“Who else, Darby?”
“Put down Charley Casey, sir; and if you take my advice, you'll set in at the convarsion of him while his famine lasts—otherwise, he's a bitter idolapher as ever welted an Orangeman; but against that, he has the stomach o' three men—and the best time to come at him wid the gospel is the present. Bait it wid a flitch of bacon on the one side, and a collop o' fresh meat on the other, now before the praties comes in, and you're sure of him.”
“Any others, Dairby?—but, indeed, as far as we have gone yet, the cases appear to me to be difficult ones. However, there is joy in heaven, Darby, over one sinner—and surely the greater the sin the greater the joy and the triumph. Any others?”
“Mark down Molly Crudden, sir—she would be a glorious catch if a word in saison could fasten on her. She goes by the name of Funny Eye. The poor woman is mother to a large family of childre, sir; and the worst of it is, that no two o' them goies by the same name. It would be a proud day that we could make sure of her, especially as Father Roche and Mr. M'Cabe, his curate, were obliged to give her up, and forbid her the parish; but Funny Eye only winks and laughs at them and the world. She's the last, sir—but I'll be on the look out, God willin', for a few more desperate cases to crown our victory over the dev—ahem! over Satan and the priests.”
“Well, then, let me see you, as I said, the day after to-morrow, and in the mean time—peace, and joy, and victory be with you!”
“The same to you, sir, and many of them! Amin—I pray the sweet queen o' heaven this day!”
“Darby,” said M'Slime, who looked upon his mingling up religious expressions peculiar to his class as a proof of his sincerity—“Darby,” said he in a low, condensed, and collected voice—“I said I had the execution of a commission to entrust to you.”
“But, sir,” said Darby, whose ears, could they have shaped themselves according to his wishes, would have ran into points in order to hear with more acuteness—“Sir,” said he, “I doubt I'm not worthy of such a trust.”
“Perfectly worthy, Darby,” continued Solomon, “if I did not think so I would not employ you—I have engaged another person to prepare, as it were, the way for you; but the truth is, it would never do to allow that person and the young person of whom you are going to take charge to be seen together. Evil constructions would most assuredly be put on innocent actions, Darby, as they often are; and for this reason it is that I have partly changed my mind, and will entrust one-half the commission I speak of to you.” As if, however, he feared that the very walls might justify the old proverb by proving that they had ears, he stood up and whispered a short, but apparently most interesting communication to Darby, who appeared to listen to a tale that was calculated rather to excite admiration than any other feeling. And we have little doubt, indeed, that the tale in question was given as illustrating the exertion of as pure an instance of Christian compassion and benevolence as ever was manifested in the secret depths of that true piety which shuns the light; for Darby's journey was most assuredly to be made in the dark and still hours of the night. On opening the door a party of three or four clients were about to knock, but having given them admission he went away at rather a brisk, if not a hasty pace.
Darby having concluded this interview was proceeding, not exactly in the direction of M'Clutchy's, but as the reader shall soon hear, to a very different person, no other than the Rev. Phineas Lucre, D.D., Rector of the Parish of Castle Cumber; a living at that time worth about eighteen hundred a year.