bones behime our legs, whar dey wouldn't all de time git skint, en put
our calfs in de front.'"

My impression of Father Ryan was of being in the presence of a great
power--something indefinable and indescribable, but invincibly sure.
He was of medium height, and his massive head seemed to bend by its
own weight, giving him a somewhat stooped appearance. His hair, brown,
with sunny glints touching it to gold, was brushed back from his wide,
high forehead, falling in curls around his pale face and over his
shoulders. I recall with especial distinctness the dimple in his chin,
a characteristic of many who have been very near to me, for which
reason it attracted my attention when appearing in a face new to me.
His eyes were his greatest beauty,--Irish blue, under gracefully
arched brows, and luminous with the sunshine that has sparkled in the
eyes of his race in all the generations, caught by looking skyward for
a light that dawned not upon earth. His expression was sad, and the
beautiful smile that illumined his face, radiating compassion,
kindness, gentleness and the humor of the Kelt, made me think of a
brilliant noontide sun shining across a grave.

We discussed Folk Lore, and he said that some of the best lessons were
taught in the Folk Lore of the plantation negro. One of his sermons
was on "Obstinacy," illustrated by a story told him by an old colored
man:

"Marser, does you know de reason dat de crab walks back'ards? Well,
hit's dis away: when de Lord wuz mekin' uv de fishes He meked de
diffunt parts en put 'em in piles, de legs in one pile, de fins in
anudder, en de haids in anudder. Do' de crab wan't no fish, He meked
hit at de same time. Afterwards He put 'em tergedder en breaved inter