OUR FIRST SUNDAY. 45 



and a Protestant Church was for the like reason in 

 Connemara eh, Major?" 



" Q. E. D. ! By Jove, Ward, you are a marvel!" 



"By the way, Hope," I said, "what of Agnes? 

 Have you heard of her lately ? She was rigid enough." 



" Oh ! yes, she is in a convent at Eouen ; the poor 

 nuns will hardly find her to be a sister of mercy." 



" Come, come, you two," the Major said ; "do he 

 decently charitable even to monks and acrid maids. 

 Protestants are not always guileless." 



" I trow not," replied Ward. "Even stupid Pro- 

 testants may show much cunning, and quite hold 

 their own in the great scramble for place and pence, 

 which is pompously called the battle of life." 



"I do declare, Ward, you are a perfect cynic this 

 quiet Sunday evening, and that grave Abbott aiding 

 and abetting you; it is not a pleasant feeling, 

 surely." 



"Well," said Ward, "I do allow that thought of 

 trickery or meanness does put my back up, be it 

 policy or Popery : and, my good fellow, you first put 

 the truck on the rails." 



" Then I confess also, confiteor mea culpa ; shall 

 we go to bed ? " 



