of Ireland--the
other man, who was a bit of a wag, would put his hand to his nose, and