and, in reply to his renewed inquiries, a serious coachman offered up to the vengeance of this Moloch of methodism the mischievous postilion, who had that morning detected the not always sober son of the whip in other devotions than those to which he professed exclusive addiction.  When I saw the rage of all parties, I thought of the roasted Indians of the Brazils, and shuddered for the poor lad.  After a short, but inquisitorial examination, in which he in vain endeavoured to throw the blame on me, he was stripped of his gaudy dress, and in spite of his well-founded protestations of innocence, turned almost naked from the house.  When peace was restored, a hymn was sung as an exorcism of the evil spirit that had gotten among the assembly; when, being determined to exculpate the poor postilion, I joined with all my force in the chorus, with my Catholic “Gloria in excelsis,” which I abruptly changed into “Polly put the kettle on.”  Thus taken in the fact, I was, without ceremony, denounced as an emissary from Clongowes, brought to Sourcraut Hall by the Papist O’Gallagher, with a forged letter, to disturb the community.  I was immediately cross-examined by a religious attorney, as if I had been a white-boy or a ribbon-man.  “Come forward,” he said, “you bird of satan!—­speak out, and answer for yourself, for its yourself can do it, you egg of the devil!  What brought you here?” I answered, “It was all for my sweet sowl’s sake, jewel!”—­and the answer decided my fate, without more to do.  And now loaded with all the reproaches that the odium theologicum could suggest, I was cuffed, hunted, and finally driven out of the gates by the serious coachman, to perish on the highway.  On recovering from my fright, I found myself at the edge of a dry ditch, where the poor shivering postilion sat lamenting his martyrdom.  I went up to him, cowering and chattering; and at the sight of me the tears dried on his dirty cheeks—­his sobs changed to a laugh of delight; and when I hopped on his wrist, and cried “Poor Pat,” all his sufferings were forgotten.  While thus occupied, a little carriage, drawn by a superb horse, with the reins thrown loose on his beautiful neck, ascended the hill.  At the sight I screamed out “Get along out of that!” which so frightened the high-blooded creature that he started, and flung the two persons in the carriage fairly into the middle of the road.  One of them, in a military dress, sprung at once on his feet, and laying the whip across the naked shoulders of the postilion, exclaimed, “I’ll teach you, you little villain, to break people’s necks.”  “Oh! murther! murther!” cried the poor boy, “shure, it was not me, plase your honour, only the parrot, Captain.”  “What parrot, you lying rascal?” “There, Captain, Sir, look forenenst you.”  The captain did look up, and saw me perched on the branch of a scrubby hawthorn-tree.  Surprised and amused, he exclaimed, “By Jove! how odd!  What a magnificent bird!  Why Poll, what the deuce brought you here?”