“Ay, faith, that’s not a bad thought, Pettier; but I tell you the mammon of unrighteousness is by no means a bad thing.  We may say as we will, we priests and parsons, but I say to you, what is a man worth in this world without money?  Not a thraneen.  A complete nonenity, and sorras thing else.  And whisper, Pettier; what is the starving of the parsons to us?  They had the fat an’ marrow of the land long, enough, and I think it’s full time that we should come in for a lick at last.  Think of you or I living to see ourselves rolling about in a rich carriage, with a lump of a mithre, like a pair of ass’s ears stuck together, painted on the outride of it, and we waiting, and drinkn’ of the best.  Arra, salvation to me, but the prospect’s a born beauty, so it is, and will be rayalized yet, plaise God.”

“Too much wealth, sir, is an enemy to religion.”

“Well, Pettier, that may be so occasionally; but here’s your health, and in the meantime, I didn’t care that some of us had a little more of it.  I would have given a pound-note today to have had five shillings about me; and sorra testher I had in my company.”

“You must have been pretty closely pressed for cash, when you would have given such a premium.”

“Troth, then, I was; and when the poor boy mentioned whose son he was, and when I saw his little delicate feet without shoes, and heard his story—­mammon of unrighteousness! devil a thing in life aiquil to it.  It enables a man to do the practical good, and not satisfy himself or escape with empty words.”

“They say our neighbor here, Mr. Goodison, is very ill off.”

“Well, I dare say he’s not on the top of the wheel; however, as I said, what’s their starvation to us?  If it was laid upon them for their sins, do you think it would be right in us to intherfare and set ourselves against Providence?—­blessed be His name.”

“Well, I must confess,” replied his amiable curate, “that I was not prepared for such an argument as that from you.  You know we ought to love our enemies.”

“Very well,” replied Father Anthony; “I have no objection to love our enemies, provided they feed themselves.  But surely to love and feed them is rather too much of a good thing.”

During this brief dialogue they had mixed each his tumbler of punch, and after a pause of some minutes, during which the hardhearted parish priest sighed deeply as he looked into the fire, he exclaimed—­

“You know, Pettier, that I am opposed to a Protestant Established Church in this country; and you know, besides, that I have gone farther in this tithe affair than most of my brethren, and on that account I hope you are not surprised at my opinions.  Starve them out’s my maxim.  But still, aftcher all, salvation to me, but it’s a trying case to be without food, and above all, to see your own children—­”

“My own children,” exclaimed the curate, with a smile.