“I’ll tell you what, Strong—–­by the great Boyne, I’d give a trifle to, see you get a smart touch of persecution in your own person; it might teach you a little more charity towards those who differ with you; but, upon my honor, if any change in our national parties should soon take place, and that the Papists should get the upper hand, I tell you to your teeth that if ever your fat libs should be tickled by the whip of persecution, they would render you great injustice who should do it for the sake of religion—­a commodity with which I see, from the spirit of your present sentiments, you are not over-burdened.  However, in the meantime, I daresay that whatever portion you possess of it, you will charitably expend in consoling his widow, as you say.  Good-morning!”

We must return, however, to the close of Smellpriest’s very sudden and premature departure from the scene of his cruel and merciless labors.  Having reached the strip already described to him by Mr. Strong, and to which he was guided by his men, he himself having been too far advanced in liquor to make out his way with any kind of certainty, he proceeded, still under their direction, to the cottage adjoining, which was immediately surrounded by the troopers.  After knocking at the door with violence, and demanding instant admittance, under the threat of smashing it in, and burning the house as a harbor for rebellious priests, the door was immediately opened by a gray-headed old man, feeble and decrepit in appearance, but yet without any manifestation of terror either in his voice or features.  He held a candle in his hand, and asked them, in a calm, composed voice, what it was they wanted, and why they thus came to disturb him and his family at such an unseasonable hour.

“Why, you treasonable old scoundrel,” shouted Smellpriest, “haven’t you got a rebel and recusant Popish priest in the house?  I say, you gray-headed old villain, turn him out on the instant, or, if you hesitate but half a minute, well make a bonfire of you, him, the house, and all that’s in it.  Zounds, I don’t see why I shouldn’t burn a house as well as Whitecraft.  That cursed baronet is getting ahead of me, but I think I am entitled to a bonfire as well as he is.  Shall we burn the house?” he added, addressing his men.

“I think you had better not, captain,” replied the principal of them; “recollect there are new regulations now.  It wouldn’t be safe, and might only end in hanging every man of us—­yourself among the rest.”

“But why doesn’t the old rebel produce the priest?” asked their leader.  “Come here, sirra—­hear me—­produce that lurking priest immediately.”

“I don’t exactly understand you, captain,” replied the old man, who appeared to know Smellpriest right well.  “I don’t think it’s to my house you should come to look for a priest.”

“Why not, you villain?  I have been directed here, and told that I would find my game under your roof.”