e. So when he opened his eyes, looked round, and blushed,
there was a general knocking of glasses, and a very flattering clamour
for Mr. Loftus's song.

But when silence came, to the surprise of the company he submitted,
though with manifest trepidation, and told them that he would sing as
the company desired. It was a song from a good old writer upon fasting
in Lent, and was, in fact, a reproof to all hypocrisy. Hereupon there
was a great ringing of glasses and a jolly round of laughter rose up in
the cheer that welcomed the announcement. Father Roach looked queer and
disconcerted, and shot a look of suspicion at Devereux, for poor Dan
Loftus had, in truth, hit that divine strait in a very tender spot.

The fact is, Father Roach was, as Irish priests were sometimes then, a
bit of a sportsman. He and Toole used occasionally to make mysterious
excursions to the Dublin mountains. He had a couple of mighty good dogs,
which he lent freely, being a good-natured fellow. He liked good living
and jolly young fellows, and was popular among the officers, who used to
pop in freely enough at his reverence's green hall-door whenever they
wanted a loan of his dogs, or to take counsel of the ghostly father
(whose opinion was valued more highly even than Toole's) upon the case
of a sick dog or a lame nag.

Well, one morning--only a few weeks before--Devereux and Toole together
had looked in on some such business upon his reverence--a little
suddenly--and found him eating a hare!--by all the gods, it
_was_--hare-pie in the middle of Lent!

It was at breakfast. His dinner was the meal of an anchorite, and who
would have guessed that these confounded sparks would have bounced into
his little refectory at that hour of the morning? There was no room for
equivocation; he had been caught in the very act of criminal
conversation with the hare-pie. He rose with a spring, like a
Jack-in-a-box, as they entered, and knife and fork in hand, and with
shining chops, stared at them with an angry, bothered, and alarmed
countenance, which increased their laughter. It was a good while before
he obtained a hearing, such was the hilarity, so sustained the fire of
ironical compliments, enquiries, and pleasantries, and the general
uproar.

When he did, with hand uplifted, after the manner of a prisoner
arraigned for murder, he pleaded 'a dispensation.' I suppose it was
true, for he backed the allegation with several most religious oaths and
imprecation