"Plase your reverence, I just forgot how I want to lodge a complaint against Mike Connor; he is so contrary, and scrupulous, and suspicious."

"Well, be short, man, it's little I'm likely to do in settling your differences; but I always held Mike to be a decenter fellow nor yourself," says Father Flynn. "Well then," says Phil, "to make short of it, yer honour, I want Mike to rint of me a snug cabin, and a matter of two acres of good land, on a lease." "Well?"

"Mike is unreasonable, yer reverence, all out; he wants to see my title, to be sure it's good, and to examine all about the little property, which I take very unkind at his hand, seeing he has my word for it all."

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Why, man!" says the priest, who had a liking to Mike; "what's got into your head now? Do you suppose any but a natural would take your bare word in a matter where himself, his interest, and his comfort are all concerned? Go, give him the satisfaction he wants, and don't be setting yourself up in the place of law, justice, lease, and all."

But Phil did not move. "Plase yer reverence," says he, "I have the head landlord's authority to say that he executed the lease, putting me in possession of these premises, to let as I like; and why should any man stand doubting me, for want of proofs ?"

"Get along, sir," says Father Flynn to him again. "Produce your lease, show him the title, satisfy the honest man's mind that his own will be good, or else he's a fool if he has anything to say to you or your holding

it's what every tenant has a right to," says he again to us; "and ye know that, boys, very well."

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But what a change came over Phil! He stood as bold as a lion, and as brisk-looking as a kid; and never moving his eyes from the priest's face, that grew all scarlet and blue as he spoke, he said, 'Why, then, your reverence, will you plase show me your title to grant me an entrance into the kingdom of heaven; and satisfy me that if I take it at your hands I am safe in possession, let who may object to it?”

The priest was mad! He made as if he would close in upon him to chastise him; but Phil was a powerful fellow, and not to be trifled with. He stood on his guard firmly, but not disrespectfully, and so went on:

"It's but a cabin, sir, and a patch of ground, and the longest possession a man can have of it is but a few years. But in case he don't get it, there's scores of places just as good to the fore; or if he's turned out, he needn't want a shelter to go to; but the place that we're depending on your reverence to engage for us when we leave this world

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into my meaning about the everlasting habitation. I meant you no disrespect, sir; but a poor man's soul is precious, and I

| must have better warrant than the bare word of any living man before I hazard it for ever.

A few years ago we had a smart-looking shoe-shop opened in our neighbourhood. It appeared a respectable concern, and a good stock of boots and shoes were temptingly ticketed at the door and in the large bright window. All seemed to go on prosperously for a time; the master of the shop, a civil young man, was very attentive, and his articles gave general satisfaction. At length, however, he was to be seen but seldom, and a quiet-looking woman, who was his wife, took his place in the shop. It was evident too that the stock was lessening, for the customer found it no easy matter to get himself comfortably fitted.

Then the window was dirty and ill-arranged, and it was altogether uninviting. What had caused this change? "Is your husband ill?" was the general and reasonable question put to the wife. "Oh no, he is not ill, but-but-he is from home a good deal now," was her usual reply. He was indeed from home a good deal, but he had left that home to spend his days, and a great part of his nights too, at an ale-house. His poor wife did the best she could in the business, and many persons continued their custom from kindly feelings towards her. But she could not wholly supply her husband's place; and besides that, her poor children were of course obliged to be neglected, when

her time was taken up with other duties.

Some years passed on in this manner, and little notice was taken of the once smart shoeshop, except an occasional remark from some passer by, on its dirty and deserted appearance. But one morning the shutters were closed; and then, either from interest or curiosity, there was a general question as to the cause, and all sorts of reports were circulated. The truth was, the master of the shop was dead; he had died in the previous night. But how? Where did he die? He died drunk, at his own door!

At a little past midnight-his accustomed hour of return-his wife had answered his wellknown knock; and dear as he had once been to her, she could not help looking at him with feelings bordering on disgust, as he reeled into the house. It is impossible to do otherwise than shrink from even the dearest relatives when they are in such a condition, for there is something worse than beastly in their manners and appearance. The shoemaker had evidently taken more liquor than usual that night, and he was more than usual stupid and helpless. There were four or five steps from the outer door to the level of the shop, and he contrived to ascend them, though with great difficulty; but on reaching the top, he staggered,