Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 786 pages of information about Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent.

“Fabula, why, a fibula for your fabula, man alive.  What is your new fangled creed, but a fabula from the beginning?”

“And are you yourself not a hireling in every sense of the word?  Do you not make merchandise of the crimes and ignorance of your people?”

“Make merchandise!  This from you who take away a tenth part of the poor man’s labor without the consciousness of even professing his creed?”

“Do you ever worship the Lord aright, or address him in any language which the people can understand?”

“And do you ever seek salvation with half the zeal displayed when you lay your keen nostril to the trail of a fresh benefice or a fat mitre.  Do you not, most of you, think more of your hounds and kennels, than you do of either your churches or your flocks?”

Mr. Lucre at length pulled up his horse and fixing his eyes on Father M’Cabe, inquired why he should have fastened upon him in so offensive a manner; and Mr. M’Cabe pulling up the hack we spoke of, fixed a pair of fiery orbs on him in return, and replied—­

“I haven’t done with you yet, my worthy parson.  You needn’t scowl, I say, for if you had as many chins upon you as there are articles in your creed, I wouldn’t be prevented from bringing you to an account for interfering with my flock.”

“Rude and wretched man, how?”

“By attempting to pervert Darby O’Drive, the bailiff, and seduce him over to your heresies.”

“I would bring him over from his idolatry and superstition.  But why do you, sir, tamper with a man—­named—­named—­let me see—­Bob—­Bob Beatty, I think, who belongs to my congregation?”

“Simply because I wish to bring him over from a false church to the true one.”

“It appears that because this simple person has been afflicted with epilepsy, you have attempted, through some pious juggling or other, to effect his cure, by enjoining him not to enter a church door or eat swine’s flesh during his life.  Are you not ashamed, sir, of such ungodly frauds as this?”

“Swine’s flesh!  Call it bacon, man alive, like a man.  Yes, and I tell you moreover, that I have cured him—­and with a blessing shall cure him better still, if that is any consolation to you.  From being a purple Orangeman, I have him now hard at work every day at his Padderheen Partha.  But I now caution you not to unsettle the religious principles of Darby O’Drive, the bailiff.”

“Why, sir, the man has no religious opinion, nor ever had; thanks to Mr. M’Cabe.”

“And I’m bound to say, that such a thickheaded villian in religious matters as Bob Beatty I never met.  God knows I had a sore handful of him.  So, now remember my caution, and good bye to you; I think you’ll know me again when you meet me.”

Lucre gave him a haughty scowl ere the priest turned off a bridle road, but made no other reply—­not even by inclining his head to him; but, indeed, it was hardly to be expected that he should.

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Valentine M'Clutchy, The Irish Agent from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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