Covenanter, softened by a century's residence abroad, amid persecution and trial, wedded to the comic humor and pathos of the Irish, and then grown wild in the woods among their own New England mountains.
There never existed a people at once so jovial and so religious.
This volume could be filled with a collection of their religious repartees and pious jokes.
It was Pat. Larkin, a Scotch-Irishman, near Londonderry, who, when he was accused of being a Catholic, because his parents were Catholics, replied: If a man happened to be born in a stable, would that make him a horse?
and he won his bride by that timely spark.
Quaint, bold, and witty were the old Scotch-Irish clergymen, the men of the siege, as mighty with carnal weapons as with spiritual.
There was no taint of the sanctimonious In their rough, honest, and healthy natures.
During the old French war, it is related, a British officer, in a peculiarly stunning uniform, came one Sunday morning to the Londonderry Meeting H
s suggestion for Ireland's deliverance from the pall of ignorance that overspreads it:—Let the Catholic Bishops unite in an earnest and potential call for teachers, and they can summon thousands and tens of thousands of capable and qualified persons from convents, from seminaries, from cloisters, from drawing-rooms, even from foreign lands if need be, to devote their time and efforts to the work without earthly recompense or any stipulation save for a bare subsistence, which the less needy Catholics, or even the more liberal Protestants, in every parish, would gladly proffer them.
Perfectly practicable—perfectly impossible!
The following is the only incident of his Irish tour that space can be found for here:— Walking with a friend through one of the back streets of Galway beside the outlet of the Lakes, I came where a girl of ten years old was breaking up hard brook pebbles into suitable fragments to mend.
We halted, and M. asked her how much she received for that l<