510 On Priests in general, and j^Nor. 



as easy upon his hunkers as if he was sitinpf down to praties and butter- 

 milk. He was no more hurt than I am. And why ? Don't 3'ou see the 

 rason forenint, you ? He was one of the true church, and there wasn't 

 a hair of his head put out of joint. But I haven't done with the story 

 yet. — (Where are you going, Paudgeen Daly .'' Is them the manners I 

 taught you, just to come in for a mouthful of larning, and go off again 

 without saying, ' By your leave !' or, ' What '11 you take }' It's the 

 bad thing you're doing, Paudgeen.) — When the Protestant was kilt, as I 

 tould you, nothing would satisfy him but that he should go, just as he 

 was, without waiting for the wake, up to St. Peter ; for he thought that 

 there was no end to his grandeur, and that St. Peter was one of his own 

 kidney, and must immediately open the gould gates for him. But you 

 see there's an end to the Protestant the minute he dies ; he hasn't a rood 

 of ground, not as big as Phelim White's cabbage-garden, in that beautiful 

 place which entirely belongs to the Catholics. There you never hear of 

 such doings as rack-rents and distress ; we have it all our own way there : 

 and why not, since they won't let us have any way here .'' When the Pro- 

 testant got up to the gate, with his face all cut, and his caubeen broke, 

 and his skreeds as dirty as if he was rolling the whole day in the mud, 

 — ' Open the door !' says he to St. Peter, who was sitting at his ease, 

 reading a book. — ' For what,' says St. Peter, ' should I open the door ?' 

 — ' Don't keep me standing in the cold here !' says the other, ' but open 

 it immediately.' — ' It's lately come to you,' says St. Peter, ' to teach me 

 my business ! Who are you ?' — ' Don't you know me }' says the Pro- 

 testant builder. — ' Know you !' says St. Peter ; ' I don't think that the 

 mother that owns you would know you with that ugly face upon you.' — 

 ' I am the Protestant builder,' says the other. — ' I'm glad you told me 

 that !' says St. Peter ; and with that he whips out a shileelagh that he 

 had behind him, and, with one crack of it upon his crown, sent him down 

 two thousand miles inside the walls of hell. — ' Put that in your pipe, 

 and smoke it !' said St. Peter ; and he went back to finish the book he 

 was reading, which was Friar Haye's Sarmons. The never a more was 

 the Protestant builder heard of; for you know, boys, that the divil is no 

 chicken, at this time of day, to let him out. The next day, the Prasby- 

 tarian thought that he should go to heaven direct, and just went up to 

 St. Peter in the same manner. St. Peter this time was pulling on his 

 boots. — ' Well, what are you ?' says St. Peter, as civil as you please. — 

 ' I am the Prasbytarian carpenter, that died this morning,' says the other. 

 That was enough : it would do your hearts good to see St. Peter lifting 

 up his leg, and giving him a kick Avith his big boot, that sent him, like a 

 snipe with a slug under his wing, tumbling over and ovei", down through 

 the air. — ' Stop,' says St. Peter, as he was half-waj^ down : ' I give yon 

 leave,' says he, ' to call at Purgatory on your way, in regard of your 

 not being so impudent as the Protestant.' — (Did you pickle the cabbage 

 yet, ]\lrs. Delany .'' Indeed, you have the neatest little pantry in the 

 whole parish. — Phil, Phil ! what are you saying to Peggy in the 

 corner there ? You'll come to no good yourself, Phil. You're one of 

 the clear-skinned family ; for I can read the gallows in your face.) — A 

 great many years after these things took place, the humble Catholic hod- 

 man died : and there was a dacent laying-out, and plenty of eating and 

 drinking, and a hearty welcome for the neighbours. But you see he 

 wouldn't go up to St. Peter imtil he had the last rites of the church, and 

 until he got a new suit of clothes and a night-cap for the occasion. Then 

 he went up as genteel as any gentleman in the land. St. Peter was 



