Now here was a coup de main--not a syllable mentioned about Jemmy
M'Evoy, until he had melted them down, ready for the impression, which
he accordingly made to his heart's content.

"Ay," he went on, "an' 'tis the parish of Ballysogarth that has the
name, far and near, for both, and well they desarve it. You won't see
the poor gossoon go to a sthrange country--with empty pockets. He's the
son of an honest man--one of yourselves; and although he's a poor man,
you know 'twas Yallow Sam that made him so--that put him out of his
comfortable farm and slipped a black-mouth * into it. You won't turn
your backs on the son in regard of that, any way. As for Sam, let him
pass; he'll not grind the poor, nor truckle to the rich, when he gives
up his stewardship in the kingdom come. Lave him to the friend of the
poor--to his God; but the son of them that he oppressed, you will stand
up for. He's going to Munster, to learn 'to go upon the Mission:' and,
on Sunday next, there will be a collection made here, and at the other
two althars for him; and, as your own characters are at stake, I trust
it will be neither mane nor shabby. There will be Protestants here, I'll
engage, and you must act dacently before them, if it was only to set
them a good example. And now I'll tell yez a story that the mintion of
the Protestants brings to my mind:--

* In the North of Ireland the word black-mouth means a
Presbyterian.

"There was, you see, a Protestant man and a Catholic woman once married
together. The man was a swearing, drinking, wicked rascal, and his wife
the same: between them they were a blessed pair to be sure. She never
bent her knee under a priest until she was on her death-bed; nor was he
known ever to enter a church door, or to give a shilling in charity