For one reason or another, the great events to which our little history is tending were again and again, until at last the Monday within the Octave of Corpus Christi was chosen for the marriage of Bittra Campion and the launch of the great fishing-boat, that was to bring wealth to Kilronan. Meanwhile our were not permitted to , for we had a glorious procession on the great Fête-Dieu, organized, of course, and carried on to complete success by the and inventive of my young curate. My own timidity, and of offending Protestant susceptibilities—a timidity, I suppose, inherited from the days—would have limited that procession to the narrow confines of the yard; but the larger and more trusting faith of Father Letheby leaped over such , and the procession wound through the little village, down to the sheer cliffs that overhang the sea, along the narrow that cuts the turf on the summit of the rocks, around the old mill, now the new factory, and back by the main road skirting the and meadowland, to the village church again. It would be quite useless to inquire how or where Father Letheby managed to get those silken banners, and that glittering processional cross, or the gorgeous . I, who share with the majority of my countrymen the national contempt for minutiæ and details, would have at once dogmatically declared the impossibility of securing such beautiful things in such a pre-Adamite, out-of-the-way village as Kilronan. But Father Letheby, who knows no such word as impossibility, in some quiet way—the of a strong character—contrives to bring these unimaginable things out of the region of into the realms of fact; and I can only stare and wonder. But the whole thing was a great and unexampled success; and, whilst my own heart was under the influence of the sweet of the children, and the golden radiance of June sunlight, and the sparkling of the sea, and the thought that I held the Lord and Master of all between my hands, my fancy would go back to that lake on whose waters the Lord did walk, and from whose shores He selected the future teachers of the world. The lake calm in the sunlight, the fish gleaming in the nets, the half-naked Apostles bending over the gunwales of their boats to drag in the nets, the stately, grave figure of our Lord, the wondering women who gazed on Him afar off with fear and love—all came up before my fancy, that only came back to reality when I touched the shoulders of Reginald Ormsby and the doctor, who, with two rough fishermen, belonging to the Third Order of St. Francis, held the poles of the canopy. They manifested great piety and love and all the way. Ormsby had brought over all his coast-guards except the two that were on duty at the station, and they formed a noble guard of honor around the canopy; and it was difficult to say which was the more beautiful and picturesque—the demonstrative love of the peasant women, who flung up their hands in a paroxysm of devotion, whilst they murmured in the soft Gaelic: "Ten thousand, thousand thanks to you, O white and ruddy !" or the calm, deep, silent tenderness of these rough men, whose faces were red and tanned and bronzed from the action of sun and sea. And the little children, who were not in the procession, peeped out shyly from beneath their mothers' cloaks, and their round, wondering eyes rested on the white Host, who in His undying words had once said: "Suffer little children to come unto me!" Let no one say that our poor Irish do not grasp the meaning of this central mystery of our faith! It is true that their senses are touched by more visible things; but whoever understands our people will agree with me that no great theologian in his study, no philosopher in his rostrum, no sacred in her , realizes more distinctly the awful meaning of that continued miracle of love and mercy that is enshrined on our altars, and named Emmanuel.  
But all things come around, sooner or later, in their courses, and Monday dawned, fair and sunny and beautiful, as befitted the events that were to take place. There was a light summer on sea and land; and just a of a breeze blown down as a message from the inhospitable hills. Father Letheby said early Mass at eight o'clock; and at half-past nine, the hour for the Mass, there was no or in the little chapel. Of course, the front seats were reserved for the , who, in spite of an academical dislike to Ormsby's , gathered to witness this Catholic marriage, as a rare thing in Ireland, at least amongst their own class. But behind them, and I should say in unpleasant (for the peasantry do not carry handkerchiefs with White Rose or Jockey Club,—only the odor of the peat and the bogwood), surged a vast crowd of men and women, on whose lips and in whose hearts was a prayer for her who was entering on the change in her sweet and life. And young Patsies and Willies and Jameses were locked by their legs around their brothers' necks, and trying to keep down and for further use that Irish cheer or yell, that from Dargai to Mandalay is well known as the war-whoop of the race . I presume that I was an object of curiosity myself, as I awaited in alb and stole the coming of the bridal party. Then the curiosity passed on to Ormsby, who, accompanied by Dr. Armstrong, stood and stately before the altar-rails; then, of course, to the bride, who, accompanied by her father, and followed by a of fair children, drew down a rose-shower of from the enthusiastic congregation. Did it rest there? , no! Bridegroom and bride, parish priest and curate, were out of the interested vision of the spectators; and, concentrated with absorbing , the hundreds of eyes rested on the snowy cap and the spotless streamers of Mrs. Darcy. It was the great event of the day—the of civilization in Kilronan! had been won and lost over it; one or two pitched battles had been fought with pewter weapons at Mrs. Haley's; had been written on it in the style, but not quite in the polished lines, of "Henry of Navarre"; and now, there it was, the "white " of victory, the of hundreds of wondering eyes. I dare say the "upper ten" did not mind it; they were used to such things; but everything else paled into to the critical and censorious audience behind them.
 
"Didn't I tell you she'd do it?"
 
"Begor, you did. I suppose I must stand the thrate."
 
"Father Letheby cud do anything whin he cud do that."
 
"Begor, I suppose she'll be thinkin' of marryin' herself now, and Jem hardly cowld in the clay."
 
"Yerra, look at her! She thinks she's of the gintry. Oh my! she's blushin'. 'T wasn't so long ago that you could sow praties in her face."
 
"I suppose thim cost a lot of money. But, shure, it was the priests give 'em to her."
 
"Wisha, thin, there's many a poor creature that would want the money more."
 
Now, all this was not only , but . The cap and streamers were Mrs. Darcy's own, bought out of her hard , and donned to-day to honor the of her and benefactress. She knew the that was in store for her; but she faced it, and thanked God she was "not behoulden to wan of thim for what she put into her mout' and upon her back." And she stood there at the altar-rails, erect and , and there was not a in the hand that held the holy-water vase, nor in the hand that held the aspergill.
 
But it was very embarrassing to myself. I am not disposed to be nervous, for I have always avoided tea and too much study, and I have lived in the open air, and always managed to secure eight hours of dreamless, honest sleep; but I was "discomposed," as some one charitably explained it that morning; and Mrs. Darcy's cap was the cause. I couldn't take my eyes away from it. There it was, dancing like a will-o'-the-wisp before my dazzled vision. I turned my back upon it, and lo! there it was in miniature in the convex arc of my spectacles; and if I looked up, there was my grinning congregation, and their half-audible remarks upon this dread and unwonted . At last I commenced:
 
"Reginald Darcy, thou take Bittra Ormsby here present—"
 
A forcible from Father Letheby brought me to my senses; but away they again, as I heard Campion muttering something uncomplimentary under his black mustache.
 
"Ahem!—Reginald Ormsby, wilt thou take Mrs. Darcy—"
 
Here Father Letheby nudged me again, and looked at me suspiciously. I got a sudden and violent paroxysm of coughing, a remnant of an old bronchial attack to which I am very subject. But I managed to say:—
 
"For the love of God, send that woman into the sacristy."
 
She covered her retreat nobly, made a curtsey to the priests, calmly, laid down the aspergill, and, under of having been sent for something which these careless priests had forgotten, with honors; and then I suppose had a good long cry. But poor Bittra was blushing furiously; Ormsby was calm as on the quarterdeck; but Dr. Armstrong was pulling at his mustache, as if to show the world that there was no use any more for razors or depilatories; and Miss Leslie had bitten right through her under lip, and was threatened with apoplexy. We got through the rest of the ceremony with flying colors: and the moment I said, In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, the of death fell on the congregation. Then the nuptial was given, the choir threw all their strength into the grand finale; the registers were signed; Campion kissed his beloved child, and shook hands with Ormsby; and then commenced the triumphal march. I forgot to say that for the glorious procession on the Thursday before the village was en fête. Great of laurel were stretched from chimney to chimney, because there were no upper rooms in the c............