, potted-herring of a man, who, with a
light-brown coat and standing collar, sat up perpendicularly on his seat
and looked about him with an eye as lively and an accent as sharp as
though it were only noonday. This little personage, who came from
that Irish Pennsylvania called Moate, was endeavouring to maintain a
controversy with the worthy priest, who, in addition to his polemics,
was deep in a game of spoiled five with the farmer, and carrying
on besides another species of warfare with his fair neighbour. The
diversity of all these occupations might possibly have been overmuch for
him, were it not for the aid of a suspicious-looking little kettle that
sat hissing and rocking on the hob, with a look of pert satisfaction
that convinced me its contents were something stronger than water.

Perceiving a small space yet unoccupied in the party, I made my way
thither by the stair near it, and soon had the satisfaction to find
myself safely installed, without attracting any other notice from the
party than a proud stare from the lady, as she removed a little farther
from beside the priest.

As to his reverence, far too deeply interested in his immediate pursuits
to pay any attention to me, he had quite enough on his hands with his
three antagonists, none of whom did he ever for a moment permit to
edge in even a word. Conducting his varied warfare with the skill of a
general, who made the artillery, the infantry, and the cavalry of mutual
aid and assistance to one another, he continued to keep the church,
the courtship, and the cards all moving together, in a manner perfectly
miraculous--the vehemence with which he thumped down a trump upon the
table serving as a point in his argument, while the energy of the action
permitted a squeeze of the lady's hand with the other.

'There ye go, six of spades! Play a spade, av ye have one, Mr.
Larkins---- For a set of shrivelled-up craytures, with nothing but thee
and thou for a creed to deny the real ould ancient faith, that Saint
Peter and---- The ace of diamonds! _that_ tickled you under the short
ribs----- Not you, Mrs. Carney; for a sore time you have of it, and an
angel of a woman ye are; and the husband that could be cruel to you, and
take---- The odd trick out of you, Mr. Larkins----

No, no, I deny it--_nego in omnibus, Domine_. What does Origen say? The
rock, says he, is Peter; and if you translate the passage without----
Another kettleful, if you please. I go for the ten,