Moving about with something like authority, was Dennis O'Grady,
the Roman Catholic Parish Clerk, who, with a semi-clerical bearing,
undertook to direct the religious devotions which are usual on such
occasions. In consequence of the dearth of schools and teachers that
then existed in our unfortunate country, it frequently happened, that
persons were, from necessity, engaged in aiding the performance of
religious duties, who were possessed of very little education, if not,
as was too often the case, absolutely and wholly illiterate. Dennis was
not absolutely illiterate, but, in good truth, he was by no means far
removed from that uncomfortable category. Finigan, the schoolmaster,
was also present; and as he claimed acquaintance with the classics,
and could understand and read with something like correctness the Latin
offices, which were frequently repeated on these occasions it would be
utterly impossible to describe the lofty scorn and haughty supercilious
contempt with which he contemplated poor Dennis, who kept muttering away
at the _Confiteor_ and _De Profundis_ with a barbarity of pronunciation
that rendered it impossible for human ears to understand a single word
he said. Finigan, swollen with an indignation which he could no longer
suppress, and stimulated by a glass or two of whiskey, took three or
four of the neighbors over to a corner, where, whilst his eyes rested on
Dennis with a most withering expression of scorn, he exclaimed--"Here,
hand me that manual, and get out o' my way, you illiterate nonentity and
most unsufferable appendage to religion.
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