wrong box; for I say he's no
chicken that's read _Nasus Rubricundus_, I can tell you that; I had my
own trouble with it: but, at any rate, will you take your punch, man
alive, and don't bother us with your Latin?"

"I beg your pardon, Father Ned: I insist that. I'm right; and I'll
convince you that you're wrong, if God spares me to see Corderius
to-morrow."

"Very well then, Pether, if you're to decide it to-morrow, let us have
no more of it tonight."

During this conversation between the two reverend worthies, the group
around the fire were utterly astonished at the erudition displayed in
this learned dispute.

"Well, to be sure, larnin's a great thing, entirely," said M'Roarkin,
aside, to Shane Fadh.

"Ah, Tom, there's nothing like it: well, any way, it's wonderful what
they know!"

"Indeed it is, Shane--and in so short a time, too! Sure, it's not more
nor five or six years since Father Pether there used to be digging
praties on the one ridge with myself--by the same token, an excellent
spadesman he was--and now he knows more nor all the Protestant parsons
in the Diocy."

"Why, how could they know any thing, when they don't belong to the thrue
church?" said Shane.

"Thrue for you, Shane," replied M'Roaran; "I disremimbered that
clincher."

This discourse ran parallel with the dispute between the two priests,
but in so low a tone as not to reach the ears of the classical
champions, who would have ill-brooked this eulogium upon Father Peter's
agricultural talent.

"Don't bother us, Pether, with your arguing to-night," said Father
Ned, "it's enough for you to be seven days in the week at your
disputations.--Sir, I drink to our better acquaintance."

"With all my heart, sir," replied the stranger.

"Father Ned," said Nancy, "the gintleman was going to tell us a sthrange
story, sir, and maybe your Reverence would wish to hear it, docthor?"

"Certainly, Nancy, we'll be very happy to hear any story the gintleman
may plase to tell us; but, Nancy, achora, before he begins, what if
you'd just fry a slice or two of that glorious flitch, hanging over his
head, in the corner?--that, and about six eggs, Nancy, and you'll have
the priest's blessing, gratis."

"Why, Father Ned, it's too fresh, entirely--sure it's not a week hanging
yet.

"Sorra matter, Nancy dheelish, we'll take with all that--just try your
hand at a slice of it. I rode eighteen miles since I dined, and I feel a
craving, Nancy, a _whacuum_ in my