my best for you,' he would be saying. And I would be giving them."
"You are saved fifteen guineas by being in England, then," said I, "for they don't do that here. And I am thinking you are traducing your clergy, you vagabond."
"Traducing?" said he. "That would mean giving them money. Aye, I was doing it often. One year I gave three silver shillings."
"You 're wrong," said I. "By 'traducing' I mean speaking ill of your priest."
"'Speaking ill of my priest'?" cried Paddy, gasping with amazement. "Sure, my own mother never heard a word out of me!"
"However," said I, "we will be talking of other things. The English land seems good."
Paddy cast his eye over the rainy landscape. "I am seeing no turf for cutting," he remarked disapprovingly, and the potatoes would not be growing well here. 'T is a barren country."
At nightfall we came to a little inn which was ablaze with light and ringing with exuberant cries. We gave up our horses and entered. To the left was the closed door of the taproom, which now seemed to furnish all the noise. I asked the landlord to tell me the cause of the excitement.
"Sir," he answered, I am greatly honoured to-night. Mr. O'Ruddy, the celebrated Irish swordsman, is within, recounting a history of his marvellous exploits."
"Indeed!" said I.
"Bedad!" said Paddy.
