says, 'Where'er I
go, whatever realms I see--"'

"The devil a one you 'll meet as poor as Ireland," broke in Dalton, who
now had thrown himself headlong into a favorite theme. "Other countries
get better, but she gets worse."

"They say it's the po-po----" screamed Scroope.

"The Pope, is it?"

"No; the po-potatoes is the cause of everything."

"They might as well hould their prate, then," broke in Peter, whose
dialect always grew broader when he was excited. "Why don't they tell me
that if I was too poor to buy broadcloth, it would be better for me to
go naked than wear corduroy breeches? Not that I'd mind them,
miss!" said be, turning to Martha, who already was blushing at his
illustration.

"I fear that the evil lies deeper," sighed Mrs. Ricketts.

"You mean the bogs?" asked Dal ton.

"Not exactly, sir; but I allude to those drearier swamps of superstition
and ignorance that overlay the land."

Peter was puzzled, and scratched his ear like a man at a nonplus.

"My sister means the pr-pr-pr--"

"The process-servers?"

"No; the pr-priests--the priests," screamed Purvis.

"Bother!" exclaimed Dalton, with an accent of ineffable disdain. "'T is
much you know about Ireland!"

"You don't agree with me then?" sighed Mrs. Ricketts.

"Indeed I do not. Would you take away the little bit of education out of
a country where there's nothing but ignorance? Would you extinguish the
hopes of heaven amongst them that has nothing but starvation and misery
here? Try it,--just try it. I put humanity out of the question; but just
try it, for the safety's sake! Pat is n't very orderly now, but, faix!
you 'd make a raal devil of him then, entirely!"

"But popery, my dear sir--the confessional--"

"Bother!" said Dalton, with a wave of his hand. "How much you know about
it! 'T is just as they used to talk long ago about drunkenness. Sure,
I remember well when there was all that hue and cry about Irish
gentlemen's habits of dissipation, and the whole time nobody took
anything to hurt his constitution. Well, it's just the same with
confession,--everybody uses his discretion about it. _You_ have your
peccadilloes, and _I_ have my peccadilloes, and that young lady there
has her--Well, I did n't mean to make you blush, miss, but 'tis what I'm
saying, that nobody, barrin' a fool, would be too hard upon himself!"

"So that it ain't con-confession at all," exclaimed Purvis.

"Who told you that?" said Peter, sternly. "Is it no