"  It's  a  lovely  evening,  Major  Yeates,"  she  called
out.  "I'm  just  going  to  the  island  to  get  some
water  from  the  holy  well  for  me  daughter  that
has  an  impression  on  her  chest.  Indeed,  I  thought
'twas  yourself  was  singing  a  song  for  Mrs.  Yeates
when  I  heard  you  coming,  but  sure  Slipper  is  a
great  warrant  himself  for  singing."

"May  the  divil  crack  the  two  legs  undher
ye ! "  bawled  Slipper  in  acknowledgment  of  the
compliment.
Mrs.  Canty  laughed  genially,  and  her  boat  lum-
bered away.
I  shoved  Slipper  ashore  at  the  nearest  point ;
Philippa  and  I  paddled  to  the  end  of  the  lake,
and  abandoning  the  duck  as  a  bad  business,  walked
home.
A  few  days  afterwards  it  happened  that  it  was
incumbent  upon  me  to  attend  the  funeral  of  the
Roman  Catholic  Bishop  of  the  diocese.  It  was
what  is  called  in  France  "  nn  bcl  eiiterrement,"
with  inky  flocks  of  tall-hatted  priests,  and  count-
less yards  of  white  scarves,  and  a  repast  of
monumental  solidity  at  the  Bishop's  residence.
The  actual  interment  was  to  take  place  in  Cork,


2o2     Borne  Experiences  of  an  Irish

and  we  moved  in  long  and  imposing  procession
to  the  railway  station,  where  a  special  train
awaited  the  cortege.  My  friend  Mr.  James  Canty
was  among  the  mourners  :  an  important  and
active  personage,  exchanging  condolences  with  the
priests,  giving  directions  to  porters,  and  blowing
his  nose  with  a  trumpeting  mournfulness  that
penetrated  all  the  other  noises  of  the  platform.
He  was  condescending  enough  to  notice  my
presence,  and  found  time  to  tell  me  that  he  had
given  Mr.  Murray  "a  sure  word"  with  regard
to  some  of  "  the  wreckage  " — this  with  deep  signifi-
cance, and  a  wink  of  an  inflamed  and  tearful  eye.
