observed Nancy, "afther a hard day's
thravelling."

"I dare say he is," said Father Ned, in the sincere hospitality of his
country; "at all events, take care of him, Nancy, he's a stranger,
and get the best supper you can for him--he appears to be a truly
respectable and well-bred man."

"I think," said M'Kinley, with a comical grin, "you might know that by
his high-flown manner of sleeping--he snores very politely, and like a
gentleman, all out."

"Well done, Alick," said the priest, laughing; "go home, boys, it's near
bed-time; Paddy, ma bouchal, are the horses ready?"

"They'll be at the door in a jiffy, your Reverence," said Paddy going
out.

In the course of a few minutes, he returned, exclaiming, "Why, thin, is
it thinkin' to venthur out sich a night as it's comin' on yer Reverences
would be? and it plashin' as if it came out of methers! Sure the life
would be dhrownded out of both of ye, and yees might colch a faver into
the bargain."

"Sit down, gintlemen," said Ned; "sit down, Father Ned, you and Father
Pether--we'll have another tumbler; and, as it's my turn to tell a
story, I'll give yez something, amuse yez,--the best I can, and, you all
know, who can do more?"

"Very right, Ned; but let us see"--replied father Ned, putting his head
out of the door to ascertain what the night did; "come, pether, it's
good to be on the safe side of any house in such a storm; we must only
content ourselves until it gets fair. Now, Ned, go on with your story,
and let it be as pleasant as possible."

"Never fear, your Reverence," replied Ned--"here goes--and healths
a-piece to begin with."

THE THREE TASKS.

"Every person in the parish knows the purty knoll that rises above the
Routing Burn, some few miles from the renowned town of Knockimdowny,
which, as all the world must allow, wants only houses and inhabitants
to be as big a place as the great town of Dublin itself. At the foot of
this little hill, just under the shelter of a dacent pebble of a rock,
something above the bulk of half a dozen churches, one would be apt to
see--if they knew how to look sharp, otherwise they mightn't be able to
make it out from the gray rock above it, except by the smoke that ris
from the chimbley--Nancy Magennis's little cabin, snug and cosey with
its corrag* or ould man of branches, standing on the windy side of the
door, to keep away the blast. Upon my word, it was a dacent little
residence in its own way, and so was Nan