ould Mat Kevanagh, if he was alive this day, 'tis he would be the
happy man. "My curse upon their g'ographies and Bibles," he used to say;
"where's the use ov perplexing the poor childre wid what we don't
undherstand ourselves?" No use at all, in troth, and so I said from the
first myself.

Well, thank God and his Grace, we'll have no more thrigonomethry nor
scripther in Connaught. We'll hould our lodges every Saturday night, as
we used to do, wid our chairman behind the masther's desk, and we'll
hear our mass every Sunday morning wid the blessed priest standing afore
the same.

I wisht to goodness I hadn't parted wid my Seven Champions ov
Christendom and Freney the Robber: they're books that'll be in great
requist in Leithrim as soon as the pasthoral gets wind. Glory be to God!
I've done wid their lecthirs,--they may all go and be d--d wid their
consumption and production.

I'm off to Tallymactaggart before daylight in the morning, where I'll
thry whether a sod or two o' turf can't consume a cart-load ov heresy,
and whether a weekly meeting ov the lodge can't produce a new thayory ov
rints.

But afore I take my lave ov you, I may as well finish my story about
poor Father Tom that I hear is coming up to slate the heretics in Adam
and Eve during the Lint.

The Pope--and indeed it ill became a good Catholic to say anything agin
him--no more would I, only that his Riv'rence was in it--but you see the
fact ov it is, that the Pope was as envious as ever he could be, at
seeing himself sacked right and left by Father Tom; and bate out o' the
face, the way he was, on every science and subjec' that was started. So,
not to be outdone altogether, he says to his Riv'rence, "you're a man
that's fond of the brute crayation, I hear, Misther Maguire?"

"I don't deny it," says his Riv'rence. "I've dogs that I'm willing to
run agin any man's, ay, or to match them agin any other dogs in the
world for genteel edication and polite manners," says he.

"I'll hould you a pound," says the Pope, "that I've a quadhruped in my
possession that's a wiser baste nor any dog in your kennel."

"Done," says his Riv'rence, and they staked the money.

"What can this larned quadhruped o' yours do?" says his Riv'rence.

"It's my mule," says the Pope, "and, if you were to offer her goolden
oats and clover off the meadows o' Paradise, sorra taste ov aither she'd
let pass her teeth till the first mass is over every Sunday or holiday
in the year."