212 A YEAR OF LIBERTY ; OR, 



the vain hope of cooling his blistered and bleeding feet. The poor 

 father was evidently an admirer of nature, for slung over his broad 

 shoulders was a large old-fashioned glass, which soon brought us 

 into the most friendly relations. " Maybe the lady would like to 

 look at the say and the islands beyant ? Ah ! well ; perhaps you 

 would lake it," offering me the rejected telescope, and adjusting his 

 own particular focus with great care ; in fact, the worthy divine was 

 dying for a chat, and an excuse to pause on the stony road to repen- 

 tance. I found him the most kindly and simple of human beings. 

 He informed me he had left his cure for a few days' change, and 

 fancied that the air, scenery, and devotional exercises on the summit 

 of the Eeek were likely to produce an equally sanitary effect on body 

 and soul. In half an hour we became great friends. " Ask him to 

 dinner," whispered Madame, who was evidently much taken with 

 him. On inquiry, I found that his religious duties would be over in 

 half an hour, and that his way lay through Westport, so I plucked 

 up courage and begged the favour of his company ; this he kindly 

 promised, and I am bound to say I have seldom spent a more 

 pleasant evening. The day had been a long one, but was not yet 

 over. After we had seen the good priest mount his car and trot 

 slowly away, we started for Newport, whither Willie under the 

 special care of his sister had been sent on some hours previously to 

 obtain a lodging which we once before occupied when fishing this 

 district. A quarter of a mile outside the little town, which poor 

 Maxwell calls ''the ultima thule of civilised Europe," I found my 

 faithful comrade seated on a turf bank patiently waiting my arrival. 



" Where have you left Mary ?" 



" Up in the big house, sir." 



" What house ? Have you not taken the one we had before ?" 



"No. The new curate has took it for six months certain ;" and 

 then, in a stage whisper to his mistress, " the drawing-room, mum, 

 is as big as a church and as empty as a bara," and Mary says, 

 " you'll be lost in it intirely." 



