usual hour for breakfast had arrived, came into the kitchen, to prepare
for the celebration of mass. For this purpose, a table was cleared, and
just in the nick of time arrived old Moll Brian, the vestment woman, or
itinerant sacristan, whose usual occupation was to carry the priests'
robes and other apparatus, from station to station. In a short time,
Father Con was surpliced and robed; Andy Lalor, whose face was charged
with commensurate importance during the ceremony, sarved Mass, and
answered the priest stoutly in Latin although he had not the advantage
of understanding that sacerdotal language. Those who had confessed, now
communicated; after which, each of them took a draught, of water out of
a small jug, which was handed round from one to another. The ceremony
then closed, and those who had partaken of the sacrament, with the
exception of such as were detained for breakfast, after filling their
bottles with holy water, went home with a light heart. A little before
the mass had been finished, Father Philemy arrived; but, as Phaddy and
Katty were then preparing to resave they could not at that moment give
him a formal reception. As soon, however, as communion was over, the
_cead millia failtha_ was repeated with the usual warmth, by both, and
by all their immediate friends. Breakfast was now laid in Katty's
best style, and with an originality of arrangement that scorned all
precedent. Two tables were placed, one after another, in the kitchen;
for the other rooms were not sufficiently large to accommodate the
company. Father Philemy filled the seat of honor at the head of the
table, with his back to an immense fire. On his right hand sat Father
Con; on his left, Phaddhy himself, “to keep the-clargy company;” and,
in due succession after them, their friends and neighbors, each taking
precedence according to the most scrupulous notions of respectability.
Beside Father Con sat “Pettier Malone,” a “young collegian,” who had
been sent home from Maynooth to try his native air, for the recovery
of his health, which was declining. He arrived only a few minutes after
Father Philemy, and was a welcome reinforcement to Phaddhy, in the
arduous task of sustaining the conversation with suitable credit.
With respect to the breakfast, I can only say, that it was
superabundant--that the tea was as black as bog water--that there were
hen, turkey, and geese eggs--plates of toast soaked, crust and crumb, in
butter; and lest there might be a deficiency, one of the daughters sat
on a stool at the fire, with her open hand, by way of a fire screen,
across her red, half-scorched brows, toasting another plateful, and, to
crown all, on each corner of the table was a bottle of whiskey. At
the lower board sat the youngsters, under the surveillance of Katty's
sister, who presided in that quarter. When they were commencing
breakfast, “Father Philemy,” said Katty, “won't yer Rev'rence bless the
mate (* food) if ye plase?”
“If I don't do it myself,” said Father Philemy, who was just after
sweeping the top off a turkey egg, “I'll get them that will. Come,” said
he to the collegian, “give us grace, Peter; you'll never learn younger.”
This, however, was an unexpected blow to Peter, who knew that an
English grace would be incompatible with his “college feeding,” yet was
unprovided with any in Latin--The eyes of the company were now
fixed upon him, and he blushed like scarlet on finding himself in a
predicament so awkward and embarrassing. “_Aliquid, Petre, alliquid; 'de
profundis'--si habes nihil aliud_,” said Father Philemy, feeling for
his embarrassment, and giving him a hint. This was not lost, for Peter
began, and gave them the _De profundis_--a Latin psalm, which Roman
Catholics repeat for the relief of the souls in, purgatory. They forgot,
however, that there was a person in company who considered himself as
having an equal claim to the repetition of at least the one-half of it;
and accordingly, when Peter got up and repeated the first verse, Andy
Lalor got also on his legs, and repeated the response.* This staggered
Peter a little, who hesitated, as uncertain how to act.
* This prayer is generally repeated by two persons, who
recite each a verse alternately.
“_Perge, Petre, perge_,” said Father Philemy, looking rather wistfully
at his egg--“_perge, stultus est et asinus quoque_.” Peter and Andy
proceeded until it was finished, when they resumed their seats.
The conversation during breakfast was as sprightly, as full of fun and
humor as such breakfasts usually are. The priest, Phaddhy, and the young
collegian, had a topic of their own, whilst the rest were engaged in a
kind of by play, until the meal was finished.
“Father Philemy,” said Phaddhy, in his capacity of host, “before we
begin we'll all take a dhrop of what's in the bottle, if it's not
displasing to yer Reverence; and, sure, I know, 'tis the same that
doesn't come wrong at a station, any how.”
This, _more majorum_, was complied with; and the glass, as usual, went
round the table, beginning with their Reverences. Hitherto, Father
Philemy had not had time to bestow any attention on the state of Kitty's
larder, as he was in the habit of doing, with a view to ascertain
the several items contained therein for dinner. But as soon as the
breakfast-things were removed, and the coast clear, he took a peep into
the pantry, and, after throwing his eye over its contents, sat down
at the fire, making Phaddhy take a seat beside him, for the especial
purpose of sounding him as to the practicability of effecting a certain
design, which was then snugly latent in his Reverence's fancy. The fact
was, that on taking the survey of the premises aforesaid, he discovered
that, although there was abundance of fowl, and fish, and bacon, and
hung-beef--yet, by some unaccountable and disastrous omission, there was
neither fresh mutton nor fresh beef. The priest, it must be confessed,
was a man of considerable fortitude, but this was a blow for which he
was scarcely prepared, particularly as a boiled leg of mutton was one of
his fifteen favorite joints at dinner. He accordingly took two or three
pinches of snuff in rapid succession, and a seat at the fire, as I have
said, placing Phaddhy, unconscious of his design, immediately beside
him.
Now, the reader knows that Phaddhy was a man possessing a considerable
portion of dry, sarcastic humor, along with that natural, quickness of
penetration and shrewdness for which most of the Irish peasantry are in
a very peculiar degree remarkable; add to this that Father Philemy, in
consequence of his contemptuous bearing to him before he came in for his
brother's property, stood not very high in his estimation. The priest
knew this, and consequently felt that the point in question would
require to be managed, on his part, with suitable address.
“Phaddhy,” says his Reverence, “sit down here till we chat a little,
before I commence the duties of the day. I'm happy to, see that you have
such a fine thriving family: how many sons and daughters have you?”
“Six sons, yer Reverence,” replied. Phaddhy, “and five daughters:
indeed, sir, they're as well to be seen as their neighbors, considhering
all things. Poor crathurs, they get fair play* now, thank Grod, compared
to what they used to get--God rest their poor uncle's sowl for that!
Only for him, your Reverence, there would be very few inquiring this or
any other day about them.”
* By this is meant good food and clothing.
“Did he die as rich as they said, Phaddhy?” inquired his Reverence.
“Hut, sir,” replied Phaddhy, determined to take what he afterwards
called a rise out of the priest; “they knew little about it--as rich as
they said, sir! no, but three times as rich, itself: but, any how, he
was the man that could make the money.”
“I'm very happy to hear it, Phaddhy, on, your account, and that of your
children. God be good to him--_requiescat animus ejus in pace, per omnia
secula seculorum_, Amen!--he liked a drop in his time, Phaddhy, as well
as ourselves, eh?”
“Amen, amen--the heavens be his bed!--he-did, poor man! but he had it at
first cost, your Reverence, for he run it all himself in the mountains:
he could afford to take it.”
“Yes, Phaddhy, the heavens be his bed, I pray; no Christmas or Easter
ever passed but he was sure to send me the little keg of stuff that
never saw water; but, Phaddhy, there's one thing that concerns me about
him, in regard of his love of drink--I'm afraid it's a throuble to him
where he is at present; and I was sorry to find that, although he died
full of money, he didn't think it worth his while to leave even the
price of a mass to be said for the benefit of his own soul.”
“Why, sure you know, Father Philemy, that he wasn't what they call a
dhrinking man: once a quarther, or so, he sartinly did take a jorum;
and except at these times, he was very sober. But God look upon us, yer
Reverence--or upon myself, anyway; for if he's to suffer for his doings
that way, I'm afeard we'll have a troublesome reck'ning of it.”
“Hem, a-hem!--Phaddhy,” replied the priest, “he has raised you and your
children from poverty, at all events, and you ought to consider that. If
there is anything in your power to contribute to the relief of his
soul, you havs a strong duty upon you to do it; and a number of masses,
offered up devoutly, would--”
“Why, he did, sir, raise both myself and my childre from poverty,” said
Phaddhy, not willing to let that point go farther--“that I'll always own
to; and I hope in God that whatever little trouble might be upon him for
the dhrop of dhrink, will be wiped off by this kindness to us.”
“He hadn't even a Month's mind!”*
* A Mouth's Mind is the repetition of one or more
masses, at the expiration of a month after death, for
the repose of a departed soul. There are generally more
than the usual number of priests on such occasions:
each of whom receives a sum of money, varying according
to the wealth of the survivors--sometimes five
shillings, and sometimes five guineas.
“And it's not but I spoke to him about both, yer Eeverence.”
“And what did he say, Phaddy?”
“'Phaddy,' said he, 'I have been giving Father M'Guirk, one way or
another, between whiskey, oats, and dues, a great deal of money every
year; and now, afther I'm dead,' says he, 'isn't it an ungrateful
thing of him not to offer up one mass for my sowl, except I leave him
payment for it?'”
“Did he say that, Phaddhy?”
“I'm giving you his very words, yer Reverence.”
“Phaddhy, I deny it; it's a big lie--he could not make much use of such
words, and he going to face death. I say you could not listen to them;
the hair would stand on your head if he did; but God forgive him--that's
the worst I wish him. Didn't the hair stand on your head, Phaddhy, to
hear him?”
“Why, then, to tell yer Reverence God's truth, I can't say it did.”
“You can't say it did! and if I was in your coat, I would be ashamed to
say it did not. I was always troubled about the way the fellow died,
but I hadn't the slightest notion: that he went off such a reprobate. I
fought his battle and yours hard enough yesterday; but I knew less about
him than I do now.”
“And what, wid submission, did you fight our battles about, yer
Reverence?” inquired Phaddhy.
“Yesterday evening, in Parrah More Slevin's, they had him a miser, and
yourself they set down as very little better.”
“Then I don't think I desarved that from Parrah More, anyhow, Father
Philemy; I think I can show myself as dacent as Parrah More or any of
his faction.”
“It was not Parrah More himself, nor his family, that said anything
about you, Phaddhy,” said the priest, “but others that were present. You
must know that we were all to be starved here to-day.”
“Oh! ho!” exclaimed Phaddhy, who was hit most palpably upon the weakest
side--the very sorest spot about him, “they think bekase this is the
first station that ever was held in my house, that you won't be thrated
as you ought; but they'll be disappointed; and I hope, for so far, that
yer Reverence and yer friends had no rason to complain.”
“Not in the least, Phaddhy, considering that it was a first station; and
if the dinner goes as well off as the breakfast, they'll be biting their
nails: but I should not wish myself that they would have it in their
power to sneer or throw any slur over you about it.--Go along, Dolan,”
exclaimed his Reverence to a countryman who came in from the street,
where those stood who were for confession, to see if he had gone to his
room--“Go along, you vagrant, don't you see I'm not gone to the tribunal
yet?--But it's no matter about that, Phaddhy, it's of other things you
ought to think: when were you at your duty?”
“This morning, sir,” replied the other--“but I'd have them to
understand, that had the presumption to use my name in any such manner,
that I know when and where to be dacent with any mother's son of Parrah
More's faction; and that I'll be afther whispering to them some of these
fine mornings, plase goodness.”
“Well, well, Phaddhy, don't put yourself in a passion about it,
particularly so soon after having been at confession--it's not right--I
told them myself, that we'd have a leg of mutton and a bottle of wine
at all events for it was what they had; but that's not worth talking
about--when were you with the priest before Phaddhy?”
“If I wasn't able, it would be another thing, but as long as I'm able,
I'll let them know that I've the spirit”--said Phaddhy, smarting under
the implication of niggardliness--“when was I at confession before,
Father Philemy? Why, then, dear forgive me, not these five years;--and
I'd surely be the first of the family that would show a mane spirit, or
a want of hospitality.”
“A leg of mutton is a good dish, and a bottle of wine is fit for the
first man in the land!” observed his Reverence; “five years!--why, is
it possible you stayed away so long, Phaddhy! how could you expect to
prosper with five years' burden of sin upon your conscience--what would
it cost you--?”
“Indeed, myselfs no judge, your Reverence, as to that; but, cost what it
will, I'll get both.”
“I say, Phaddhy, what trouble would it cost you to come to your duty
twice a year at the very least; and, indeed, I would advise you to
become a monthly communicant. Parrah More was speaking of it as to
himself, and you ought to go--”
“And I will go and bring Parrah More here to his dinner, this very day,
if it was only to let him see with his own eyes--”
“You ought to go once a month, if it was only to set an example to
your children, and to show the neighbors how a man of substance and
respectability, and the head of a family, ought to carry himself.”
“Where is the best wine got, your Reverence?”
“Alick M'Loughlin, my nephew, I believe, keeps the best wine and spirits
in Ballyslantha.--You ought also, Phaddy, to get a scapular, and become
a scapularian; I wish your brother had thought of that, and he wouldn't
have died in so hardened a state, nor neglected to make a provision for
the benefit of his soul, as he did.”
“Lave the rest to me, yer Reverence, I'll get it; Mr. M'Loughlin will
give me the right sort, if he has it betune him and death.”
“M'Laughlin! what are you talking about?”
“Why, what is your Reverence talking about?”
“The scapular,” said the priest.
“But I mane the wine and the mutton,” says Phaddhy.
“And is that the way you treat me, you reprobate you?” replied his
Reverence in a passion: “is that the kind of attention you're paying me,
and I, advising you, all this time, for the good of your soul? Phaddhy,
I tell you, you're enough to vex me to the core--five years!--only once
at confession in five years! What do I care about your mutton and your
wine!--you may get dozens of them if you wish; or, may be, it would be
more like a Christian to never mind getting them, and let the neighbors
laugh away. It would teach you humility, you hardened creature, and God
knows you want it; for my part, I'm speaking to you about other things;
but that's the way with the most of you--mention any spiritual subject
that concerns your soul, and you turn a deaf ear to it--here, Dolan,
come in to your duty. In the meantime, you may as well tell Katty not
to boil the mutton too much; it's on your knees you ought to be at your
rosary, or the seven penitential psalms, any way.”
“Thrue for you, sir,” says Phaddhy; “but as to going wanst a month,
I'm afeard, your Rev'rence, if it would shorten my timper as it does
Katty's, that we'd be bad company for one another; she comes home from
confession, newly set, like a razor, every bit as sharp; and I'm sure
that I'm within the truth when I say there's no bearing her.”
“That's because you've no relish for anything spiritual yourself, you
nager you,” replied his Reverence, “or you wouldn't see her temper in
that light--but, now that I think of it, where did you get that stuff we
had at breakfast?”
“Ay, that's the sacret; but I knew your Rev'rence would like it; did
Parrah More aiquil it? No, nor one of his faction couldn't lay his
finger on such a dhrop.”
“I wish you could get me a few gallons of it,” said the priest; “but let
us drop that; I say, Phaddhy, you're too worldly and too careless about
your duty.”
“Well, Father Philemy, there's a good time coming; I'll mend yet.”
“You want it, Phaddhy.”
“Would three gallons do, sir?”
“I would rather you would make it five, Phaddhy; but go to your rosary.”
“It's the penitential psalms, first, sir,” said Phaddhy, “and the rosary
at night. I'll try, anyhow; and if I can make off five for you, I will.”
“Thank you, Phaddhy; but I would recommend you to say the rosary before
night.”
“I believe yer Reverence is right,” replied Phaddhy, looking somewhat
slyly in the priest's face; “I think it's best to make sure of it now,
in regard that in the evening, your Reverence--do you persave?”
“Yes,” said his Reverence, “you're in a better frame of mind at present,
Phaddhy, being fresh from confession.”
So saying, his Reverence--for whom Phaddhy, with all his shrewdness in
general, was not a match--went into his room, that he might send home
about four dozen of honest, good-humored, thoughtless, jovial, swearing,
drinking, fighting Hibernians, free from every possible stain of sin and
wickedness!
“Are you all ready now?” said the priest to a crowd of country people
who were standing about the kitchen door, pressing to get the “first
turn” at the tribunal, which on this occasion consisted of a good oaken
chair, with his Reverence upon it.
“Why do you crush forward in that manner, you ill-bred spalpeens? Can't
you stand back, and behave yourselves like common Christians?--back with
you! or, if you make me get my whip, I'll soon clear you from about the
dacent man's door. Hagarty, why do you crush them two girls there,
you great Turk, you? Look at the vagabonds! Where's my whip,” said he,
running in, and coming out in a fury, when he commenced cutting about
him, until they dispersed in all directions. He then returned into the
house; and, after calling in about two dozen, began to catechize them
as follows, still holding the whip in his hand, whilst many of those
individuals, who at a party quarrel or faction fight, in fair or market,
were incapable of the slightest terror, now stood trembling before him,
absolutely pale and breathless with fear.
“Come, Kelly,” said he to one of them, “are you fully prepared for the
two blessed sacraments of Penance and the Eucharist, that you are about
to receive? Can you read, sir?”
“Can I read, is id?--my brother Barney can, yor Rev'rence,” replied
Kelly, sensible, amid all the disadvantages around him, of the
degradation of his ignorance.
“What's that to me, sir?” said the priest, “what your brother Barney can
do--can you not read yourself?”
“I can not, your Reverence,” said Kelly, in a tone of regret.
“I hope you have your Christian Doctrine, at all events,” said the
priest. “Go on with the Confiteor.”
Kelly went on--“Confeetur Dimnipotenmti batchy Mary semplar virginy,
batchy Mickletoe Archy Angelo, batchy Johnny Bartisty, sanctris
postlis--Petrum hit Paulum omnium sanctris, et tabby pasture, quay a
pixavit minus coglety ashy hony verbum et offer him smaxy quilia smaxy
quilta--sniaxy maxin in quilia.” *
* Let not our readers suppose that the above version in
the mouth of a totally illiterate peasant is
overcharged; for we have the advantage of remembering
how we ourselves used to hear it pronounced in our
early days. We will back the version in the text
against Edward Irving's new language--for any money.--
Original note.
“Very well, Kelly, right enough, all except the pronouncing,
which wouldn't pass muster in Maynooth, however. How many kinds of
commandments are there?”
“Two, sir.”
“What are they?”
“God's and the Church's.”
“Repeat God's share of them.”
He then repeated the first commandment according to his catechism.
“Very good, Kelly, very good. Well now, repeat the commandments of the
Church.”
“First--Sundays and holidays, Mass thou shalt sartinly hear;
“Second--All holidays sanctificate throughout all the whole year.
“Third--Lent, Ember days, and Virgins, thou shalt be sartain to fast;
“Fourth--Fridays and Saturdays flesh thou shalt not, good, bad or
indifferent, taste.
“Fifth--In Lent and Advent, nuptial fastes gallantly forbear.
“Sixth--Confess your sins, at laste once dacently and soberly every
year.
“Seventh--Resave your God at confission about great Easter-day;
“Eighth--And to his Church and his own frolicsome clargy neglect not
tides (tithes) to pay.”
“Well,” said his Eeverence, “now, to great point is, do you understand
them?”
“Wid the help of God, I hope so, your Rev'rence; and I have also the
three thriptological vartues.”
“Theological, sirrah!”
“Theojollyological vartues; the four sins that cry to heaven for
vingeance; the five carnal vartues--prudence, justice, timptation, and
solitude; (* Temperance and fortitude) the seven deadly sins; the eight
grey attitudes--”
“Grey attitudes! Oh, the Boeotian!” exclaimed his Eeverence, “listen to
the way in which he's playing havoc among them. Stop, sir,” for Kelly
was going on at full speed--“Stop, sir. I tell you it's not gray
attitudes, but bay attitudes--doesn't every one know the eight
beatitudes?”
“The eight bay attitudes; the nine ways of being guilty of another's
sins; the ten commandments; the twelve fruits of a Christian; the
fourteen stations of the cross; the fifteen mystheries of the passion--”
“Kelly,” said his Eeverence, interrupting him, and heralding, the joke,
for so it was intended, with a hearty chuckle, “you're getting fast out
of your teens, ma bouchal?” and this was of course, honored with a
merry peal; extorted as much by an effort of softening the rigor of
examination, as by the traditionary duty which entails upon the Irish
laity the necessity of laughing at a priest's jokes, without any
reference at all to their quality. Nor was his Reverence's own voice
the first to subside into that gravity which became the solemnity of the
occasion; or even whilst he continued the interrogatories, his eye was
laughing at the conceit with which it was evident the inner man was not
competent to grapple. “Well, Kelly, I can't say but you've answered
very well, as far as the repealing of them goes; but do you perfectly
understand all the commandments of the church?”
“I do, sir,” replied Kelly, whose confidence kept pace with his
Reverence's good-humor.
“Well, what is meant by the fifth?”
“The fifth, sir?” said the other, rather confounded--“I must begin agin,
sir, and go on till I come to it.”
“Well,” said the priest, “never mind that; but tell us what the eighth
means?”
Kelly stared at him a second time, but was not able to advance
“First--Sundays and holidays, mass thou shalt hear;” but before he
had proceeded to the second, a person who stood at his elbow began to
whisper to him the proper reply, and in the act of so doing received a
lash of the whip across the ear for his pains.
“You blackguard, you!” exclaimed Father Philemy, “take that--how dare
you attempt to prompt any person that I'm examining?”
Those who stood around Kelly now fell back to a safe distance, and all
was silence, terror, and trepidation once more.
“Come, Kelly, go on--the eighth?”
Kelly was still silent.
“Why, you ninny you, didn't you repeat it just now. 'Eighth--And to his
church neglect not tithes to pay.' Now that I have put the words in your
mouth, what does it mean?”
Kelly having thus got the cue, replied, in the words of the Catechism,
“To pay _tides_ to the lawful _pasterns_ of the church, sir.”
“Pasterns!--oh, you ass you! _Pasterns!_ you poor; base, contemptible,
crawling reptile, as if we trampled you under our hooves--oh, you scruff
of the earth! Stop, I say--it's pastors.”
“Pastures of the church.”
“And, tell me, do you fulfil that commandment?”
“I do, sir.”
“It's a lie, sir,” replied the priest, brandishing the whip over his
head, whilst Kelly instinctively threw up his guard to protect himself
from the blow. “It's a lie, sir,” repeated his Eeverence; “you don't
fulfil it. What is the church?”
“The church is the congregation of the faithful that purfiss the true
faith, and are obadient to the Pope.”
“And who do you pay tithes to?”
“To the parson, sir.”
“And, you poor varmint you, is he obadient to the Pope?”
Kelly only smiled at the want of comprehension which prevented him from
seeing the thing according to the view which his Reverence took of it.
“Well, now,” continued Father Philemy, “who are the lawful pastors of
God's church?”
“You are, sir: and all our own priests.”
“And who ought you to pay your tithes to?”
“To you, sir, in coorse; sure I always knew that, your Rev'rence.”
“And what's the reason, then, you don't pay them to me, instead of the
parson?”