returned to Paddy. The use of the leather breeches passed her
comprehension; but Paddy actually took up the leather breeches, tore
away the lining with great care, chopped the leather with the hatchet
on the block, and put it into the pot as tripes. Considering the
situation in which Andy and his friends were, and the appetite of the
Irish peasantry for meat in any shape--"a bone" being their _summum
bonum_--the risk was very little. If discovered, however, Paddy's
safety was much worse than doubtful, as no people in the world have a
greater horror of any unusual food. One of the most deadly modes of
revenge they can employ is to give an enemy dog's or cat's flesh; and
there have been instances where the persons who have eaten it, on
being informed of the fact, have gone mad. But Paddy's habit of
practical jokes, from which nothing could wean him, and his anger at
their conduct, along with the fear he was in did not allow him to
hesitate a moment. Jillen remonstrated in vain. "Hould your tongue,
you foolish woman. They're all as blind as the pig there. They'll
never find it out. Bad luck to 'em too, my leather breeches! that I
gave a pound note and a hog for in Cork. See how nothing else would
satisfy 'em!" The meat at length was ready. Paddy drowned it in
butter, threw out the potatoes on the table, and served it up smoking
hot with the greatest gravity.

"By ----," says Jack Shea, "that's fine stuff! How a man would dig a
trench after that."

"I'll take a priest's oath," answered Tim Cohill, the most irritable
of men, but whose temper was something softened by the rich steam;--

"Yet, Tim, what's a priest's oath? I never heard that."