whilst I am attending a
patient, falls fast asleep, like the fat boy in Pickwick; down there,
under the cliffs, the men sleep all day in, or under, their boats. Why
does not Charcot send all his nervous patients to Ireland? The air is
not only a sedative, but a soporific. 'T is the calm of the eternal
gods,--the sleep of the immortals."

"'T is the sleep of Enceladus in Etna," I replied. "When they wake up and
turn, 't is hot lava and ashes."

"That's true, too," he said, musingly; "we are a strange people."

My own voice again echoing out of the dead past.

* * * * *

Miss Campion and "her friend from Dublin," Miss Leslie, were very busy
about the Christmas decorations. Mrs. Darcy helped in her own way. I am
afraid she did not approve of all that was being done. Miss Campion's
and Mrs. Darcy's ideas of "the beautiful" were not exactly alike. Miss
Campion's art is reticent and economical. Mrs. Darcy's is loud and
pronounced. Miss Campion affects mosaics and miniatures. Mrs. Darcy
wants a circus-poster, or the canvas of a diorama. Where Mrs. Darcy, on
former occasions, put huge limbs of holly and a tangled wilderness of
ivy, Miss Campion puts three or four dainty glistening leaves with a
heart of red coral berries in the centre. Mrs. Darcy does not like it,
and she thinks it her duty to art and religion to remonstrate.

"Wisha, Miss, I wouldn't be sparin' the holly if I was you. Sure 't is
chape."

"Ah, well, now, Mrs. Darcy, don't you think this looks neat and pretty?"

"As nate and purty as yourself, Miss; but sure the parish priest won't
mind the expinse. 'T is Christmas times, and his heart is open."

This wasn't too kind of Mrs. Darcy; but it does not matter. She looked
ruefully at the fallen forest of greenery that strewed the chapel floor.

Miss Campion saw her distress, and said, kindly:--

"Now, Mrs. Darcy, is there any improvement you would kindly suggest
before we conclude?"

"Wisha, Miss, there isn't much, indeed. You have made it lovely. But I'd
like to see a little bit of holly in the Blessed Virgin's crown, and
just a weeshy little bit in her Child's fingers. Sure, whatever is going
these Christmas times, them have the best right to it."

Miss Campion smiled, and yielded to the pious wishes of the chapel
woman, and then said:--

"Now, Mrs. Darcy, we'll put a few noble branches around the front porch,
and whatever is left you must take it home, and let Jemmy de