The Argosy — page 346: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

330 ‘“‘ Kithings for hts Reverence.” Mr. St. John, uneasily glancing over his shoulder at the hedges they were passing. “ Yes, to be sure,” replied his friend, nonchalantly; “ but it has its comical side. There’s a flourishing Orange Lodge in the parish, very strict as to the members it admits. We have a widow in the village with two sons. She is a Church woman, but her husband, long dead, was a Roman Catholic, and thus it was that the sons were baptised by the priest. The father intended them to be brought up in his own faith, but he died, and then the mother made Protestants of them. Last week one of these boys, aged eighteen, asked a neighbour to propose him at the Lodge, but as he had been baptised a Roman Catholic they would not admit him. When this grievous answer was taken to him, he burst out crying, and turning to his mother said reproachfully, ‘Mother, what made you marry a Papist ?’ Not bad, eh ?” No reply ; and the Rector perceived that his friend had not listened to one word of his anecdote. ‘I say, Williamson, is not this a very lonely road ?” he asked timidly. It was a lonely road. They had reached a stretch of bog—cold and black, wth inky pools every here and there, and bleak stone walls along the road—no hedges, no furze bushes; not a single human being was in sight. Stop! There was one human head visible! Mr. Williamson spied a battered old hat well known to him topping the wall pre- cisely in the spot he expected to see it, and he drove more slowly. “It is a ticklish place, St. John, old fellow,” he said thoughtfully ; ‘just the place for an outrage.” No sooner were the words out of his lips than there was a shot fired, succeeded by a wild yell, and the Rector, with every appearance of lively alarm, plied his whip, and made his old horse rattle along the road. ‘© What was that?” asked poor Mr. St. John, pale as death, when they drew rein near the railway station. “ Well, my good fellow,” replied the waggish Rector, with preter- natural gravity, “it seems fated that you were not to leave Ireland without taking part in an outrage.” * Do you mean to-say that you were fired at ?” It would seem so, for you are a stranger, St. John; the ruffians cannot bear you any ill-will.” “ What will you do? Go to the nearest police barrack, and swear information at once? Ah, there is my train—so sorry I cannot go with you and see you through this unpleasant business, but my wife expects me—she is already very anxious—opposed my coming to Ireland ; in short, the consequences to her would be disastrous if I did not turn up Mr. Williamson, struggling for gravity, assured him that he could not be so selfish as to keep him from his wife ; that her anxiety must CORNICE LOOKS (GO) i