"If it
was a common, dacent, quite (quiet,) well-behaved churchyard a'self,"
thought Larry, half-aloud--"but when 'tis a place like this forsaken ould
berrin'-ground, which is noted for villiany"--"For what, Larry?" said a
gentleman, stepping out of a niche which contained the only statue time
had spared. It was the figure of Saint Colman, to whom the church was
dedicated. Larry had been looking at the figure, as it shone forth in
ebon and ivory in the light and shadow of the now high-careering moon,
"For what, Larry," said the gentleman,--"for what do you say the
churchyard is noted?" "For nothing at all, plase your honour," replied
Larry, "except the height of gentility." The stranger was about four feet
high, dressed in what might be called flowing garments,--if, in spite of
their form, their rigidity did not deprive them of all claim to such an
appellation. He wore an antique mitre upon his head; his hands were
folded upon his breast; and over his right shoulder rested a pastoral
crook. There was a solemn expression in his countenance, and his eye
might truly be called stony.
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