MEMORIES OF GLENAUGH. 115 



which a fortunate swain is occasionally placed 

 on the board between the damsels, enjoying 

 the enviable perplexity of Captain Macheath. 

 There is generally quite a cavalcade of com- 

 moner vehicles or ' butts,' in which a bundle 

 of clean straw, or perhaps a feather-bed, forms 

 a soft and convenient flooring for the travellers, 

 and in these they bump along, merrily ex- 

 changing greetings with each other; and for 

 all of them Uncle Joe has a pleasant word, 

 which is as cheerfully and heartily reciprocated. 

 When we come to the edge of Glenaugh de- 

 cline, the sound of the winter torrent flows up, 

 and with it the ding-dong of the bell from the 

 chapel of Arvine, that lies in a cup-like valley 

 surrounded with rocks and trees. 



As we near it the fall grows steeper, until it 

 is necessary to use great caution with a horse. 

 The view is more than pretty. We over- 

 take his reverence, Father O'Brien, on our 

 journey. The people respectfully salute him 

 as they pass on ; but few go by without a 

 friendly personal smile from the good priest, 

 who for over thirty years has watched the 

 Christian flock of this remote parish. I leave my 



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