reverence."

"Did you notice where they were kneeling?" I said, not unkindly.

"Well, indeed it was not velvet."

"No," I said, "but rough cobblestones, rather pointed, like some
allusions in our sermons. Do you know how long they were kneeling
there?"

"During Mass," he said.

"No," I replied, "they knelt there during the confessions, and during
Mass. I am not excusing them, but did you ever hear of the ancient
penance of wearing peas in pilgrims' shoes? Some, I believe, and I think
Erasmus is the authority, had the wisdom to boil those peas. But you
cannot boil cobblestones. I never realized this part of our people's
sufferings till a poor fellow one morning, whilst I sat comfortably by
the fire, interrupted his confession to say:--

"For the love of God, your reverence, would you lave me put my cap under
my knees?"

My curate laughed good-naturedly. We got out on the highroad at last;
and as we jogged home in the soft, warm rain, I took the opportunity of
giving a little advice. It is a little luxury I am rather fond of, like
the kindred stimulant of a pinch of snuff; and as I have had but few
luxuries in my life, no one ought grudge me this.

"My dear Father Letheby," I said, as we sat comfortably together, "the
great principle of Irish life is _quieta non movere_. Because, when you
lay a finger on the most harmless and impotent things, they spring at
once into hissing and spitting things, like the Lernaean hydra; and then,
like that famous monster, you must cauterize the wound to heal, or
prevent new hideous developments. You have, as yet, no idea of how many
ways, all different and mutually antagonistic, there are, of looking at
things in Ireland. To your mind there seems but one,--one judgment, and
therefore one course of action. There are a hundred mirrors concentrated
on the same object, and each catches its own shape and color from
passion and interest. And each is quite honest in its own portraiture,
and each is prepared to fight for its own view to the bitter end."

"I beg your pardon, sir," my curate said, deferentially, "I am following
you with great attention. Do I understand you to say that each mirror is
prepared to fight for its own view to the bitter end? I have seen
something like that in a comic picture--"

"You know, you rascal, what I mean," I said, "I mean the hands that hold
the mirrors."

"Of course," he said, "my stupidity. But I am a little bit of a purist
in language."

Now