present affecting, if you
please; but a plain turkey and ham, and a roast leg of mutton, and a few
little trimmings to fill up vacant spaces. There is an old tradition,
too, in Ireland, which I keep to pretty closely,--never to invite more
than the Muses, nor less than the Graces; but on this occasion--it was
during the Octave of the Epiphany--I departed from the custom, and,
owing to a few disappointments, the ominous number of thirteen sat down
to dinner. I must say, however, it had not a paralyzing effect on the
appetites of my guests, nor did they appear to have any apprehensions of
a sudden call to the places where turkeys and good mutton are not
appreciated. There were a few jokes about the intolerable longevity of
certain parish priests; and when my curate, who occupied the vice-chair
with infinite grace and dignity, remarked in his own grand style that
"really Da Vinci's 'Last Supper' was responsible for that unhallowed
superstition, and there really was nothing in it," some few wags
professed themselves greatly relieved, and showed it by new-born zeal in
the avocations of the evening. My duties as host engrossed all my
attention, until the table was cleared for action; and the call for
coffee from eight out of thirteen guests recalled me to my favorite
meditation on the mighty yet silent revolution that is progressing in
the Irish Church.

I have been now in touch with three generations of Irish priests, each
as distinct from the other, and marked by as distinctive
characteristics, as those which differentiate an Anglican parson from a
mediaeval monk. My early education was colored by contact with the
polished, studious, timid priests, who, educated in Continental
seminaries, introduced into Ireland all the grace and dignity and
holiness, and all the dread of secular authority with the slight
tendency to compromise, that seemed to have marked the French clergy, at
least in the years immediately succeeding the revolutions and the
Napoleonic wars. These were the good men who fraternized with landlords,
and lent their congregations to a neighboring parson on the occasion of
some governmental visitation; who were slightly tinged with Gallican
ideas, and hated progress and the troubles that always accompany it.
They were holy, good, kindly men, but they could hardly be called
officers of the Church Militant. Then came Maynooth, which, founded on
governmental subsidies, poured from its gates the strongest, fiercest,