1831 .] the Elections and Prospects of Ireland. 631 



it as much as to say that Prince Hohenlo has wrought some blessed 

 miracle upon the country ; and, like Aaron's rod, that made five gallons 

 of raal poteen run down like water from the top of a big rock, when a 

 whole heap of poor Catholics were famishing below, that I'm after 

 pointing the tip of my little finger at the king, and the queen, and the 

 cabinet council, and making them overflow with plenty and lashins* of 

 the best of every thing ? Sure you wouldn't believe it, only you see it. 

 Then I'll tell you what it is. The Millenium's come. May be you 

 don't know what the Millenium is ? Hard for you, my dear children, 

 when beef is fourpence-halfpenny a pound, and you can't get better 

 vegetables than the tops of the potatoes. How could you tell the Millenium 

 from any other common Sunday in the year ? But never mind going 

 too deep into it. It's not for the likes of you to be bothering yourselves 

 with such abtruse mathematics as that. 



Well, now that the General Election's come, and that the Millenium 

 is upon us, Lord save us, before we know where we are, just like Mrs. 

 Hagarty's christenings, every nine months oh ! I see you, Bryan, you 

 needn't be trying to duck your head behind Tim Fanahy are my boots 

 done yet? To be sure they're not. Where do you expect to go when 

 you die ? To purgatory of course. Troth, if you don't send me home 

 the same boots before breakfast to-morrow morning, I'll write off about 

 you to night, and make them keep the door barred and bolted for your 

 sake.] I say now is the time for you all, boys honey, to shew yourselves 

 men. Stand up for your rights, and remember that there isn't one of 

 you that may not, one day or another, have a monument of real marble 

 with your name upon it in letters of gold. Think of that, Myles Rielly, 

 with your one eye, and hould up your head like a pathriot. 



I've just got a letter from the Pope, in which his Holiness expressly 

 desires me in Latin to hould a jubilee when the election s over, and to give 

 an indulgence for a year and a day to every one of you that votes for 

 Reform. And never fear but I'll do it, and welcome ; and if the bit of 

 paper happens to be worn out in the red waistcoats of you before the 

 year is fairly over, sure if you behave yourselves I might give you another 

 bit of paper that'd carry you on through the winter after next, so that 

 the world 'd be wondering at the good luck you'd have. But in regard 

 to the Reform, I'll tell you what that is before I go any further. 



Come over, Luke Mulloney, 'till I have a bit of goster with you. 

 What do you call that dirty looking thing like a shoeing horn, you've 

 got between your finger and thumb, as if you were afraid it'ud burn 

 you ? Spake up that the congregation may hear you. 



Luke. This, your reverence ? 



Father Murphy. You're mighty 'cute at a guess, Luke : that's 

 exactly what I mean. 



Luke. Musha ! Sure it's my ould caubeen,t your reverence. 

 , Father Murphy. And what's become of the crown of it, Luke ? 



Lule. Is it the kiver you're meaning-? Troth then, your reverence, 

 that's more than myself could till you. It's many a long day since the 

 kiver and I parted company, and never a saw I saw it since. 



Father Murphy. And what's the use of it upon the head of ye, Luke, 

 when it won't keep out the wet ? 



* The hyperbole of abundance. t Hat. 



