“Surely,” said his reverence to one Hannohan, whose eight horses were seized, and who had used some violence in defending his property, “surely the law will not sanction such barefaced plunder.  I am witness myself of the cruelty to which many of you have been subjected by these villanous contractors.  I know the decision of the law will be in your favor.”

“Law!” said poor Hannohan.  “God help us if we have to look to law for justice; go to law with Old Nick, and the court held in the low countries!  Besides, we are going to be attacked and butchered in our beds by night.  You know Mr. Lofin’s men are all up and armed every night, firing rounds, and shouting till our wives and children are almost scared to death.”

“What can I do?” said the priest.  “You know I have been censured before for interfering when some of the men were on a strike for higher wages; and I can’t expect to have any influence with such men as you have to deal with.  They are a lawless and hardened set of knaves.”

“God help us, then, your reverence,” said Hannohan; “I and my family may as well go into the poorhouse or starve, if you can’t influence that Mr. Lofin, who is a Catholic, to let me have my eight horses and carts, for I owe him not one single cent.”

“He may call himself a Catholic, Mike,” said Father Ugo; “but he cannot be a Catholic, or even a believer in God’s justice, if he is guilty of all those villanies which are laid to his charge.  It would be no use for me to speak to such an abandoned scoundrel and robber as, by all accounts, he is.”

Poor Hannohan got the benefit of law, which resulted in his losing his eight horses and carts:  a warrant was issued for his capture, for threatening the robbers of his property with chastisement.  He was taken in a few days, and lodged in prison, where he died in a fortnight of the injuries inflicted on him by the drunken constables, who succeeded in arresting him after a two days’ chase through the woods.  No doubt the good Catholic, Mr. Lofin, rested quiet when he heard of the death of this formidable opponent.  And I suppose, by way of appeasing the public indignation,—­for I do not think he had any dread of the anger of Heaven,—­his name appeared, a few days after, at the head of a list of subscriptions for the support of an orphanage in the city.  And well he might spend a little of his profits in charitable objects, for he and his partners had, by the late manoeuvre got up under Lofin’s auspices, saved not less than five thousand nine hundred dollars’ worth of property in horses, carts, harness, and shanties!  We have heard of robbers in Italy and Spain, who, after they rob and murder the rich, are very liberal to the poor, although, like your railroad-contract robber the poor Italian brigand has not the chance of having his name published in the newspapers, or read out from the pulpit, as a good, charitable, and humane gentleman.  Of the two charities, I think that of the obscure brigand is the most worthy and laudable.