with my fellow-travelers, I could not with a good grace give them up.  I had not at the time the least experience of the world, was incapable of that discrimination which guides some people, as it were by instinct, in choosing their society, and had altogether but a poor notion of the more refined decorum of life.  When we got in, the equivocal lady began to exercise some portion of authority.  “Come,” said she, “here’s a clargyman, and you had betther lose no time in gettin’ his Reverence his breakfast;” then, said, the civil creature to the mistress, in the same kind of half audible tone—­

“Avourneen, if you have anything comfortable, get it for him; he is generous, an’ will pay you well for it; a blessed crathur he is too, as ever brought good luck under your roof; Lord love you, if ye hard him discoursin’ uz along the road, as if he was one of ourselves, so mild and sweet!  I’m sure I’ll always have a good opinion of myself for puttin’ on the jacket this bout, at any rate, as I was able to spare his Reverence the cloak, a-haygur! the mild crathur!”

While my fellow traveller was thus talking, I had time to observe that the woman of the house was a cleanly-looking creature, with something of a sickly appearance.  An old gray-headed man sat in something between a chair and a stool, formed of one solid piece of ash, supported by three legs sloping outwards; the seat of it was quite smooth by long use, and a circular row of rungs, capped by a piece of semicircular wood, shaped to receive the reclining body of whoever might occupy it, rose from the seat in presumptuous imitation of an arm-chair.  There were two other chairs besides this, but the remainder of the seats were all stools.  The room was square, with a bed in each of the corners adjoining the fire, covered with blue drugget quilts, stoutly quilted; there was another room in which the travellers slept.  Opposite me on the wall was the appropriate picture of St. Patrick himself, with his crosier in hand, driving all kinds of venomous reptiles out of the kingdom.  The Hermit of Killamey was on his right, and the Yarmouth Tragedy, or the dolorious history of Jemmy and Nancy, two unfortunate lovers, on his left.  Such is the rigorous economy of a pilgrimage, and such is the circumstances of the greater part of those who undertake it, that it is to houses of this description the generality of them resort.  These “dry lodging” houses may not improperly be called Pilgrims’ Inns, a great number of them being opened only during the continuance of the three months in which the stations are performed.

Breakfast was now got ready, but it was evident that my two companions had not been taken into account; for there was “an equipage” only for one.  I inquired from my speaking partner if she and her fellow-traveller would not breakfast.  The only reply I received was a sorrowful shake of the head, and “Och, no, plaise your Reverence, no!” in quite an exhausted cadence.  On hearing this,