I dare say it would be difficult to find a more motley and diversified company than sat down to the ungarnished fare which Katty laid before them.  There were first Fathers Philemy, Con, and the Auxiliary from the far part of the diocese; next followed Captain Wilson, Peter Malone, and Father Philemy’s two nephews; after these came Phaddhy himself, Parrah More Slevin, with about two dozen more of the most remarkable and uncouth personages that could sit down to table.  There were besides about a dozen of females, most of whom by this time, owing to Katty’s private kindness, were in a placid state of feeling.  Father Philemy ex officio, filled the chair—­he was a small man with cherub cheeks as red as roses, black twinkling eyes, and double chin; was of the fat-headed genus, and, if phrenologists be correct, must have given indications of early piety, for he was bald before his time, and had the organ of veneration standing visible on his crown; his hair from having once been black, had become an iron gray, and hung down behind his ears, resting on the collar of his coat according to the old school, to which, I must remark, he belonged, having been educated on the Continent.  His coat had large double breasts, the lappels of which hung down loosely on each side, being the prototype of his waistcoat, whose double breasts fell downwards in the same manner—­his black small-clothes had silver buckles at the knees, and the gaiters, which did not reach up so far, discovered a pair of white lamb’s-wool stockings, somewhat retreating from their original color.

Father Con was a tall, muscular, able-bodied young man, with an immensely broad pair of shoulders, of which he was vain; his black hair was cropped close, except a thin portion of it which was trimmed quite evenly across his eyebrows; he was rather bow-limbed, and when walking looked upwards, holding out his elbows from his body, and letting the lower parts of his arms fall down, so that he went as if he carried a keg under each; his coat, though not well made, was of the best glossy broadcloth—­and his long clerical boots went up about his knees like a dragoon’s; there was an awkward stiffness about him, in very good keeping with a dark melancholy cast of countenance, in which, however, a man might discover an air of simplicity not to be found in the visage of his superior Father Philemy.

The latter gentleman filled the chair, as I said, and carved the goose; on his right sat Captain Wilson; on his left, the auxiliary—­next to them Father Con, the nephews, Peter Malone, et cetera.  To enumerate the items of the dinner is unnecessary, as our readers have a pretty accurate notion of them from what we have already said.  We can only observe, that when Phaddhy saw it laid, and all the wheels of the system fairly set agoing, he looked at Parrah More with an air of triumph which he could not conceal.  It is also unnecessary for us to give the conversation in full; nor, indeed, would we attempt giving any portion of it, except for the purpose of showing the spirit in which a religious ceremony such as it is, is too frequently closed.