there's a peculiar stress laid upon that in the Greek."

"Well, but does it go in the Greek against a flitch o' bacon and a wisp
o' greens, your reverence? Faith, beggin' your pardon, if you were to
see some o' the new convarts, how comfortable they are wid their good
frieze coats, and their new warm blankets, sittin' beside their good
fires, you'd maybe not blame them so much as you do. Your religion, sir,
only provides for the sowl; but theirs, you see, provides any how for
the body--and faith, I say, the last is a great advantage in these hard
times."

The priest's astonishment increased at the boldness with which Darby
continued the argument, or rather, which prompted him to argue at all.
He looked at him, and gave a smile.

"Well," said he, almost forgetting his anger--for he was by no means
deficient in a perception of the humorous--"but no matter--it will do
by and by. You villain," said he, forced into the comic spirit of the
argument; "do you not know that it said--cursed is he who becometh an
apostate, and eateth the flesh of heretics."

"Aitin' the flesh of heretics is forbidden, I dare say, sure enough,"
replied Darby; "an' troth it's a commandment not likely to be
broken--for dirty morsels they are, God knows; but is there anything
said against aitin' the flesh of their sheep or cows--or that forbids us
to have a touch at a good fat goose, or a turkey, or any harmless little
trifle o' the kind? Troth myself never thought, sir, that beef or mutton
was of any particular religion before."

"Yes, sir; beef and mutton, when they're good, are Catholic--but when
they're lean, why, like a bad Christian, they're Protestant, of course,
and that's well known," said the priest, still amused, against his will,
by Darby's arguments.

"Faith, and wid great respect, the same is but a poor argument for your
own--hem--I mane, sir, for your church; for if the best beef and mutton
be of the thrue religion, the Protestants have it all to nothing.
There, they're infallible, and no mistake. The fat o' the land, your
reverence," said Darby, with a wink; "don't you understand? They've got
that any how."

A slight cut of the whip across the shoulders made him jump and rub
himself, whilst the priest, struck with his utter want of principle,
exclaimed.

"You double-dealing scoundrel, how dare you wink at me, as if we felt
anything in common?"

The blow occasioned Darby's gorge to rise; for like every other knave,
when co