Peal after peal of laughter followed the priest’s encomium on the doctor’s regiment; and, indeed, he himself joined most heartily in the mirth, as he might well afford to do, seeing that a braver or better corps than the North Cork, Ireland did not possess.

“Well,” said Fin, “it’s easy to see ye never can forget what they did at Maynooth.”

Father Malachi disclaimed all personal feeling on the subject; and I was at last gratified by the following narrative, which I regret deeply I am not enabled to give in the doctor’s own verbiage; but writing as I do from memory, (in most instances,) I can only convey the substance: 

It was towards the latter end of the year ’98—­the year of the troubles —­that the North Cork was ordered, “for their sins” I believe, to march from their snug quarters in Fermoy, and take up a position in the town of Maynooth—­a very considerable reverse of fortune to a set of gentlemen extremely addicted to dining out, and living at large upon a very pleasant neighbourhood.  Fermoy abounded in gentry; Maynooth at that, time had few, if any, excepting his Grace of Leinster, and he lived very privately, and saw no company.  Maynooth was stupid and dull—­there were neither belles nor balls; Fermoy (to use the doctor’s well remembered words) had “great feeding,” and “very genteel young ladies, that carried their handkerchiefs in bags, and danced with the officers.”

They had not been many weeks in their new quarters, when they began to pine over their altered fortunes, and it was with a sense of delight, which a few months before would have been incomprehensible to them, they discovered, that one of their officers had a brother, a young priest in the college:  he introduced him to some of his confreres, and the natural result followed.  A visiting acquaintance began between the regiment and such of the members of the college as had liberty to leave the precincts:  who, as time ripened the acquaintance into intimacy, very naturally preferred the cuisine of the North Cork to the meagre fare of “the refectory.”  At last seldom a day went by, without one or two of their reverences finding themselves guests at the mess.  The North Corkians were of a most hospitable turn, and the fathers were determined the virtue should not rust for want of being exercised; they would just drop in to say a word to “Captain O’Flaherty about leave to shoot in the demesne,” as Carton was styled; or, they had a “frank from the Duke for the Colonel,” or some other equally pressing reason; and they would contrive to be caught in the middle of a very droll story just as the “roast beef” was playing.  Very little entreaty then sufficed—­a short apology for the “dereglements” of dress, and a few minutes more found them seated at table without further ceremony on either side.