and smoke it. Ah, what a purty
boy you are, and what a deludin' face you've got."

"So the priest's doin' you--he's the man can pluck a fat goose, Bob."

"Don't talk of pluckin' geese--you have taken some feathers out o' the
Bible blades, to all accounts. How do you expect to be saved by joining
an open heresy?"

"Whisht, you hathen, that has taken to idolathry bekase Father M'Cabe
made an ass of you by a thrick that every one knows. But I tell you to
your brazen face, that you'll be worse yet than ever you were."

"You disgraced your family by turnin' apostate, and we know what for.
Little Solomon, the greatest rogue unhanged, gave you the only grace you
got or ever will get."

"Why, you poor turncoat, isn't the whole country laughin' at you,
and none more than your own friends. The great fightin' Orangeman and
blood-hound turned voteen!--oh, are we alive afther that!"

"The blaggard bailiff and swindler turned swadler, hopin' to get a
fatter cut from the Bible blades, oh!"

"Have you your bades about you? if you have, I'll throuble you to give
us a touch of your Padareen Partha. Orange Bob at his Padareen Partha!
ha, ha, ha."

"You know much about Protestantism. Blow me, but it's a sin to see such
a knavish scoundrel professing it."

"It's a greater sin, you Orange omad-hawn, to see the likes o' you
disgracin' the bades an' the blessed religion you tuck an you."

"You were no disgrace, then, to the one you left; but you are a burnin'
scandal to the one you joined, and they ought to kick you out of it."

In fact, both converts, in the bitterness of their hatred, were
beginning to forget the new characters they had to support, and to glide
back unconsciously, or we should rather say, by the force of conscience,
to their original creeds.

"If Father M'Cabe was wise he'd send you to the heretics again."

"If the Protestants regarded their own character, and the decency of
their religion, they'd send you back to your cursed Popery again."

"It's no beef atin' creed, anyway," said Darby, who had, without knowing
it, become once more a staunch Papist, "ours isn't."

"It's one of knavery and roguery," replied Bob, "sure devil a thing one
of you knows only to believe in your Pope."

"You had betther not abuse the Pope," said Darby, "for fraid I'd give
you a touch o' your ould complaint, the fallin' sickness, you know, wid
my fist."

"Two could play at that game, Darby, and I say, to hell with him--and
the