As he walked home, Father Maguire thought of the great change he
perceived in his uncle. Father Stafford liked to go to bed at
eleven, the very name of St. Thomas seemed to bore him; fifteen
years ago he would sit up till morning. Father Maguire remembered
the theological debates, sometimes prolonged till after three
o'clock, and the passionate scholiast of Maynooth seemed to him
unrecognisable in the esurient Vicar-General, only occasionally
interested in theology, at certain hours and when he felt
particularly well. He could not reconcile the two ages, his mind
not being sufficiently acute to see that after all no one can
discuss theology for more than five-and-twenty years without
wearying of the subject.

The moon was shining among the hills and the mystery of the
landscape seemed to aggravate his sensibility, and he asked
himself if the guardians of the people should not fling themselves
into the forefront of the battle. Men came to preach heresy in his
parish--was he not justified in slitting their drum?

He had recourse to prayer, and he prayed for strength and for
guidance. He had accepted the Church, and in the Church he saw
only apathy, neglect, and bad administration on the part of his
superiors.... He had read that great virtues are, like large sums
of money, deposited in the bank, whereas humility is like the
pence, always at hand, always current. Obedience to our superiors
is the sure path. He could not persuade himself that it was right
for him to allow the Kavanaghs to continue a dissolute life of
drinking and dancing. They were the talk of the parish; and he
would have spoken against them from the altar, but his uncle had