rforming all the duties of his office, and taking his dues (when he got
them) with never-tiring good-humour. But age, that spares not priest nor
layman, had stolen upon Father Frank, and he gradually relinquished to his
younger curates the task of preaching, till at length his sermons dwindled
down to two in the year--one at Christmas, and the other at Easter, at
which times his clerical dues were about coming in. It was on one of these
memorable occasions that I first chanced to hear Father Frank address his
congregation. I have him now before my mind's eye, as he then appeared; a
stout, middle-sized man, with ample shoulders, enveloped in a coat of
superfine black, and substantial legs encased in long straight boots,
reaching to the knee. His forehead, and the upper part of his head, were
bald; but the use of hair-powder gave a fine effect to his massive, but
good-humoured features, that glowed with the rich tint of a hale old age.
A bunch of large gold seals, depending from a massive jack-chain of the
same metal, oscillated with becoming dignity from the lower verge of his
waistcoat, over the goodly prominence of his "fair round belly." Glancing
his half-closed, but piercing eye around his auditory, as if calculating
the contents of every pocket present, he commenced his address as
follows:--"Well, my good people, I suppose ye know that to-morrow will be
the _pattern_[1] of Saint Fineen, and no doubt ye'll all be for going to
the blessed well to say your _padhereens_;[2] but I'll go bail there's few
of you ever heard the rason why the water of that well won't raise a
lather, or wash anything clean, though you were to put all the soap in
Cork into it. Well, pay attintiou, and I'll tell you.--Mrs. Delany, can't
you keep your child quiet while I'm spaking?--It happened a long while
ago, that Saint Fineen, a holy and devout Christian, lived all alone,
convaynient to the well; there he was to be found ever and always praying
and reading his breviary upon a cowld stone that lay beside it. Onluckily
enough, there lived also in the neighbourhood a _callieen dhas_[3] called
Morieen, and this Morieen had a fashion of coming down to the well every
morning, at sunrise, to wash her legs and feet; and, by all accounts, you
couldn't meet a whiter or shapelier pair from this to Bantry. Saint
Fineen, however, was so disthracted in his heavenly meditations, poor man!
that he never once looked at them; but kept his eyes fast on his holy