TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY

BY WILLIAM CARLETON

PART V. 

[Illustration: Frontispiece]

[Illustration: Titlepage]

GOING TO MAYNOOTH. 

Young Denis O'Shaughnessy was old Denis's son; and old Denis, likemany great men before him, was the son of his father and mother inparticular, and a long line of respectable ancestors in general. He was, moreover, a great historian, a perplexing controversialist, deeply readin Dr. Gallagher and Pastorini, and equally profound in the history ofHarry the Eighth, and Luther's partnership with the devil. Denis wasa tall man, who, from his peculiar appearance, and the nature ofhis dress, a light drab-colored frieze, was nicknamed the WalkingPigeon-house; and truly, on seeing him at a distance, a man mightnaturally enough hit upon a worse comparison. He was quite straight, carried both his arms hanging by his sides, motionless and at theirfull length, like the pendulums of a clock that has ceased going. In hishead, neck, and chest there was no muscular action visible; he walked, in fact, as if a milk-pail were upon his crown, or as if a single nod ofhis would put the planets out of order. But the principal cause of thesimilarity lay in his roundness, which resembled that of a pump, runningto a point, or the pigeon-house aforesaid, which is still better. 

Denis, though a large man, was but a small farmer, for he rented onlyeighteen acres of good land. His family, however, like himself, waslarge, consisting of thirteen children, among whom Denis junior stoodpre-eminent. Like old Denis, he was exceedingly long-winded in argument, pedantic as the schoolmaster who taught him, and capable of taking avery comprehensive grasp of any tangible subject. 

Young Denis's display of controversial talents was so remarkablyprecocious, that he controverted his father's statements upon allpossible subjects, with a freedom from embarrassment which promised wellfor that most distinguished trait in a controversialist--hardihood ofcountenance. This delighted old Denis to the finger ends. 

"Dinny, if he's spared, " he would say, "will be a credit to us all yet. The sorra one of him but's as manly as anything, and as longheaded as afour-footed baste, so he is! nothing daunts or dashes him, or puts himto an amplush: but he'll look you in the face so stout an' cute, an'never redden or stumble, whether he's right or wrong, that it does one'sheart good to see him. Then he has such a laning to it, you see, thatthe crathur 'ud ground an argument on anything, thin draw it out to anorration an' make it as clear as rock-water, besides incensing youso well into the rason of the thing, that Father Finnerty himself 'udhardly do it betther from the althar. "

The highest object of an Irish peasant's ambition is to see his son apriest. Whenever a farmer happens to have a large family, he usuallydestines one of them for the church, if his circumstances are at allsuch as can enable him to afford the boy a proper education. This youthbecomes the centre in which all the affections of the family meet. Heis cherished, humored in all his caprices, indulged in his boyishpredilections, and raised over the heads of his brothers, independentlyof all personal or relative merit in himself. The consequence is, that he gradually became self-willed, proud, and arrogant, often toan offensive degree; but all this is frequently mixed up with a loftybombast, and an under-current of strong disguised affection, that renderhis early life remarkably ludicrous and amusing. Indeed, the pranks ofpedantry, the pretensions to knowledge, and the humor with which it ismostly displayed, render these scions of divinity, in their intercoursewith the people until the period of preparatory education is completed, the most interesting and comical class, perhaps, to be found in thekingdom. Of these learned priestlings young Denis was undoubtedlya first-rate specimen. His father, a man of no education, was, nevertheless, as profound and unfathomable upon his favorite subjects asa philosopher; but this profundity raised him mightily in the opinion ofthe people, who admired him the more the less they understood him. 

Now old Denis was determined that young Denis should tread in his ownfootsteps; and, sooth to say, young Denis possessed as bright a talentfor the dark and mysterious as the father himself. No sooner had theson commenced Latin with the intention of adorning the church, than thefather put him in training for controversy. For a considerable timethe laurels were uniformly borne away by the veteran: but what will notlearning do? Ere long the son got as far as syntax, about which timethe father began to lose ground, in consequence of some ugly quotationswhich the son threw into his gizzard, and which unfortunately stuckthere. By and by the father receded more and more, as the son advancedin his Latin and Greek, until, at length, the encounters were onlyresorted to for the purpose of showing off the son. 

When young Denis had reached the age of sixteen or seventeen, he waslooked upon by his father and his family, as well as by all theirrelations in general, as a prodigy. It was amusing to witness thedelight with which the worthy man would call upon his son to exhibit histalents, a call to which the son instantly attended. This was usuallydone by commencing a mock controversy, for the gratification of someneighbor to whom the father was anxious to prove the great talentsof his son. When old Denis got the young sogarth fairly in motion, hegently drew himself out of the dispute, but continued a running commentupon the son's erudition, pointed out his good things, and occasionallyresumed the posture of the controversialist to reinspirit the boy if heappeared to flag. 

"Dinny, abouchal, will you come up till Phadrick Murray hears youarguin' Scripthur wid myself, Dinny. Now, Phadrick, listen, but keepyour tongue sayin' nothin'; just lave us to ourselves. Come up, Dinny, till you have a hate at arguin' wid myself. "

"Fadher, I condimnate you at once--I condimnate you as being a mostungrammatical ould man, an' not fit to argue wid any one that knowsMurray's English Grammar, an' more espaciously the three concords ofLily's Latin one; that is the cognation between the nominative case andthe verb, the consanguinity between the substantive and the adjective, and the blood-relationship that irritates between the relative and theantecedent. "

"I tould you, Phadrick!! There's the boy that can rattle off the highEnglish, and the larned Latin, jist as if he was born wid an EnglishDictionary in one cheek, a Latin Neksuggawn in the other, an DoctorGallagher's Irish Sarmons nately on the top of his tongue between thetwo. "

"Fadher, but that unfortunately I am afflicted wid modesty, I'd blushcrocus for your ignorance, as Virgil asserts in his Bucolics, _utVirgilius ait in Bucolids_; and as Horatius, a book that I'm wellacquainted wid, says in another place, _Huc pertinent verba_, sayshe, _commodandi, comparandi, dandi, prornittendi, soluendi imperandinuntiandi, fidendi, obsequendi, minandi irascendi, et iis contraria_. "

"That's a good boy, Dinny; but why would you blush for my ignorance, avourneen? Take care of yourself now an' spake deep, for I'll outargueyou at the heel o' the hunt, cute as you are. "

"Why do I blush for your ignorance, is it? Why thin, I'm sure I havesound rasons for it; only think of the gross persivarance wid whichyou call that larned work, the Lexicon in Greek, a neck-suggan. Fadher, never, attimpt to argue or display your ignorance wid me again. But, moreover, I can probate you to be an ungrammatical man from your ownmodus of argument. "

"Go an, avourneen. Phadrick!!"

"I'm listenin'. The sorra's no match for his cuteness, an' one's puzzledto think where he can get it all. "

"Why, you don't know at all what I could do by larnin'. It would be nothrouble to me to divide myself into two halves, an' argue the one aginthe other. "

"You would, in throth, Dinny. "

"Ay, father, or cut myself acrass, an' dispute my head, maybe, agin myheels. "

"Throth, would you!"

"Or practise logic wid my right hand, and bate that agin wid my left. "

"The sarra lie in it. "

"Or read the Greek Tistament wid my right eye, an thranslate it at thesame time wid my left, according to the Greek an' English sides of myface, wid my tongue constrein' into Irish, unknownst to both o' them. "

"Why, Denis, he must have a head like a bell to be able to get intothings. "

"Throth an' he has that, an' 'ill make a noise in conthroversy yet, ifhe lives. Now, Dinny, let us have a hate at histhory. "

"A hate at histhory?--wid all my heart; but before we begin, I tell youthat I'll confound you precipitately; for you see, if you bate me in theEnglish, I'll scarify you wid Latin, and give you a bang or two of Greekinto the bargain. Och! I wish you'd hear the sackin' I gave Tom Reillythe other day; rubbed him down, as the masther says, wid a Greek towel, an' whenever I complimented him with the loan of a cut on the head, I always gave him a plaster of Latin to heal it; but the sorra worsehealin' flesh in the world than Tom's is for the Latin, so I bruised afew Greek roots and laid them to his caput so nate, that you'd laughto see him. Well is it histhory we are to begin wid? If it is, comeon--advance. I'm ready for you--in protection--wid my guards up. "

"Ha, ha, ha! Well, if he isn't the drollest crathur, an' so cute! Butnow for the histhory. Can you prove to me, upon a clear foundation, thediffer atween black an' white, or prove that Phadrick Murray here, long life to him, is an ass? Now, Phadrick, listen, for you must decidebetune us. "

"Orra, have you no other larnin' than that to argue upon? Sure if youcall upon me to decide, I must give it agin Dinny. Why my judgment won'tbe worth a hap'orth, if he makes an ass of me!"

"What matther how you decide, man alive, if he proves you to be one;sure that is all we want. Never heed shakin' your head--listen an' itwill be well worth your while. Why, man, you'll know more nor you everknew or suspected before, when he proves you to be an ass. "

"In the first place, fadher, you're ungrammatical in one word; insteadof sayin' 'prove, ' always say probate, or probe; the word is descended, that is, the ancisthor of it, is probo, a deep Greek word--probo, probas, prob-ass, that is to say, I'm to probe Phadrick here to bean ass. Now, do you see how pat I brought that in? That's the way, Phadrick, I chastise my fadher with the languages. "

"In throth it is; go an avick. Phadrick!"

"I'm listenin'. "

"Phadrick, do you know the differ atween black an' white'?"

"Atween black an' white? Hut, gorsoon, to be sure I do. "

"Well, an' what might it be, Phadrick, my larned Athiop? What might itbe, I negotiate?"

"Why, thin, the differ atween them is this, Dinny, that black is--let mesee--why--that black is not red--nor yallow--nor brown--nor green--norpurple--not cut-beard--nor a heather color--nor a grog-ram"--

"Nor a white?"

"Surely, Dinny, not a white, abouchal; don't think to come over me thatway. "

"But I want to know what color it is, most larned sager. "

"All rasonable, Dinny, Why, thin, black is--let me see--hut, deathalive!--it's--a--a--why, it's black, an' that's all I can say about it;yes, faix, I can--black is the color of Father Curtis's coat. "

"An' what color is that, Phadrick?"

"Why, it's black, to be sure. "

"Well, now, what color is white, Phadrick?"

"Why, it's a snow-color: for all the world the color of snow. "

"White is?"

"Ay, is it. "

"The dear help your head, Phadrick, if that's all you know about snow. In England, man, snow is an Oxford gray, an' in Scotland, a pepper an'salt, an' sometimes a cut-beard, when they get a hard winther. I foundthat much in the Greek, any way, Phadrick. Thry agin, you imigrant, I'llgive you another chance--what color is white?"

"Why, thin, it's--white--an' nothin' else. The sorra one but you'dpuzzle a saint wid your long-headed screwtations from books. "

"So, Phadrick, your preamble is, that white is white, an' black isblack?"

"Asy avick. I said, sure enough, that white is white; but the black Ideny--I said it was the color of Father Curtis's black coat. "

"Oh, you barbarian of the world, how I scorn your profundity an'emotions! You're a disgrace to the human sex by your superciliousnessof knowledge, an' your various quotations of ignorance. Ignorantia, Phadrick, is your date an' superscription. Now, stretch out your ears, till I probate, or probe to you the differ atween black an' white. "

"Phadrick!!" said the father. 

"I'm listenin'. "

"Now, Phadrick, here's the griddle, an' here's a clane plate. Do you seethem here beside one another?"

"I'm lookin' at them. "

"Now, shut your eyes. "

"Is that your way, Denis, of judgin' colors?"

"Shut your eyes, I say, till I give you ocular demonstration of thediffer atween these two respectable colors. "

"Well, they're shut. "

"An' keep them so. Now, what differ do you see atween them?"

"The sorra taste, man alive; I never seen anything in my whole life soclearly of a color as they are both this minute. "

"Don't you see now, Phadrick, that there's not the smallest taste o'differ in them, an' that's accordin' to Euclid. "

"Sure enough, I see the divil a taste o' differ atween the two. "

"Well, Phadrick, that's the point settled. There's no discrimination atall atween black an' white. They're both of the same color--so long asyou keep your eyes shut. "

"But if a man happens to open his eyes, Dinny?"

"He has no right to open them, Phadrick, if he wants to prove the truthof a thing. I should have said probe--but it does not significate. "

"The heavens mark you to grace, Dinny. You did that in brave style. Phadrick, ahagur, he'll make the darlin' of an arguer whin he gets therobes an him. "

"I don't deny that; he'll be aquil to the best o' thim: still, Denis, I'd rather, whin I want to pronounce upon colors, that he'd let me keepmy eyes open. "

"Ay, but he did it out o' the books, man alive; an' there's no goin'beyant thim. Sure he could prove it out of the Divinity, if you wentto that. An' what is still more, he could, by shuttin' your eyes, in thesame way prove black to be white, an' white black, jist as asy. "

"Surely myself doesn't doubt it. I suppose, by shuttin' my eyes, thesame lad could prove anything to me. "

"But, Dinny, avourneen, you didn't prove Phadrick to be an ass yit. Will you do that by histhory, too, Dinny, or by the norrations ofIllocution?"

"Father, I'm surprised at your gross imperception. Why, man, if youwere not a _rara avis_ of somnolency, a man of most frolicsomedeterminations, you'd be able to see that I've proved Phadrick to be anass already. "

"Throth, I deny that you did; there wasn't a word about my bein' anass, in the last discoorse. It was all upon the differ atween black an'white. "

"Oh, how I scorn your gravity, man! _Ignorantia_, as I said, is yourdate an' superscription; an' when you die, you ought to go an' engagea stone-cutter to carve you a headstone, an' make him write on it, _Hicjacet Ignorantius Redivicus_. An' the translation of that is, accordin'to Publius Virgilius Maro--'here lies a quadruped who didn't know thediffer atween black an' white. '"

"Well, by the livin', Dinny, I dunna where you get all this deepreadin'. "

"Sure he gets it all in the Dixonary. "

"Bedad, that Dixonary must be a fine book entirely, to thim thatundherstand it. "

"But, Dinny, will you tell Phadrick the Case of Conscience atween BarnyBranagan's two goats an' Parra Ghastha's mare?"

"Fadher, if you were a grammarian, I'd castigate your incompatability asit desarves--I'd lay the scourge o' syntax upon you, as no man evergot it since the invintion o' the nine parts of speech. By what rule oflogic can you say that aither Barny Branagan's goats or Parra Ghastha'smare had a conscience? I tell you it wasn't they had the conscience, but the divine who decided the difficulty. Phadrick, lie down till Iillusthrate. "

"How is that, Dinny? I can hear you sittin'. "

"Lie down, you reptile, or I shall decline the narration altogether. "

"Arra, lie down, Phadrick; sure he only wants to show you the rason o'the thing. "

"Well, well; I'm down. Now Dinny, don't let your feet be too larned, ifyou plase. "

"Silence!--_taceto!_ you reptile. Now, Phadrick, here, on this side o'you, lies Barny Branagan's field; an' there, on that side, lies a fieldof Parra Ghastha's; you're the ditch o' mud betuxt them. "

"The ditch o' mud! Faix that's dacent!"

"Now here, on Barny Branagan's side, feeds Parra Ghastha's mare; an'there, on Parra Ghastha's side, feed Barny Branagan's goats. Do youcomprehend? Do you insinuate?"

"I do--I do. Death alive! there's no use in punchin' my sides wid yourfeet that way. "

"Well, get up now an' set your ears. "

"Now listen to him, Phadrick!"

"It was one night in winter, when all nature shone in the nocturnalbeauty of tenebrosity: the sun had set about three hours before; an', accordin' to the best logicians, there was a dearth of light. It's thegeneral opinion of philosophers--that is, of the soundest o' them--thatwhen the sun is down the moon an' stars are usually up; an' so they wereon the night that I'm narratin' about. The moon was, wid great respectto her character, night-walkin' in the sky; and the stars vegetated incelestial genuflexion around her. Nature, Phadrick, was in great state;the earth was undher our feet, an' the sky above us. The frost, too, was hard, Phadrick, the air keen, an' the grass tendher. All thingswere enrobed wid verisimilitude an' scrupulosity. In this manner was theterraqueous part of our system, when Parra Ghastha's mare, after havin'taken a cowld collation on Barny Branagan's grass, was returnin' to hermaster's side o' the merin; an' Barny Branagan's goats, havin' tastedthe sweets of Parra Ghastha's cabbages, were on their way acrass thesaid merin to their own side. Now it so happened that they met exactlyat a narrow gap in the ditch behind Rosha Halpin's house. The goats, bein' coupled together, got one on each side of the rift, wid the ropethat coupled them extended acrass it. The mare stood in the middle ofit, so that the goats were in the way of the mare, an' the mare in theway of the goats. In the meantime they surveyed one another wid greatcomposure, but had neither of them the politeness to stir, until RoshaHalpin came suddenly out, an' emptied a vessel of untransparent watherinto the ditch. The mare, who must have been an animal endowed wid greatsensibility of soul, stooped her head suddenly at the noise; an' thegoats, who were equally sentimental, gave a start from nervishness. Themare, on raisin' her head, came in contact wid the cord that united thegoats; an' the goats, havin' lost their commandin' position, came incontact wid the neck o' the mare. _Quid multis?_ They pulled an' shepulled, an' she pulled an' they pulled, until at length the mare wascompelled to practise the virtue of resignation in the ditch, wid thegoats about her neck. She died by suspinsion; but the mettlesome ouldcrathur, wid a love of justice that did her honor, hanged the goat'sin requital; for they departed this vale of tears on the mountain sidealong wid her, so that they had the satisfaction of dyin' a social deathtogether. --Now, Phadrick, you quadruped, the case of conscience is, whether Parra Ghastha has a right to make restitution to Barny Branaganfor the loss of his goats, or Barny Branagan to Parra Ghastha for theloss of his mare?"

"Bedad, that's a puzzler!"

"Isn't it, Phadrick? But wait till you hear how he'll clear it up! Do itfor Phadrick, Dinny. "

"Yis, Phadrick, I'll illusthrate your intellects by divinity. You see, Phadrick, you're to suppose me to be in the chair, as confessor. Verywell, --or _valde_, in the larned languages--Parra Ghastha comes toconfess to me, an' tells me that Barny Branagan wants to be paid for hisgoats. I tell him it's a disputed point, an that the price o' the goatsmust go to the church. On the other hand, Barny Branagan tells methat Parra Ghastha wishes to be paid for his mare. I say again, it'sa disputed point, an' that the price o' the mare must go to thechurch--the amount of the proceeds to be applied in prayer towards thebenefit of the parties, in the first instance, an' of the faithful ingeneral afterwards. "

"Phadrick!!!"

"Oh, that I may never, but he bates the globe!"

Denny's character is a very common one in the remote parts of Ireland, where knowledge is novelty, and where the slightest tinge of learningis looked upon with such reverence and admiration, as can be properlyunderstood only by those who have an opportunity of witnessing it. Indeed, few circumstances prove the great moral influence which theIrish priesthood possesses over the common people more forcibly, thanthe extraordinary respect paid by the latter to such as are designed forthe "mission. " The moment the determination is made, an incipientsanctity begins, as it were, to consecrate the young priest; and a highopinion of his learning and talents to be entertained, no matter howdull he may be so far as honest nature is concerned. Whatever he says issure to have some hidden meaning in it, that would be' highly edifying, if they themselves understood it. But their own humility comes in hereto prop up his talents; and whatsoever perplexity there may be inthe sense of what he utters, is immediately attributed to learningaltogether beyond their depth. 

Love of learning is a conspicuous principle in an Irish peasant; and inno instance is it seen to greater advantage, than when the object of itappears in the "makins of a priest. " Among all a peasant's good and evilqualities, this is not the least amiable. How his eye will dance in hishead with pride, when the young priest thunders out a line of Virgilor Homer, a sentence from Cicero, or a rule from Syntax! And withwhat complacency and affection will the father and relations of such aperson, when sitting during a winter evening about the hearth, demandfrom him a translation of what he repeats, or a grammatical analysis, inwhich he must show the dependencies and relations of word upon word--theconcord, the verb, the mood, the gender, and the case; into everyone and all of which the learned youth enters with an air of oracularimportance, and a pollysyllabicism of language that fails not inconfounding them with astonishment and edification. Neither does Paddyconfine himself to Latin or Greek, for his curiosity in hearing a littleupon all known branches of human learning is boundless. When a lad isdesigned for the priesthood, he is, as if by a species of intuition, supposed to know more or less of everything--astronomy, fluxions, Hebrew, Arabic, and the black art, are subjects upon which he isfrequently expected to dilate; and vanity scruples not, under theprotection of their ignorance, to lead the erudite youth throughwhat they believe to be the highest regions of imagination, or theprofoundest depths of science and philosophy. 

It is, indeed, in those brilliant moments, when the young priest islaunching out in full glory upon some topic of which he knows not asyllable, that it would be a learned luxury to catch him. These flights, however, are very pardonable, when we consider the importance theygive him in the eyes of his friends, and reflect upon that lofty andcontemptuous pride, and those delectable sensations which the appearanceof superior knowledge gives to the pedant, whether raw or trained, highor low, in this profession or the other. It matters little that sucha feeling dilates the vanity in proportion to the absence of realknowledge or good sense: it is not real, but affected knowledge, we arewriting about. Pride is confined to no condition; nor is the juvenilepedantry of a youth upon the hob of an Irish chimney-corner muchdifferent from the pride which sits upon the brow of a worthy LordMayor, freshly knighted, lolling with strained dignity beside hishonorable brother, the mace, during a city procession; or of a LadyMayoress, when she reads upon a dead wall her own name flaming in yellowcapitals, at the head of a subscription ball; or, what is better still, the contemptuous glance which, while about to open the said ball, herladyship throws at that poor creature--the Sheriff's wife. 

In addition, however, to the enjoyment of this assumption of profoundlearning which characterizes the young priest, a different spirit, considerably more practical, often induces him to hook in other motives. The learning of Denis O'Shaughnessy, for instance, blazed with peculiarlustre whenever he felt himself out at elbows; for the logic withwhich he was able to prove the connection between his erudition and awoollen-draper's shop, was, like the ignorance of those who are to besaved, invincible. Whenever his father considered a display of theson's powers in controversy to be _capital_, Denis, who knew the _molliatempora fandi_, applied to him for a hat. Whenever he drew a heretic, as a person who will be found hereafter without the wedding garment, andclinched the argument with half a dozen quotations from syntax or Greekgrammar, he uniformly came down upon the father for a coat, the clothof which was finer in proportion to the web of logic he wove during thedisputation. Whenever he seated himself in the chair of rhetoric, orgave an edifying homily on prayer, with such eloquence as rendered thefather's admiration altogether inexpressible, he applied for a pair ofsmallclothes; and if, in the excursiveness of his vigorous imaginationhe travelled anywhere beyond the bounds of common sense, he was certainto secure a pair of shoes. 

This, of course, did not escape the satirical observation of theneighbors, who commented upon the circumstance with that good humorwhich renders their mother-wit so pleasant and spicy. The scenes wheremany of these displays took place, varied according to the occurrenceof those usual incidents which diversify country life. Sometimes oldDenis's hearth was selected; at others, a neighboring wakehouse, andnot unfrequently the chapel-green, where, surrounded by a crowd of eagerlisteners, the young priest and his Latin would succeed in throwing thehedge-schoolmaster and his problems completely into the shade. 

The father's pride, on these occasions, always prompted him to becomethe aggressor; but he only did this to draw out the talents of his sonto more advantage. Never was man foiled with less regret than old Denis;nor did ever man more bitterly repent those little touches of vanity, which, sometimes induced him, when an opportunity of prostrating Dennyarrived, to show what he could have done, by giving the son's argumentan unexpected brainblow. These accidental defeats always brought theson! more than he lost by them; for the father usually made him apeace-offering in the shape of pocket-money, books, or clothes. Thegreat amusement of the peasantry around the chapel-green of a Sunday, was to hear the father and son engaged in argument; and so simple wasthe character of both, that their acquaintances declared, they couldknow by the state of young Denis's coat, and the swaggering grasp withwhich old Denis held his staff, that an encounter was about to takeplace. 

"Young O'Shaughnessy's gettin' bare, " they would observe; "there'll behard arguin' till he gets the clothes. He's puttin' in for a black coatnow, he's so grave. Go on, Denny, " they would say again: "more poweran' a dacenter sleeve to your elbow. Stick to him!--very good!--that'sa clincher!--you're gone beyond the skirts, Denny!--let him pocketthat larnin'. Dinis, you're bate, body and slaves! (* altogether;completely)--you're no match for the gorsoon, Dinis. Good agin, abouchal!--that's puttin' the collar on it!"--And so on, varying thephrase according to the whim of the moment. 

Nothing gave the father greater pleasure than these observations, although the affected earnestness with which he encountered the son, andhis pretended indignation at those who affirmed him to have been beaten, were highly amusing to the bystanders. 

Such discussions were considered highly edifying and instructive bythem, and they were sometimes at a loss whether to give the palm ofingenuity and eloquence to the father or Denny. The reader, however, must not suppose that the contemptuous expressions scattered overDenny's rhetorical flourishes; when discussing these points with hisfather, implied want of reverence or affection--far from it. On thecontrary, the father always liked him the better for them, inasmuch asthey proved Denny's vast superiority over himself. They were, therefore, only the licenses and embellishments of discussion, tolerated andencouraged by him to whom they were applied. 

Denny at length shot up to the stature of a young man, probably abouteighteen; and during the two last years of his school studies hepresented a considerable, if not a decidedly marked change in hischaracter and external appearance. His pride became more haughty, andthe consciousness of his learning, and of the influence annexed tothe profession for which he was intended, put itself forth withless discussion, but more energy. His manners and attitude becameconstrained; the expression of his face began to darken, and to moulditself into a stiff, gloomy formality, that was strongly calculatedto conceal the natural traits of his character. His dress, too, hadundergone a great improvement; for instead of wearing shop blue orbrown, he wore good black broad-cloth, had a watch in his fob, arespectable hat, and finer linen. 

This change, now necessary in consequence of his semiclerical character, influenced him through every relation of life. His nearest friends, whilst their pride in him increased, fell off to a more respectfuldistance; and his deportment, so far from being that of a good-humoredBobadil of polemics and pedantry upon all known and unknown subjects, became silent and solemn, chequered only during the moments offamily conviviality by an excessive flow of that pleasant and stillincomprehensible learning for the possession of which he had so honestlyearned himself a character. Much of his pedantry was now lopped off, itis true, because the pride of his station prevented him from enteringinto discussions with the people. It cost him, however, some trouble toovercome his early tendencies; nor, after all, can it be affirmed thathe altogether succeeded in eradicating them. Many a grave shrug, andsolemn wink, and formal nod, had he to answer for, when his foot touchedthe debatable land of controversy. Though contrary to the keepingand dignity of his position in life, yet did honest Denny then getdesperately significant, and his face amazingly argumentative. Many apretender has he fairly annihilated by a single smile of contempt thatcontained more logic than a long argument from another man. In fact, thewhole host of rhetorical figures seemed breaking out of his face. Bya solitary glance of his eye he could look a man into a dilemma, andpractise a _sorites_, or a homemade syllogism, by the various shiftingsof his countenance, as clearly as if he had risen to the full flightof his former bombast. He had, in short, a _prima facie_ disposition tocontroversy; his nose was set upon his face in a kind of firm defianceagainst infidels, heretics, and excommunicated persons; and whenit curled with contempt of another, or with pride in the power thatslumbered in itself, it seemed to give the face from which it projected, and the world at large, the assurance of a controversialist. Nor did hisnegative talents rest here: a twist of his mouth to the right or leftear, was nicely shaded away into a negative or affirmative, accordingas he intended it should be taken; and when he used hispocket-handkerchief, he was certain, though without uttering a syllable, to silence his opponent, so contemptuously did his intonations rout thearguments brought against him. The significance and force of all thesewas heightened by the mystery in which they were wrapped; for wheneverunbending decorum constrained him to decline the challenges of theignorant, with whom discussion would now be degradation, what could hedo to soothe his vanity, except, as the poet says, with folded armsand a shaking of the head to exclaim--"_Well, well we know;_ or, _if wecould, and if we would;_ or, _if we list to speak_; or, _there be an ifthey might;_" which left the imaginations of his hearers at libertyto conceive more fully of those powers which his modesty declinedexhibiting. For some time before he got absolutely and finally intoblack, even his father gave up his accustomed argument in despair. Theson had become an adept in all the intricacies and obscurities of Latin, and literally overwhelmed the old man with small inundations of thatlanguage, which though, like all inundations, rather muddy, yet werethey quite sufficient to sweep the worthy veteran before them. 

Young Denis O'Shaughnessy was now pretty nearly finished at school, thatis to say, almost fit for Maynooth; his studies, though higher, wereless assiduous; his leisure was consequently greater; and it is wellknown, that a person of his character is never asked to work, except itbe his own pleasure to labor a day or two, by way of amusement. He mightnow be seen walking of a warm day along the shady sides of the hedges, with a book in his hand, or stretched listlessly upon the grass, atstudy; or sauntering about among the neighboring workmen, with hisforefinger between the leaves of his book, a monument of learning andindustry. 

It is not to be supposed, however, that Denis, who was an Irishman ofeighteen, handsome and well made, could be altogether insensibleto female beauty, and seductive charms of the sex. During his easysaunterings--or, as the Scotch say, "daunerings"--along the roads andabout the green hedges, it often happened that he met a neighbor'sdaughter; and Denis, who, as a young gentleman of breeding, was bound tobe courteous, could not do less than accost her with becoming urbanity. 

"Good-mornin', Miss Norah, " we will suppose him to say, when meeting agood-looking arch girl of his acquaintance. 

"Good-morrow, Mr. O'Shaughnessy. I hope you're well, sir. "

"Indeed I am, at present, in superlatively ecclesiastical health, MissNorah. I hope all your family are well?"

"All very well, I thank you, sir, barrin' myself. "

"An' pray what's the matther wid you, Miss Norah? I hope" (with anexceeding grave but complacent smile) "you're not affected wid theamorous passion of love?"

"Oh, that 'ud be tellin', Mr. O'Shaughnessy! But supposin' I am, whatought I to do?"

"That's really a profound question, Miss Norah. But though I cannot tellyou what to do, I can tell you what I think. "

"An' what is that, sir?"

"Why, Miss Norah, that he who is so beatified as to secure you in thematrimonial paction--_compactum_ it is in the larned languages--in otherwords--to condescend to your capacity--he who is married to you will bea happy man. There is a juvenility about your eyes, and an efflorescenceof amaranthine odoriferousness about your cheeks and breath that areenough to communicate the centrifugal motion to any brain adorned withthe slightest modicum of sentiment. "

"He who marries me will be a happy man!" she exclaimed, repeating theseexpressions, probably because they were the only words she understood. "I hope so, Misther O'Shaughnessy. But, sure enough, who'd expect tohear sich soft talk from the makins of a priest? Very well, sir! Uponmy word I'll be tellin' Father Finnerty that you do be spakin' up to thegirls!--Now!!"

"No, no, Miss Norah; you wouldn't do that merely for my sayin' thatyou're the handsomest girl in the parish. Father Finnerty himself mightsay as much, for it would be nothing but veracity--nothing but truth, Miss Norah. "

"Ah! but he wouldn't be pattin' me on the cheek! Be asy, Mr. O'Shaughnessy; there's Darby Brady lookin' at you, an' he'll betellin'!"

"Where?" said Denis, starting. 

The girl replied only by an arch laugh. 

"Upon my classicality, Miss Norah, you're a rogue; there's nobodylookin', you seraphim!"

"Then there's a pair of us rogues, Misther Dinis. "

"No, no, Miss Norah; I was only feeling your cheek as a philosophicalexperiment. Philosophers often do it, in order to make out anhypothesis. "

"Misther Dinis, if I'm not marrid till you're a priest, won't you saythe words for me for nothing?"

"So long as you ask it wid such a brilliant smiled Miss Norah, doyou think that any educated young man who has read about beauty an'sentimentality in books, could refuse you? But you know, Miss Norah, that the clergyman who marries a couple has always the right of kissingthe bride. Now I wouldn't claim my right then; but it might be possibleby a present compromise to--to----. What would you think, for instance, to give me that now?"

"To give you what?"

"Why the----indeed it's but a slight recompense, the--k---- thesalutation--the kiss. You know what tasting the head means?"

"Faix, Misther Dinis, you're a great rogue. Who'd think it indeed? Sureenough, they say smooth water runs deep! Why one 'ud suppose buttherwouldn't melt in your mouth to look at you; an' yet you want to betoyin' wid the girls! Indeed an' faix, it's a great shame for the likeso' you, that's bint on Maynooth, to be thinkin' of coortin' at all. Butwait! Upon my word, I'll have a fine story agin you, plase goodness!"

This latter threat the mischievous girl threw out with a grave face, inorder to bring Denis into a more ridiculous dilemma; for she saw clearlythat he labored under a heavy struggle between timidity and gallantry. The ruse succeeded. Denis immediately changed his tone, and composedhis face into a grave admonitory aspect, nearly equal to a homily onprudence and good conduct. 

"Miss Norah, " said he, "perhaps I acted wrong in carrying my trialof your disposition too far. It's a thing, however, which we who areintended for the church are ordered to do, that we may be able tomake out what are called in this very book you see wid me, cases ofconscience. But the task is now over, Miss Norah; and, in requitalfor your extrame good nature, I am bound to administer to you a slightlecture on decorum. 

"In the first place, attend your duties regularly. I will soon begoin' to Maynooth; an' as you are one of the girls for whom I have thegreatest regard, I will expect on my return to hear a good accountof you. It is possible that you'll be introduced in my absence to thehonors of matrimony; but even so, I know that peace, an' taciturnity, an' submission will be your most signal qualifications. You will then bein a situation equal to that of a Roman matron. As for us, Miss Norah, we are subject to the dilapidations of occasional elevation. The ambrosia of sentiment lies in our path. We care not for theterrestrialities of life, when separated from the great principle of thepoet--

'_Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori_. '

That's Hebrew, Miss Norah!"

"They say you know a power of larnin', Misther Dinis. "

"Yes, I know the seven languages; but what is all that compared to thecardinal virtues. This world is a mere bird of passage, Miss Norali; andit behooves us to be ever on the wing for futurity and premeditation. Now, will you remember the excellent moral advice I have given you?"

"Indeed I will, sir, " replied the roguish minx, tripping away;"particularly that you promised to marry me for nothin' if I'd give youa kiss!"

"Give up everything like levity, Miss Norah. Attend your du--"

[Illustration: PAGE 985-- You're a fool, Misther O'Shaughnessy!]

"You're a fool, Misther O'Shaughnessy! Why didn't you take the kiss, an'spare the king's English?"

On making this observation she redoubled her pace, and left Denis nowperfectly sensible that he was a proper subject for her mirth. He turnedabout, and called after her--

"Had I known that you were only in jocosity, Miss Nora, upon myclassicality, I'd have given you the k----. "

He now perceived that she was beyond hearing, and that it wasunnecessary to finish the sentence. 

These accidental meetings between Denis and the pretty daughters of theneighboring farmers were, somehow, very frequent. Our hero, however, wasalways extremely judicious in tempering his gallantry and moral adviceto his young female acquaintances. In the beginning of the conversationhe was sly and complimentary, afterwards he became more insinuating, then more direct in his praises of their beauty; but as his timidity onthe point of character was known, the mischief-loving girls uniformlyended with a threat of exposing him to the priest, to his friends, or tothe neighbors, as the whim directed them. This brought him back to hismorality again; he immediately commenced an exhortation touching theirreligious duties, thus hoping to cover, by a trait more becominghis future destination, the little harmless badinage in which he hadindulged. 

The girls themselves frequently made him the topic of conversation, aproof that he was not altogether indifferent to them. In these littleconclaves he came very well off. Among them all it was admitted "thatthere was a rogue in his coat;" but this was by no means uttered in atone of voice that betrayed any disrelish to him. On the contrary, theyoften said--and many of them with an involuntary sigh--that "he was toopurty to be made a priest of;" others, that "it was a pity to make apriest of so fine a young man;" others, again, that "if he must be apriest, the colleens would be all flockin' to hear his sarmons. " Therewas one, however, among them who never mentioned him either in praise orcensure; but the rapid changes of her expressive countenance gavestrong indications to an observing eye that his name, person, and futureprospects were capable of exciting a deep and intense interest in herheart. 

At length he began to appear on horseback; and as he had hitherto beenin the habit of taking that exercise bare-backed, now he was resolvedto get into a saddle, and ride like a gentleman. Henceforth he might beseen mounted upon one of his father's horses, quite erect, and with butone spur, which was, in fact, the only spur, except the whiskey bottle, that had been in the family for three generations. This was used, hedeclared, for no other purpose in life than that of "stimulating theanimal to the true clerical trot. "

From the moment he became a mounted man he assumed an air of lessequivocal command in the family; and not only to his own relations wasthis authority manifested, but to his more distant acquaintances, and, in short, to the whole parish. The people now began to touch their hatsto him, which act of respect he returned as much in imitation of theparish priest as possible. They also began to ask him what o'clockit was, and Denis, with a peculiar condescension, balanced still withbecoming dignity, stopped, pulled out his watch, and told the hour, after which he held it for a few seconds to his ear with an experiencedair, then put it in a dignified manner in his fob, touched the horsewith the solitary spur, put himself more erect, and proceeded with--ashe himself used to say, when condemning the pride of the curate--"allthe lordliness of the parochial priest. "

The notions which the peasantry entertain of a priest's learning are asextravagant as they are amusing, and such, indeed, as would be toomuch for the pedantic vanity inseparable from a half-educated man todisclaim. The people are sufficiently reasonable, however, to admitgradations in the extent of knowledge acquired by their pastors; butsome of the figures and illustrations which they use in estimating theircomparative merits are highly ludicrous. I remember a young man, who, at the age of twenty-two, set about preparing himself for the church. Helived in the bosom of a mountain, whose rugged breast he cultivatedwith a strength proportioned to the difficulty of subduing it. He wasa powerful young fellow, quiet and inoffensive in his manners, andpossessed of great natural talents. It was upon a Monday morning, in themonth of June, that the school-room door opened a foot and a half widerthan usual, and a huge, colossal figure stalked in, with a kind ofbashful laugh upon his countenance, as if conscious of the disproportionbetwixt his immense size and that of the other schoolboys. His figure, without a syllable of exaggeration, was precisely such as I am about todescribe. His height six feet, his shoulders of an enormous breadth, his head red as fire; his body-coat made after the manner of hisgrandfather's--the skirts of it being near his heels--and the buttonsbehind little less than eighteen inches asunder. The pockets were cutso low, that when he stretched his arm to its full length, his fingerscould not get further than the flaps; the breast of it was about nineinches longer than was necessary, so that when he buttoned it, heappeared all body. He wore no cravat, nor was his shirt-collar eitherpinned or buttoned, but lay open as if to disclose an immense neck andchest scorched by the sun into a rich and healthy scarlet. His chin wascovered with a sole of red-dry bristles, that appeared to have beenclipped about a fortnight before; and as he wore neither shoenor stocking, he exhibited a pair of legs to which Rob Roy's weredrumsticks. They gave proof of powerful strength, and the thick fell ofbristly hair with which they were covered argued an amazing hardihood ofconstitution and tremendous physical energy. 

"Sure, Masther, I'm comin' to school to you!" were the first words heuttered. 

Now there ran beneath the master's solemnity of manner a broad butshallow under-current of humor, which agreed but poorly with his pompousdisplay of learning. On this occasion his struggle to retain the graveand overcome the ludicrous was unavailing. The startling fact thusuncouthly announced by so grotesque a candidate for classical knowledgeoccasioned him to receive the intelligence with more mirth than wasconsistent with good breeding. His pupils, too, who were hitherto afraidto laugh aloud, on observing his countenance dilate into an expressionof laughter which he could not conceal, made the roof of the house ringwith their mirth. 

"Silence, gintlemen, " said he; "_legite, perlegite, et relegite_--study, gintlemen, study--pluck the tree of knowledge, I say, while the fruit isin season. Denny O'Shaughnessy, what are you facetious for? _Quid rides, Dionysi_ And so, Pether--is Pettier your pronomen--quo nomine gowdes?Silence, boys!--perhaps he was at Latin before, and we'll try him--_quonomine gowdes, Pethre?_"

A stare of awkward perplexity was the only reply he could get from thecolossus he addressed. 

"And so you're fished up from the Streights (* Alluding to the Colossusof Rhodes) at last, Pether?"

"Sir, my name's not Pether. My father's name is Paddy Doorish, but myown is Franky. I was born in Lisnagh; but we lived double as long as Ican mind in the Mountain Bar. "

"And, Franky, what put Latin into your head?"

"There was no Latin put into my head; I'm comin' to you for that. "

"And, you graceful sprig of juvenility, have you the conscience to thinkthat I'd undhertake to fill what you carry on your showlders on thesame terms that I'd take for replenishing the head of a rasonable youth?Would you be so unjust in all the principles of correct erudition as toexpect that, my worthy Man-mountain?"

"I don't expect it, " said Frank; "all that's in your head wouldn't fillthe corner of mine, if you go accordin' to size; but I'll pay you fortachin' me as much as you know yourself, an' the more I larn the lesspains you'll have wid me. "

Franky, however, made an amazing progress--so very rapid, indeed, thatin about three years from that day he found himself in Maynooth, andin three years more was an active curate, to whom that very teacherappeared as slavishly submissive as if he had never ridiculed hisvulgarity or ungainly dimensions. Poor Frank, however, in consequence ofthe rapid progress he made, and of the very short interval which elapsedfrom the period of his commencing Latin until that of his ordination, was assigned by the people the lowest grade in learning. The term usedto designate the rank which they supposed him to hold, was both humorousand expressive. 

"Franky, " they would say, "is no finished priest in the larnin'; he'sbut a _scowdher_. "

Now a _scowdher_ is an oaten cake laid upon a pair of tongs placed overthe greeshaugh, or embers, that are spread out for the purpose of bakingit. In a few minutes the side first laid down is scorched: it isthen turned, and the other side is also scorched; so that it has theappearance of being baked, though it is actually quite raw within. It isa homely, but an exceedingly apt illustration, when applied to such menas Frank. 

"Poor Frank, " they would observe, "is but a _scowdher_--the sign of thetongs--No. 11, is upon him; so that it is asy known he never was laidto the _muddha arran_, "*--that is to say, properly baked--or duly andthoroughly educated. 

* The _Muddha Arran_ is literally "the bread stick, " a term inopposition to the _scowdher_. It is a forked stick with three legs, thatstands opposite the fire, and supports the cake, which is placed on theedge until it is gradually baked. The Scowdher is, for the most part, made in cases of hurry. 

Denis, however, to resume more directly the thread of our narrative, onfinding himself mounted, took an inveterate prejudice against walking. There was something, he thought, far more dignified in riding thanin pacing slowly upon the earth, like a common man who had not thejustification of Latin and Greek for becoming an equestrian. Besidesthis accomplishment, there were also many other habits to be brokenoff, and more genteel ones to be adopted in their place. These were allsuggested by his rising pride; and, in sooth, they smacked strongly ofthat adroitness with which the Irish priest, and every priest, contrivesto accomplish the purpose of feeding well through the ostensible mediumof a different motive. 

He accordingly took his father aside one morning, after he had eaten amore meagre breakfast that usual, and, after licking his lips, addressedhim in these words:--

"I think, father, that upon considerating the consequence to which Iam now entitled, and the degree of respectability which, in my ownperson--_in propria persona_--I communicate to the vulgarians with whomI am connected--I call them vulgarians from no derogatory motive;but you will concede yourself, that they are ignorant of the larnedlanguages, an' consequently, though dacent enough, still, in referenceto Latin and Greek, but vulgarians. Well! _Quid multis?_--I say, thattaking all these things into speculation, looking at them--_veluti inspeculum_--it is neither dacent nor becoming that I should ate in themanner I have done, as vulgarly as themselves--that I should ate, Isay, any longer, without knife and fork. Neither, I announce, shall Iin future drink my milk any longer, as I have with all humility donehitherto, out of a noggin; nor continue to disrobe, my potatoes anylonger without a becoming instrument. I must also have better viandsto consume. You are not to be ininformed that I am in that situation oflife, in which, from my education and other accomplishments, I must beestimated as duly qualified to ate beef and mutton instead of bacon, an' to have my _tay_ breakfast instead of stirabout, which, inpolite society, is designated porridge. You know yourself, and mustacknowledge, that I'm soon likely to confer distinction and preeminenceupon the poor illiterate, but honest creatures, with whom I amassociated in the bonds of blood-relationship. If I were a dunce, or abooby, or a leather head, the case might be different; but you yourselfare well acquainted with my talents of logic and conthroversy; an' Ihave sound rasons and good authority, which I could quote, if necessary, for proving that nothing increases the weight of the brain, andaccelerates to gravity and solidity more than good feeding. Payattention, therefore, to my words, for I expect that they will be dulyobserved:--buy me a knife and fork; and when I get them, it's not to laythem past to rust, you consave. The beef and mutton must follow; andin future I'm resolved to have my _tay_ breakfast. There are geese, and turkeys, and pullets enough about the yard, and I am bent onaccomplishing myself in the art of carving them. I'm not the man nowto be placed among the other riff-raff' of the family over a basket ofpotatoes, wid a black clerical coat upon me, and a noggin of milk undermy arm! I tell you the system must be changed: the schoolmaster isabroad, and I'll tolerate such vulgarity no longer. Now saddle the horsetill I ride across the bog to Pether Rafferty's Station, where I'm tosarve mass; plase heaven, I'll soon be able to say one myself, and giveyou all a lift in spirituals--ehem!"

"Throth, Dinny, I b'lieve you're right, avick; and----"

"Vick me no longer, father--that's another thing I forgot. It's fulltime that I should be sirred; and if my own relations won't call me Sirinstead of Dinny, it's hardly to be expected that strangers will do it. I wish to goodness you had never stigmatized me wid so vulgar an epithetas Dinny. The proper word is Dionysius; and, in future, I'll expect tobe called Misther Dionysius. "

"Sure, I or your mother needn't be sirrin' you, Dinny?"

"I haven't made up my mind as to whether I'll demand that proof ofmy respectability from you and my mother, or not; but on this I'mimmovable, that instead of Dinny, you must, as I said, designate meDionysius. "

"Well, well, avourneen, I suppose only it's right you wouldn't be axin'us; but I'm sure your poor mother will never be able to get her tongueabout Dionnisis, it's so long and larned a word. "

"It is a larned word, no doubt; but she must persevere until she's ableto masther it. I wouldn't for three tenpennies that the priest wouldhear one of you call me Dinny; it would degradate me very much in hisestimation. At all events, if my mother cannot manage the orthography ofDionysius, let it be Denis, or anything but that signature of vulgarity, Dinny. Now, father, you won't neglect to revale what I've ordered to thefamily?"

"No, indeed, I will not, avick--I mane--Dionnisis, avourneen--I'll tellthem everything as you ordhered; but as to Dionnisis, I'm cock sure thatpoor Mave will never be able to get her ould tongue about so newfangleda piece of larnin' as that is. Well, well, this knowledge bates theworld!"

When the horse was saddled, and Dionysius on his way with all due pompto the Station, old Denis broke the matter to his wife. 

"Mave, achora, " said, he, "I have sthrange news to tell you: sureDionnisis is goin' to make himself a gintleman. "

"Sure what?"

"Dionnisis, our son Dionnisis, is goin' to make himself a gintleman;he'll ate no longer widout a knife and fork. "

"Saints about us!" exclaimed Mave, rising and looking with alarm intoher husband's face--"saints about us, Denis, what is it ails you? Surethere would be nothin' wrong wid you about the head, Denis? or maybeit's a touch of a faver you've got, out riddling that corn bare-headed, yistherday? I remimber the time my Aunt Bridget tuck the scarlet faver, she begun to rave and spake foolish in the same way. "

"Why, woman, if your Aunt Bridget had a faver made up of all the colorsin the rainbow, I tell you I'm spakin' sinse! Our son Dionnisis provedhimself a gintleman out in the garden wid me about an hour ago. "

"I suppose so, Denis, " she replied, humoring' him, for she was stilldoubly convinced that he labored under some incipient malady, if notunder actual insanity; "an' what son is this, Dinny? I've never heard ofhim before. "

"Our son Denis, woman alive! You must know he's not to be called Dinnyor Dinis any more, but Dionnisis; he's to begin atin' wid a knife an'fork to-morrow; we must get him beef and mutton, and a _tay_ breakfast. He say's it's not fair play in any one that's so deep read in thelarnin' as he is, to ate like a vulgarian, or to peel his phaties widhis fingers, an' him knows so much Latin an' Greek; an' my sowl tohappiness but he'll stick to the gintlemanly way of livin', so far asthe beef, an' mutton, and tay is consamed. "

"He will! An', Dinis O'Shaughnessy, who has a betther right to turngintleman, nor the gorsoon that studied for that! Isn't it proud youought to be that he has the spirit to think of sich things?"

"I'll engage, Mave, on that point you'll find him spirited enough; formy part, I don't begrudge him what he wants; but I heard the people say, that no man's a gintleman who's not College-bred; and you know he's notthat yet. "

"You forget that he has gentle blood in his veins, Denis. There was aday when my family, the Magennises, held their heads up; and Kolumkillsays that the same time is to come back agin to all the ould families. Who knows if it's altogether from himself he's takin' to the beef an'mutton, but from prophecy; he knows what he's about, I'll warrant him. For our part, it's not right for us to cross him in it; it's for thegood of the church, no doubt, an' we might lose more by a blast upon thecorn or the cattle, than he'd ate the other way. That's my dhrame outthat I had last night about him. I thought we were all gother somewherethat I can't rightly remimber; but anyhow there was a great sight ofpeople in it, an' high doin's goin' an in the atin' way. I lookedabout me, an' seen ever so many priests dressed all like the Protestantclargy; our Dinis was at the head of them, wid a three-cocked hat, an'a wig upon him; he was cuttin' up beef an' mutton at the rate of aweddin', an' dhrinkin' wine in metherfuls. "

"'Musha, Dinis, ' says myself, 'what's all this for?'

"'Why, ' says he, 'it's all for the good of the church an' the faithful. I'm now Archbishop of the county, ' says he; 'the Protestants are allbanished, an' we are in their place. '

"The sorra one o' myself all this time but thought he was a prieststill; so says I, 'Dinny, you're a wantin' to anoint Paddy Diarmud, who's given over, an' if you don't I make haste, you won't overtakehim?'

"'He must wait then till mornin', ' says Dinny; 'or if he chooses todie against my will, an' the will o' the church, let him take thequensequences. Were wealthy now. '

"I was so much frightened at the kind of voice that he spoke to me in, that I awoke; an' sure enough, the first thing I heard was the fizzin'o' bacon on the pan. I wondered! who could be up so early, an' puttin'my head through the door, there was Dinny busy at it, wid an ould knifein one hand, an' an iron skiver in the other imitatin' a fork. 

"'What are you doin' so early, Dinny?' says I. 

"'I'm practisin', ' says he. 

"'What for?' says I. 

"'Oh, I'm practisin', ' says he, back again, 'go to bed; I'm practisin'for the church, an' the Station that's to be in Pether Rafferty'sto-day. '

"Now, Dinny, between you an' me, that dhrame didn't come for nothin'. Sogive the gorsoon his way, an' if he chooses to be a gintleman, why lethim; he'll be the more honor to thim that reared him. "

"Thrue for you, indeed, --Mave; he always had a high spirit ever sincehe was intinded for the robes, and would have his own way and will inwhatever he took into his head, right or wrong, as cleverly as if he hadthe authority for it. "

"An' so he ought, seein' he wasn't to be slavin' at the spade, like therest o' the family. The ways o' them that have great larnin' as he has, isn't like other people's ways--they must be humored, and have their ownwill, otherwise what 'ud they be betther than their neighbors?"

The other arrangements laid down by Denis, touching his determinationnot to be addressed so familiarly by his brothers and sisters, were nextdiscussed in this conversation, and, of course, the same prejudice inhis favor was manifested by his indulgent parents. The whole code of hisinjunctions was subsequently disclosed to the family in all its extentand rigor. Some of them heard it with surprise, and other with that kindof dogged indignation evinced by those who are in some degree preparedfor the nature of the communication about to be laid before them. Altogether, the circumstances in which it placed them were peculiar andembarrassing. The Irish peasant can seldom bear to have the tendernessof domestic affection tampered with, whether from pride, caprice, orany other motive not related to his prejudices. In this instance thestrongest feelings of the O'Shaughnessys were brunted, as it were, inhostile array against each other; and although the moral force on eachside was nearly equal, still the painful revulsion produced by Denis'spride, as undervaluing their affection, and substituting the cold formsof artificial life for the warmth of honest hearts like theirs, was, inthe first burst of natural fervor, strongly, and somewhat indignantlyexpressed. 

Denis had been their pride, the privileged person among them--theindividual whose talents were to throw lustre upon a nameless andunknown family; the future priest--the embryo preacher of eminence--theresistless controversialist--the holy father confessor--and, perhaps, for with that vivacity of imagination peculiar to the Irish, they couldscarcely limit his exaltation--perhaps the bishop of a whole diocese. Had not the Lord Primate himself been the son of as humble a man? "Andwho knows, " said his youngest and fairest sister, who of all the familywas most devoted to him, "but Dinny might yet be a primate?" And as shespoke, the tear of affection, pride, and enthusiasm glistened in hereye. Denis, therefore, had been much, even in his youth, to their simplehearts, and far more to their hopes and expectations, than he was in allthe pride of his petty polemics; but when he, before whose merits, bothreal and imaginary, every heart among them bowed as before the shrine ofa tutelar saint, turned round, ere the destined eminence he aimed at washalf attained, and laid upon their fervent affection the icy chain ofpride and worldly etiquette--the act was felt keenly and unexpectedly asthe acute spasm of some sudden malady. The father and mother, however, both, defended him with great warmth; and by placing his motives in thatpoint of view which agreed best with their children's prejudices, theyeventually succeeded in reconciling his brothers and sisters in somedegree to the necessity of adopting the phraseology he proposed--thatthey might treat him with suitable respect in the eye of the world. 

"It's proud of him we ought to be, " said his father, "and delighted thathe has sich a risin' spirit; an' sure the more respect is paid to himthe greater credit he will be to ourselves. "

"But, sure he has no right, " said his eldest brother, "to be settin' upfor a gentleman till he's priested. I'm willin' enough to sir him, onlythat it cuts me more than I'll say, to think that I must be callin' theboy that I'd spill the dhrop of my blood for, afther I the manner of asthranger; and besides, " he added, "I'm not clear but the neighborswill be passin' remarks upon us, as they did when you and he used to bearguin'. "

"I'd like to see them that 'ud turn it into a joke, " said his father;"I would let them know that Dinis O'Shaughnessy's dog is neither to bemade or meddled wid in a disrespectful manner, let alone his son. We arenot widout friends and connections that 'ud take our quarrel upon themin his defince, if there was a needcessity for it; but there will not, for didn't my heart lep the other day to my throat wid delight, when Isaw Larry Neil put his hand to his hat to him, comin' up the Esker uponthe mare; and may I never do an ill turn, if he didn't answer the bow toLarry, as if he was the priest of the parish already. It's the wondherof the world how he picks up a jinteel thing any how, an' ever did, since he was the hoith o' that. "

"Why, " said the mother, "what a norration yez rise about thratin' theboy as every one like him ought to be thrated. Wait till ye see him aparish priest, and then yell be comin' round him to get your daughtersto keep house for him, and your sons edicated and made priests of; butnow that the child takes a ginteel relish for beef and mutton, and wantsto be respected, ye are mane an' low spirited enough to grumble aboutit. "

"No mother, " said his youngest sister, bursting into tears, "I'd beg itfor him, sooner nor he should want; but I can't bear to be callin' mybrother Dinny--sir--like a stranger. It looks as if I didn't love him, or as if he was forgettin' us, or carin' less about us nor he used todo. "

This, in fact, was the root and ground of the opposition which Denis'splan received at the hands of his relations; it repressed the cordialand affectionate intercourse which had hitherto subsisted between them;but the pride of life, and, what is more, the pride of an office whichought always to be associated with humility, had got into his heart; thevanity of learning, too, thin and shallow though it was, inflated him;and the effect of both was a gradual induration of feeling--an habitualsense of his own importance, and a notion of supreme contempt for allwho were more ignorant than himself. 

After the first impression of pain and mortification had passed awayfrom the minds of his brothers and sisters, it was, however, unanimouslyadmitted that he was right; and ere long, no other feeling than one ofgood-humor, mingled with drollery, could be perceived among them. Theywere clearly convinced, that he claimed no more from strangers than wasdue to him; but they certainly were not prepared to hear that he hadbrought the exactions of personal respect so completely and unexpectedlyhome to themselves as he had done. The thing, too, along with beingunreasonable, was awkward and embarrassing in the extreme; for there isa kind of feeling among brothers and sisters, which, though it cannotbe described, is very trying to their delicacy and shamefacedness undercircumstances of a similar nature. In humble life you will see amarried woman who cannot call her husband after his Christian name; ora husband, who, from some extraordinary restraint, cannot address hiswife, except in that distant manner which the principle I allude todictates, and habit confirms. 

Denis, however, had overcome this modesty, and felt not a whit tooshamefaced to arrogate to his own learning and character the mostunhesitating manifestation of their deference and respect, and they soonscrupled not to pay it. 

The night of that evening was pretty far advanced, when a neighbor'sson, named Condy Callaghan, came to inform the family, that Denis, whencrossing the bog on his way home, had rode into a swamp, from which hefound much difficulty in extricating himself, but added, "the mare issunk to the saddle-skirts, and cannot get out widout men and ropes, "In a short time a sufficient number of the neighbors were summonedtogether, and proceeded to the animal's relief. Denny's importance, aswell as his black dress, was miserably tarnished; he stood, however, with as dignified an air as possible, and, in a bombastic style, proceeded to direct the men as to the best manner of relieving her. 

"Asy, Dinny, " said his brother, with a good-humored but significantsmile--"larning may be very good in its place; in the mane time, lavethe business in our hands rather than in your own head--or if you havee'er a scrap of Greek or Latin that 'ud charm ould Sobersides out, wherewas the use of sendin' for help?"

"I say, " replied Dennis, highly offended, "I'll not tolerate vulgarityany longer; you must larn to address me in a more polite style. If theanimal--that purblind quadruped--walked into the mire, by what logiccan you produce an association between her blindness and my knowledge ofLatin and Greek? But why do I degradate my own consequence by declaimingto you an eulogium upon logic? It's only throwing pearls before swine. "

"I didn't mane to offind you, " replied the warm-hearted brother; "Imeant you no offince in what I said, so don't take it ill--we'll haveSobersides out in no time--and barrin' an extra rubbin' down to both ofyou, neither will be the worse, I hope. "

"As to what you hope or despair, Brian, it could produce no otherimpression on the subtility of my fancy than pity for the man who couldcompare me--considering the brilliancy of my career, and the extent ofmy future speculations--to a quadruped like Sobersides, by assertingthat I, as well as she, ought to be rubbed down! And were it not that Iconfront the offince with your own ignorance, I would expose you beforethe townland in which we stand; ay, to the whole parish--but I spareyou, out of respect to my own consequence. "

"I ax your pardon, " said the brother, "I won't offind you in the sameway again. What I said, I said to you as I thought a brother might--I axyour pardon!"

There was a slight agitation approaching to a tremor in his brother'svoice, that betokened sorrow for his own impropriety in too familiarlyaddressing Denis, and perhaps regret that so slight and inoffensive ajest should have been so harshly received in the presence of strangers, by a brother who in reality had been his idol. He reflected upon theconversation held on that morning in the family, touching Denny'sprerogative in claiming a new and more deferential deportment from themall; and he could not help feeling that there was in it a violation ofsome natural principle long sacred to his heart. But the all-prevadingand indefinite awe felt for that sacerdotal character into which hisbrother was about to enter, subdued all, and reconciled him to thoseinroads upon violated Nature, despite her own voice, loudly expressed asit was in his bosom. 

When the family was once more assembled that night, Denis addressed themin a tone, which implied that the _odium theologicum_ had not preventedthe contrition expressed by his brother from altogether effacing fromhis mind the traces of his offence. 

"Unworthy of respect, " he proceeded, "as it appears by some of myrelations I am held, " and he glanced at his brother, "yet I begpermission to state, that our worthy parochial priest, or I shouldrather say, the Catholic Rector of this parish, is of a somewhatdifferent habit of thought or contemplation. I dined with himto-day--ehem--dined with him upon an excellent joint of mutton--I say, father--the mutton was good--and with his proud, pertinacious curate, whom I do not at all relish; whether, as Homer says--I enumerate hisscurrilous satire, or his derogatory insinuations. His parochial pastorand spiritual superior is a gentleman, or, as Horace says, _homo factusad unguem_--which is paraphrastically--every inch a gentleman--or moreliterally, a gentleman to the tops of his fingers--ehem--hem--down tothe very nails--as it were. 

"Well--having discussed that--_observatis observandis, quoadsacerdolem_--having passed my eulogium upon Father Finnerty--upon myword and credit though, punch is _prima facie_ drink--and father, thatbrings me to remember an omission which I committed in my dialogue withyou this morning. I forgot to say, that after my dinner, in the manner Iexpounded to you, it will be necessary to have a tumbler of punch--for, as Father Finnerty says, there is nothing which so effectually promotesthe organs of digestion. Now, my introduction of this, in the middleof my narrative, is what the hypercritics call a Parenthesis, whichcertainly betrays no superficial portion of literary perusal on my part, if you could at all but understand it as well as Father Finnerty, ourWorthy parochial incumbent, does. As for the curate, should I ever cometo authority in the Irish hierarchy, I shall be strongly disposed todiscountenance him; if it were only for his general superciliousness ofconduct. So there's another clause disposed of. 

"Well--to proceed--I say I have intelligence regarding myself, that willbe by no means unsavory to you all. Father Finnerty and I had, aboutan hour before dinner this day, a long and tedious conversation, thesubstance of which was my future celebrity in the church. He has a claimon the Bishop, which he stated to me will be exercised in my favor, although there are several candidates for it in this parish, not one ofwhom, however, is within forty-five degree's of being so well qualifiedfor college as myself. Father, is there not a jar--an _amphora_--as thatcelebrated satirist Juvenile has it--an _amphora_--in the chimly-brace, filled with liquor--get it, and let us _inter animosity_--I'll not belong a member of the domestic circle with you--so, upon the basis of thecommunication I have to make, let us, as I said, be--become sextons toanimosity and care. 'Dionysius, ' said Father Finnerty, addressing me, which shows, at all events, that I am not so unimportant as some of myfriends would suppose--'Dionysius, ' said he '_inter nos_--betweenyou and me, I believe I have it in my power to send up a candidate toMaynooth. 'Tis true, I never make a promise--_nunquam facio votum_, except in certain cases, or, in other words, Dionysius, _exceptisexcipiendis_--in which is the essence, as it were, of a proper vow. ' Inthe meantime he proceeded--'With regard to your prospects in the church, I can only say, in the first place, and I say it with much truth andsincerity--that I'm badly off for a horse; that, however, is, as I said, _inter nos--sub sigillo_. The old garran I have is fairly worn out--and, not that I say it, your father has as pretty a colt as there is withinthe bounds--_intra terminos parochii mei_, within the two ends of myparish: _verbum sat_--which is, I'm sure you're a sensible and discreetyoung man. Your father, Dionysius, is a parishioner whom I regard andesteem to the highest degree of comparison, and you will be pleased toreport my eulogium to himself and to his dacent family--and proud maythey be of having so brilliant a youth among them as you are--ehem!'

"Now, you may all think that this was plain conversation; but I had readtoo much for that. In fact, it was logic--complate, convincing logic, every word of it. So I responded to him in what is called in the books, the _argumentum ad crumenam_; although I question but it ought to bedesignated here the _argumentum ad bestiam_. Said I, 'Father Finnerty, the colt, my paternal property, which you are pleased to eulogize sohighly, is a good one; it was designed for myself when I should comeout on the mission; however, I will undertake to say, if you get meinto Maynooth, that my father, on my authority, will lend you the colttomorrow, and the day of his claiming it will be dependent upon thefulfilment of your promise or _votum_. '

"'_Signatum et sigttlatum est_, ' said he--for, indeed, the best partof the discussion was conducted in Latin; 'and now, ' he continued, 'myexcellent Dionysius, nothing remains but that the colt be presented--'

--"'Lent, ' I responded, correcting him, 'you see, even although he wasthe priest--'lent, ' said I; 'and your Reverence will be good enough togive the _votum_ before one or two of my friends. '

"He looked at me sharply, not expecting to find such deep logic in onehe conjectured to be but a tyro. 

"'You will be a useful man in the church, ' he added, 'and you deserve tobe pushed on at all events. In the meantime, tell your father that I'llride up and breakfast with him to-morrow, and he can have a friend ortwo to talk over the _compactum_. '

"So, father, there's the state of the question at present; theaccomplishment of the condition is dependent upon yourself. "

My readers may perceive that Denis, although a pedant, was not a fool. It has been said that no man is a hero to his _valet-de-chambre_; butI think the truth of the sentiment contained in that saying isquestionable. Denis, on the contrary, was nowhere so great a man as inhis own chimney-corner, surrounded by his family. It was there he waslearned, accomplished, profound; next to that, he was great among thosewho, although not prejudiced in his favor by the bonds of affection, were too ignorant to discover those literary pranks which he played off, because he knew he could do so without detection. The basis, however, ofhis character was shrewd humor and good sense; and even at the stage oflife which we have just described, it might have been evident to a closeobserver that, when a proper knowledge of his own powers, joined to afurther acquaintance with the world, should enable him to cast off theboyish assumption of pedantry, a man of a keen, ready intellect andconsiderable penetration would remain. 

Many of my readers may be inclined to exclaim that the character ofDenny is not to be found in real life; but they are mistaken who thinkso. They are not to suppose that Denis O'Shaughnessy was the same personin his intercourse with intelligent men and scholars, that he appearedamong the illiterate peasantry, or his own relations. Far from it. Withthe former, persons like him are awkward and bashful, or modest andunassuming, according to the bent of their natural disposition. Withscholars Denis made few pretensions to superior knowledge; but, on thecontrary, took refuge, if he dreaded a scrutiny into his acquirements, in the humblest acknowledgment of his limited reading, and totalunacquaintance with those very topics on which he was, under othercircumstances, in the habit of expatiating so fluently. In fact, wereI to detail some of the scenes of his exhibitions as they were actuallydisplayed, then I have no doubt I might be charged with coloring toohighly. 

When Denis had finished the oration from the chimney-corner, deliveredwith suitable gesticulations while he stood drying himself at the fireafter the catastrophe of the swamp, a silence of some minutes followed. The promise of the colt made to the priest with such an air ofauthority, was a finale which the father did not expect, and by which hewas not a little staggered. 

"I could like it all very well, " replied the father, "save an' exceptgivin' away the coult that's worth five-an'-twenty guineas, if he'sworth a _'crona-bawn_. To tell the blessed thruth, Dinis, if you hadsettled the business widout _that_, I'd be betther plased. "

"Just exercise your contemplation upon it for a short period, " repliedDenis, "and you will perceive that I stipulated to lend him beforewitnesses; and if Father Finnerty does not matriculate me into Maynooth, then do you walk down some brilliant morning or other, and take yourbaste by the head, direct yourself home, hold the bridle as you proceed, and by the time you're at the rack, you'll find the horse at the manger. I have now stated the legality of the matter, and you may act as yourown subtility of perception shall dictate. I have laid down the law, doyou consider the equity. "

"Why, " said the father, "if I thought he would get you into"--

"Correct, quite correct: the cardinal point there is the if. If hedoes, give him the horse; but if not, reclaim the quadruped withouthesitation. I am not to be kept back, if profundity and erudition cansubstantiate a prospect. Still, father, the easiest way is the safest, and the shortest the most expeditious. "

The embarrassing situation in which the other members of the familywere placed, imposed upon them a profound silence, in reference tothe subject of conversation. Yet, while Denny delivered the aforesaidharangue from the chimney-corner, every eye was fixed upon him with anexpression of pride and admiration which escaped not his own notice. Their deportment towards him was affectionate and respectful; but noneof them could so far or so easily violate old habits as to address himaccording to his own wishes; they therefore avoided addressing him atall. 

The next morning Father Finnerty paid them his purposed visit, and, as he had promised, arrived in time for breakfast. A few of Denis'srelations were assembled, and in their presence the arrangementsrespecting the colt and Denny's clerical prospects were privatelyconcluded. So far everything was tight; the time of Denny's departurefor Maynooth was to be determined by the answer which Father Finnertyshould receive from the bishop; for an examination must, of course, take place, which was to be conducted by the prelate, or by some otherclergyman appointed for that purpose. This and the necessary preparationusual on such occasions, were the only impediments in the way of hisdeparture for Maynooth, a place associated with so many dreams of thatlowly ambition which the humble circumstances of the peasantry permitthem to entertain. 

The Irish people, I need scarcely observe, are a poor people; they are, also, very probably, for the same reason, an imaginative people; at allevents, they are excited by occurrences which would not produce the samevivacity of emotion which they experience upon any other people in theworld. This, after all, is but natural; a long endurance of hungerwill render the coarsest food delicious; and, on the contrary, when theappetite is glutted with the richest viands, it requires a dish whoseflavor is proportionably high and spicy to touch the jaded palate. Itis so with our moral enjoyments. In Ireland, a very simple accession totheir hopes or comforts produces an extraordinary elevation of mind, and so completely unlocks the sluices of their feelings, that everyconsideration is lost in the elation of the moment. At least it was soin Denis O'Shaughnessy's family upon this occasion. 

No sooner had Father Finnerty received the colt, and pledged himselfthat Denny should have the place at Maynooth that was then vacant, thana tumultuous expression of delight burst from his family and relations, business was then thrown aside for the day; the house was scoured andset in order, as if it were for a festival; their best apparel wasput on; every eye was bright, every heart throbbed with a delightfulimpulse, whilst kindness and hilarity beamed from their faces. Ina short time they all separated themselves among their neighbors tocommunicate the agreeable tidings; and the latter, with an honestparticipation in their happiness, instantly laid aside their avocations, and flocked to Denis O'Shaughnessy's, that they might congratulate himand his friends upon what was considered the completion of their hopes. When the day was more advanced, several of Denny's brothers and sistersreturned, and the house was nearly filled with their acquaintances andrelations. Ere one o'clock had passed they wore all assembled, exceptold Denis, of whom, no person could give any intelligence. Talk, loudlaughter, pure poteen, and good-humor, all circulated freely? thefriendly neighbor unshaved, and with his Sunday coat thrown hastily overhis work-day apparel, drank to Denny's health, and wished that he might"bate all Maynewth out of the face; an' sure there's no doubt ofthat, any how--doesn't myself remimber him puttin' the explanations toPasthorini before he was the bulk o' my fist?" His brothers and sistersnow adopted with enthusiasm the terms of respect which he had prescribedfor them through his father; he was Sirred and Misthered, and all butReverenced, with a glow of affectionate triumph which they strove notto conceal. He was also overwhelmed with compliments of all huesand complexions: one reminded him of the victory he obtained over ahedge-schoolmaster who came one Sunday a distance of fifteen miles tosack him in English Grammar on the chapel-green; but as the man was noclassical scholar, "Sure, " observed his neighbor, "I remember well thathe couldn't get a word out of Misther Denis's head there but Latin; sothat the poor crathur, afther travellin' fifteen long miles, had to gohome agin, the show o' the world, widout undherstandin' a sintenceof the larnin' that was put an him; an' so here's wishin' you health, Misther Dinis, agra, an' no fear in life but you'll be the jewel at theprachin, ' sir, plase Goodness!"

Another reminded him of "how often he proved Phaidrick Murray to be anass, and showed him how he couldn't make out the differ atween black an'white. "

"Sure, an' he did, " said Phadrick, scratching his head, for he wasone of the first at the house; "an' no wondher, wid his long-headedscrewtations from the books. Throth, his own father was the best match, barrin' Father Lawdher that was broke of his bread, he ever met wid, till he got too many for him by the Latin an' Greek. "

This allusion to old Denis occasioned his absence to be noticed. 

"Can nobody tell where Denis More is?" said the wife; "my gracious, butit's quare he should be from about the place this day, any way. Brian, mavourneen, did you see him goin' any where?

"No, " said Brian, "but I see him comin' down there carryin' someaitables in a basket. "

Brian had scarcely ended when his father entered, bearing beef andmutton, as aforesaid, both of which he deposited upon the kitchen table, with a jerk of generosity and pride, that seemed to say, as he lookedsignificantly at Denny--and, in fact, as he did say afterwards--"Neverspare, Dinny; ate like a gintleman; make yourself as bright an' ginteelas you can; you won't want for beef an' mutton!"

Old Denis now sat down, and, after wiping the perspiration from hisforehead, took the glass of poteen which the wife handed him: he held itbetween his finger and thumb for a moment, glanced around him upon thehappy faces present, then laid it down again, fixed his eyes upon hisson, and cast them once more upon the company. The affectionate father'sheart was full; his breast heaved, and the large tears rolled slowlydown his cheeks. By a strong effort, however, he mastered his emotion;and taking the glass again, he said in broken voice:--

"Neighbors!--God bless yez!--God bless yez!--Dinny--Dinny--I"--

The last words he pronounced with difficulty; and drinking off hisglass, set it down empty upon the table. He then rose up, and shook hisneighbors by the hand--

"I am, " said he, "a happy man, no doubt of it, an' we're all happy; an'it's proud any father might be to hear the account of his son, that Idid of mine, as I was convoyin' Father Finnerty a piece o' the way home. 'Your son, ' says he, when he took that bit of a coult out o' my hand, 'will be an honor to you all. I tell you, ' says he, 'that he's nearly asgood a scholar, as myself, an' spakes Latin not far behind my own; an'as for a pracher, ' says he, 'I can tell you that he'll be hard farthernor any man I know. ' He tould me them words wid his own two lips. An'surely, neighbors, " said he, relapsing into strong feeling, "you can'tblame me for bein' both proud and happy of sich a son. "

My readers, from the knowledge already given them of Denny's character, are probably disposed to think that his learning was thrown out on thisoccasion in longer words and more copious quotations than usual. This, however, was not the case; so far from that, he never displayed lesspedantry, nor interspersed his conversation with fewer scraps of Latin. In fact, the proceedings of the day appeared to affect him with a toneof thought, decidedly at variance with the exuberance of joy experiencedby the family. He was silent, moody, and evidently drawn by some secretreflection from the scene around him. He held a book in his hand, intowhich he looked from time to time, with the air of a man who balancessome contingency in his mind. At length, when the conversation ofthose who were assembled became more loud and boisterous, he watchedan opportunity of gliding out unperceived; having accomplished this, helooked cautiously about him, and finding himself not observed, he turnedhis steps to a glen which lay about half a mile below his father'shouse. 

At the lowest skirt of this little valley, protected, by a few spreadinghawthorns, stood a small white farm-house, more immediately shaded by aclose row of elder or boor-tree, which hung over one of the gables, and covered the garden gate, together with a neat grassy seat, thatwas built between the gate, and the gable. It was impervious to sunand rain: one of those pretty spots which present themselves on theroad-side in the country, and strike the eye with a pleasing notion ofcomfort; especially when, during a summer shower, the cocks and hens ofthe little yard are seen by the traveller who takes shelter under it, huddled up in silence, the white dust quite dry, whilst the heavy showerpatters upon the leaves above, and upon the dark drenched road besidehim. 

Under the shade of this sat an interesting girl, aged about seventeen, named Susan Connor. She was slender, and not above the middle size;but certainly, in point of form and feature, such as might be calledbeautiful--handsome she unquestionably was; but be that as it may, withthis rustic beauty the object of Denis's stolen visit was connected. Shesat knitting under the shade of elder which we have described, a sweetpicture of innocence and candor. Our hero's face, as he approached her, was certainly a fine study for any one who wished to embody the sad andthe ludicrous. Desperate was the conflict between pedantry and feelingwhich he experienced. His manner appeared more pompous and affected thanever; yet was there blended with the flush of approaching triumph asa candidate, such woe-begone shades of distress flitting occasionallyacross his feature, as rendered his countenance inscrutably enigmatical. 

When the usual interchange of preliminary conversation had passed, Denis took his seat beside her on the grassy bench; and after lookingin several directions, and giving half a dozen hems, he thus accostedher:--

"Susan, cream of my affections, I may venture to conjecture that thefact, or _factum_, of my being the subject of _fama clamosa_ today, hasnot yet reached your ears?"

"Now, Denis, you are at your deep larning from the books again. Can'tyou keep your reading for them that undherstands it, an' not be spakin'so Englified to a simple girl like me?"

"There is logic in that same, however. Do you know, Susan, I have oftenthought that, provided always you had resaved proper instruction, youwould have made a first-rate classical scholar. "

"So you tould me, Denis, the Sunday we exchanged the promise. But surewhen you get me, I can larn it. Won't you tache me, Denis?"

She turned her laughing eyes archly at him as she spoke, with a look ofjoy and affection: it was a look, indeed, that staggered for the momentevery ecclesiastical resolution within him. He returned her glance, andran over the features of her pure and beautiful countenance for someminutes; then, placing his open hand upon his eyes, he seemed buried inreflection. At length he addressed her:--

"Susan, I am thinking of that same Sunday evening on which we exchangedthe hand-promise. I say, Susan, --_dimidium animae meae_--I am in theact of meditating upon it; and sorry am I to be compel--to be under theneces--to be reduced, I say--that is redact as in the larned langua--:in other words--or terms, indeed, is more elegant--in other terms, then, Susan, I fear that what I just now alluded to, touching the _famaclamosa_ which is current about me this day, will render that promise arather premature one on both our parts. Some bachelors in my situationmight be disposed to call it foolish, but I entertain a reverence--aveneration for the feelings of the feminine sex, that inclines me to usethe mildest and most classical language in divulging the change that hastaken place in my fortunes since I saw you last. "

"What do you mane, Denis?" inquired Susan, suddenly ceasing to knit, andfixing her eyes upon him with a glance of alarm. 

"To be plain, Susy, I find that Maynooth is my destination. It has beenarranged between my father and Docthor Finnerty, that I must becomea laborer in the vineyard; that is, that I must become a priest, andcultivate the grape. It's a sore revelation to make to an amorousmaiden; but destiny will be triumphant:--

_Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis_. "

The poor girl suddenly laid down the work on which she had been engaged, her face became the color of ashes, and the reply she was about to makedied upon her lips. She again resumed her stocking, but almost instantlylaid it down a second time, and appeared wholly unable either to believeor comprehend what he said. 

"Denis, " she at length asked, "Did you say that all is to be overbetween us?"

"That was my insinuation, " replied Denis, "The fact is, Susy, thatdestiny is adverse; clean against our union in the bonds of matrimonialecstacy. But, Susy, my charmer, I told you before that you were notdestitute of logic, and I hope you will bear this heavy visitation asbecomes a philosopher. "

"Bear it, Denis! How ought I to bear it, after your saying and swearing, too, that neither father, nor mother, nor priest, nor anybody else wouldmake you desart me?"

"But, Susan, my nightingale, perhaps you are not aware that there isan authority in existence to which father, mother, and all must knuckledown. That is the church, Susan. Reflect--_dulce decus meum_--that thepower of the church is able to loose and unloose, to tie and untie, toforgive and to punish, to raise to the highest heaven, or to sink tothe profoundest Tartarus. That power, Susan, thinks proper to claim yourunworthy and enamored swain as one of the brightest Colossuses ofher future glory. The Irish hierarchy is plased to look upon me as aluminary of almost superhuman brilliancy and coruscation: my talentsshe pronounces to be of the first magnitude; my eloquence classical andoverwhelming, and my learning only adorned by that poor insignificantattribute denominated by philosophers unfathomability!--hem!--hem!"

"Denis, " replied the innocent girl, "you sometimes speak that I canundherstand you; but you oftener spake in a way that I can hardly makeout what you say. If it's a thing that my love for you, or the solemnpromise that passed between us, would stand in your light, or previntyou from higher things as a priest, I am willing to--to--to give youup, whatever I may suffer. But you know yourself, that you brought me onfrom time to time undher your promise, that nothing would ever leadyou to lave me in sorrow an' disappointment. Still, I say, that--But, Denis, is it thrue that you could lave me for anything?"

The innocent confidence in his truth expressed by the simplicity of herlast question, staggered the young candidate; that is to say, her words, her innocence, and her affection sank deeply into his heart. 

"Susan, " he replied, "to tell the blessed truth, I am fairly dilemma'd. My heart is in your favor; but--but--hem--you don't know the prospectthat is open to me. You don't know the sin of keeping back sucha--a--a--galaxy as I am from the church. I say you don't know the sin ofit. That's the difficulty. If it was a common case it would be nothing!but to keep back a person like me--a _rara avis in terris_--from thepriesthood, is a sin that requires a great dale of interest with thePope to have absolved. "

"Heaven above forgive me!" exclaimed the artless girl. "In that case Iwouldn't for the riches of the wide earth stand between you and. God. But I didn't know that before, Denis; and if you had tould me, I think, sooner than get into sich a sin I'd struggle to keep down my love foryou, even although my heart should break. "

"Poor darling, " said Denis, taking her passive hand in his, "and wouldit go so hard with you? Break your heart! Do you love me so well asthat, Susan?"

Susan's eyes turned on him for a moment, and the tears which hisquestion drew forth gave it a full and a touching reply. She utterednot a word, but after a few deep sobs wiped her eyes, and endeavored tocompose her feelings. 

Denis felt the influence of her emotions; he remained silent for a shorttime, during which, however, ambition drew in the background all thosedimly splendid visions that associate themselves with the sacerdotalfunctions, in a country where the people place no bounds to thespiritual power of their pastors. 

"Susan, " said he, after a pause, "do you know the difference between aChristian and a hathen?"

"Between a Christian an' a hathen? Why aren't hathens all sinners?"

"Very right. Faith, Susan, you would have shone at the classics. You see_dilecta cordis mei, _ or, _cordi meo, _ for either is good grammar--yousee, Susan, the difference between a Christian and a hathen is this:--a Christian bears disappointments, with fortitude--with what isdenominated Christian fortitude; whereas, on the contrary, a hathendoesn't bear disappointments at all. Now, Susan, it would cut me to theheart to find that you would become a hathen on this touching and tryingoccasion. "

"I'll pray to God, Denis. Isn't that the way to act under afflictions?"

"Decidedly. There is no other legitimate mode of quelling a heart-ache. And, Susan, when you go to supplication you are at liberty to mention myname--no, not yet; but if I were once consecrated you might. However, itis better to sink this; say nothing about me when you pray, for, totell you I truth, I believe you have as much influence above--_superastra_--as I have. There is one argument which I am anxious to pressupon you. It is a very simple but a very respectable one after all. Iam not all Ireland. You will find excellent good husbands even in thisparish. There is, as the old proverb says, as good fish in the say asever were caught. Do you catch one of them. For me, Susan, thevineyard claims me; I must, as I said, cultivate the grape. We must, consequently--hem!--we must--hem!--hem!--consequently strive toforget--hem!--I say, to forget each other. It is a trial--I know--adesperte visitation, poor fawn, upon your feelings; but, as I said, destiny will be triumphant. What is decreed, is decreed--I must go toMaynooth. "

Susan rose, and her eyes flashed with an indignant sense of thecold-blooded manner in which he advised her to select another husband. She was an illiterate girl, but the purity of her feeling supplied thedelicacy which reading and a knowledge of more refined society wouldhave given her. 

"Is it from your lips, Denis, " she said, "that I hear sich a mane andlow-minded an advice? Or do you think that with my weak, and I now see, foolish heart, settled upon you, I could turn round and fix my love uponthe first that might ax me? Denis, you promised before God to be mine, and mine only; you often said and swore that you loved me above anyhuman being; but I now see that you only intended to lead me into sinand disgrace, for indeed, and before God I don't think--I don't--Idon't--believe that you ever loved me. "

A burst of grief, mingled with indignation and affliction, followed thewords she had uttered. Denis felt himself called on for a vindication, and he was resolved to give it. 

"Susan, " he returned, "your imagination is erroneous. By all theclassical authors that ever were written, you are antipodialry opposedto facts. What harm is there, seeing that you and I can never be joinedin wedlock--what harm is there, I say, in recommending you anotherhusb--"

Susan would hear no more. She gathered up her stocking and ball ofthread, placed them in her apron, went into her father's house, shut andbolted the door, and gave way to violent grief. All this occurred in amoment, and Denis found himself excluded. 

He did not wish, however, to part from her in anger; so, after havingattempted to look through the, keyhole of the door, and applied his eyein vain to the window, he at length spoke. 

"Is there any body within but yourself, Susy?"

He received no reply. 

"I say, Susy--_dilecta juventutis meae_--touching therecommendation--now don't be crying--touching the recommendation ofanother husband, by all the classics that ever were mistranslated, Imeant nothing but the purest of consolation. If I did, may I be reducedto primeval and aboriginal ignorance! But you know yourself, that theynever prospered who prevented a _rara avis_ like me from entering thechurch--from laboring in the vineyard, and cultivating the grape. Don'tbe hathenish; but act with a philosophy suitable to so dignified anoccasion--Farewell! _Macte virtute_, and be firm. I swear again by allthe class--"

The appearance of a neighbor caused him to cut short his oath. Seeingthat the man approached the house, he drew off, and returned home, moreseriously affected by Susan's agitation than he was willing to admiteven to himself. 

This triumph over his affection was, in fact, only the conquest ofone passion over another. His attachment to Susan Connor wascertainly sincere, and ere the prospects of his entering Maynooth wereunexpectedly brought near him, by the interference of Father Finnerty, his secret purpose all along had been to enter with her into the stateof matrimony, rather than into the church. Ambition, however, is beyondall comparison the most powerful principle of human conduct, and soDenny found it. Although his unceremonious abandonment of Susan appearedheartless and cruel, yet it was not effected on his part withoutprofound sorrow and remorse. The two principles, when they began tostruggle in his heart for supremacy, resembled the rival destinies ofCaesar and Mark Antony. Love declined in the presence of ambition; andthis, in proportion as all the circumstances calculated to work uponthe strong imagination of a young man naturally fond of power, began toassume an appearance of reality. To be, in the course of a few years, a _bona fide_ priest; to possess unlimited sway over the fears andprinciples of the people; to be endowed with spiritual gifts to he knewnot what extent; and to enjoy himself as he had an opportunity ofseeing Father Finnerty and his curate do, in the full swing of convivialpleasure, upon the ample hospitality of those who, in addition to this, were ready to kiss the latchet of his shoes--were, it must be admitted, no inconsiderable motives in influencing the conduct of a person rearedin an humble condition of life. The claims of poor Susan, her modesty, her attachment, and her beauty--were all insufficient to prevail againstsuch a host of opposing motives; and the consequence, though bitter, andsubversive of her happiness, was a final determination on the part ofDenny, to acquaint her, with a kind of _ex-officio_ formality, thatall intercourse upon the subject of their mutual attachment must ceasebetween them. Notwithstanding his boasted knowledge, however, he wasignorant of sentiment, and accordingly confined himself, as I haveintimated, to a double species of argument; that is to say, first, thedanger and sin of opposing the wishes of the church which had claimedhim, as he said, to labor in the vineyard; and secondly, the undoubtedfact, that there were plenty of good husbands besides himself in theworld, from some one of which, he informed her, he had no doubt, shecould be accommodated. 

In the meantime, her image, meek, and fair, and uncomplaining, wouldfrom time to time glide into his imagination; and the melody of hervoice send its music once more to his vaccillating heart. He usuallypaused then, and almost considered himself under the influence of adream; but ambition, with its train of shadowy honors, would immediatelypresent itself, and Susan was again forgotten. 

When he rejoined the company, to whom he had given the slip, he foundthem all gone, except about six or eight whom his father had compelledto stop for dinner. His mind was now much lighter than it had beenbefore his interview with Susan, nor were his spirits at all depressedby perceiving that a new knife and fork lay glittering upon the dresserfor his own particular use. 

"Why, thin, where have you been all this time, " said the father, "an' wewantin' to know whether you'd like the mutton to be boiled or roasted!"

"I was soliloquizing in the glen below, " replied Denny, once moreassuming his pedantry, "meditating upon the transparency of all humanevents; but as for the beef and mutton, I advise you to boil the beef, and roast the mutton, or vice versa, to boil the mutton, and roast thebeef. But I persave my mother has anticipated me, and boiled them bothwith that flitch of bacon that's playing the vagrant in the big potthere. _Tria juncla in uno_, as Horace says in the Epodes, whenexpatiating upon the Roman Emperors--ehem!"

"Misther Denis, " said one of those present, "maybe you'd tell us uponthe watch, what the hour is, if you plase, sir; myself never can knowright at all, except by the shadow of the sun from the corner of our owngavel. "

"Why, " replied Denis, pulling it out with much pomp of manner, "it'sjust half-past two to a quarter of a minute, and a few seconds. "

"Why thin what a quare thing entirely a watch is, " the other continued;"now what makes you hould it to your ear, Misther Denis, if you plase?"

"The efficient cause of that, Larry, is, that the drum of the ear, you persave--the drum of the ear--is enabled to catch the intonationsproduced by the machinery of its internal operations--otherwise the factof applying it to the ear would be unnecessary--altogether unnecessary. "

"Dear me! see what it is to have the knowledge, any way! But isn't itquare how it moves of itself like a livin' crathur? How is that, MistherDenis?"

"Why, Larry, --ehem--you see the motions of it are--that is--the worksor operations, are all continually going; and sure it is from thatexplanation that we say a watch goes well. That's more than you everknew before, Larry. "

"Indeed it surely is, sir, an' is much oblaged to you, Misther Denis;sure if I ever come to wear a watch in my fob, I'll know something aboutit, anyhow. "

For the remainder of that day Denis was as learned and consequentialas ever; his friends, when their hearts were opened by his father'shospitality, all promised him substantial aid in money, and in presentsof such articles as they supposed might be serviceable to him inMaynooth. Denny received their proffers of support with suitable dignityand gratitude. A scene of bustle and preparation now commenced amongthem, nor was Denny himself the least engaged; for it somehow happened, that notwithstanding his profound erudition, he felt it necessary toread night or day in order to pass with more eclat the examination whichhe had to stand before the bishop ere his appointment to Maynooth. Thisordeal was to occur upon a day fixed for the purpose, in the ensuingmonth; and indeed Denis occupied as much of the intervening period instudy as his circumstances would permit. His situation was, at thiscrisis, certainly peculiar. Every person related to him in theslightest degree contrived to revive their relationship; his formerschool-fellows, on hearing that he was actually destined to be of thechurch, renewed their acquaintance with him, and those who had beenservants to his father, took the liberty of speaking to him upon thestrength of that fact. No child, to the remotest shade of affinity, wasborn, for which he did not stand godfather; nieces and nephews thickenedabout him, all with remarkable talents, and many of them, particularlyof the nieces, said to be exceedingly genteel--very thrifty for theirages, and likely to make excellent housekeepers. A strong likeness tohimself was also pointed out in the features of his nephews, one of whomhad his born nose--another his eyes--and a third again had his bravehigh-flown way with him. In short, he began to feel some of theinconveniences of greatness; and, like it, to be surrounded by cringingservility and meanness. When he went to the chapel he was beset, andfollowed from place to place, by a retinue of friends who were allanxious to secure to themselves the most conspicuous marks of hisnotice. It was the same thing in fair or market; they contended witheach other who should do him most honor, or afford to him and hisfather's immediate family the most costly treat, accompanied by thegrossest expressions of flattery. Every male infant born among them wascalled Dionysius; and every female one Susan, after his favorite sister. All this, to a lad like Denis, already remarkable for his vanity, wasvery trying; or rather, it absolutely turned his brain, and made himprobably as finished a specimen of pride, self-conceit, and domineeringarrogance, mingled with a kind of lurking humorous contempt for hiscringing relations, as could be displayed in the person of some shallowbut knavish prime minister, surrounded by his selfish sycophants, whomhe encourages and despises. 

At home he was idolized--overwhelmed with respect and deference. Theslightest intimation of his wish was a command to them; the beef, andfowl, and mutton, were at hand in all the variety of culinary skill, and not a soul in the house durst lay a hand upon his knife and forkbut himself. In the morning, when the family were to be seen aroundthe kitchen table at their plain but substantial breakfast, Denis waslording it in solitary greatness over an excellent breakfast of tea andeggs in another room. 

It was now, too, that the king's English, as well as the mutton, wascarved and hacked to some purpose; epithets prodigiously long andforeign to the purpose were pressed into his conversation, for no otherreason than because those to whom he spoke could not understand them;but the principal portion of his time was devoted to study. The bishop, he had heard, was a sound scholar, and exceedingly scrupulous inrecommending any to Maynooth, except such as were well versed in thepreparatory course. Independently of this, he was anxious, he said, todistinguish himself in his examination, and, if possible, to sustainas high a character with the bishop and his fellow-students, as he didamong the peasantry of his own neighborhood. 

At length the day approached. The bishop's residence was not distantmore than a few hours' ride, and he would have sufficient time to arrivethere, pass his examination, and return in time for dinner. On the eveof his departure, old Denis invited Father Finnerty, his curate andabout a dozen relations and friends, to dine with him the next day;when--Denis having surmounted the last obstacle to the accomplishment ofhis hopes--their hearts could open without a single reflection to checkthe exuberance of their pride, hospitality, and happiness. 

I have often said to my friends, and I now repeat it in print, thatafter all there is no people bound up so strongly to each other by theties of domestic life as the Irish. On the night which preceded thisjoyous and important day, a spirit of silent but tender affection dweltin every heart of the O'Shaughnessys. The great point of interest wasDenis. He himself was serious, and evidently labored under that stronganxiety so natural to a youth in his circumstances. A Roman Catholicbishop, too, is a personage looked upon by the people with a kind offeeling that embodies in it awe, reverence, and fear. Though, in thiscountry, an humble man possessing neither the rank in society, outward splendor, nor the gorgeous profusion of wealth and pompwhich characterize a prelate of the Established Church; yet it isunquestionable that the gloomy dread, and sense of formidable power withwhich they impress the minds of the submissive peasantry, immeasurablysurpass the more legitimate influence which any Protestant dignitarycould exercise over those who stand, with respect to him, in a morerational and independent position. 

It was not surprising that Denis, who practised upon ignorant peoplethat petty despotism for which he was so remarkable, should now, on coming in contact with great spiritual authority, adopt his ownprinciples, and relapse from the proud pedant into the cowardly slave. True it is that he presented a most melancholy specimen of independencein a crisis where moral courage was so necessary; but his dread of thecoming day was judiciously locked up in his own bosom. His silence andapprehension were imputed to the workings of a mind learnedly engaged inarranging the vast stores of knowledge with which it was so abundantlystocked; his moody picture of the bishop's brow; his reflection that hewas going before so sacred a person, as a candidate for the church, with his heart yet redolent of earthly affection for Susan Connor; hisapprehension that the bishop's spiritual scent might sagaciously smellit out, were all put down by the family to the credit of uncommonlearning, which, as his mother observed truly, "often makes men do quarethings. " His embarrassments, however, inasmuch as they were ascribedby them to wrong causes, endeared him more to their hearts than ever. Because he spoke little, neither the usual noise nor bustle of a largefamily disturbed the silence of the house; every word was uttered thatevening in a low tone, at once expressive of tenderness and respect. Thefamily supper was tea, in compliment to Denis; and they all partook ofit with him. Nothing humbles the mind, and gives the natural feelingstheir full play, so well as a struggle in life, or the appearance of itsapproach. 

"Denis, " said the father, "the time will come when we won't have you atall among us; but, thank goodness, you'll be in a betther place. "

Denis heard him not, and consequently made no reply. 

"They say Maynewth's a tryin' place, too, " he continued, "an' I'd besorry to see him pulled down to anatomy, like some of the scarecrowsthat come qut of it. I hope you'll bear it betther. "

"Do you speak to me?" said Denis, awaking out of a reverie. 

"I do, sir, " replied the father; and as he uttered the words the sonperceived that his eyes were fixed upon him with an expression ofaffectionate sorrow and pride. 

The youth was then in a serious mood, free from all the dominion of thatlearned mania under which he had so frequently signalized himself: thesorrow of his father, and a consciousness of the deep affection andunceasing kindness which he had ever experienced from him, joined toa recollection of their former friendly disputes and companionship, touched Denny to the quick. But the humility with which he appliedto him the epithet sir, touched him most. What! thought he--ought myaffectionate father to be thrown to such a distance from a son, whoowes everything to his love and goodness! The thought of his stooping sohumbly before him smote the boy's heart, and the tears glistened in hiseyes. 

"Father, " said he, "you have been kind and good to me, beyond mydeserts; surely then I cannot bear to hear you address me in thatmanner, as if we were both strangers. Nor while I am with you, shallany of you so address me. Remember that I am still your son and theirbrother. "

The natural affection displayed in this speech soon melted the wholefamily into tears--not excepting Denis himself, who felt that griefwhich we experience when about to be separated for the first time fromthose we love. 

"Come over, avourneen, " said his mother, drying her eyes with the cornerof her check apron: "come over, _acushla machree_, an' sit beside me:sure although we're sorry for you, Denis, it's proud our hearts are ofyou, an' good right we have, a sullish! Come over, an let me be near youas long as I can, any way. "

Denis placed himself beside her, and the proud mother drew his head overupon her bosom, and bedewed his face with a gush of tears. 

"They say, " she observed, "that it's sinful to shed tears when there'sno occasion for grief; but I hope it's no sin to cry when one's heart isfull of somethin' that brings them to one's eyes, whether they will ornot. "

"Mave, " said the father, "I'll miss him more nor any of you: but surehe'll often send letters to us from Maynewth, to tell us now he'sgettin' on; an' we'll be proud enough, never fear. "

"You'll miss me, Denis, " said his favorite sister, who was also calledSusan; "for you'll find no one in Maynewth that will keep your linen sowhite as I did: but never fear, I'll be always knittin' you stockings;an' every year I'll make you half-a-dozen shirts, and you'll think themmore natural nor other shirts, when you know they came from your ownhome--from them that you love! Won't you, Denis?"

"I will, Susy; and I will love the shirts for the sake of the hands thatmade them. "

"And I won't allow Susy Connor to help me as she used to do: they'll beall Alley's sewin' and mine. "

"The poor colleen--listen to her!" exclaimed the affectionate father;"indeed you will, Susy; ay, and hem his cravats, that we'll send himready made an' all. "

"Yes, " replied Denis, "but as to Susy Connor--hem--why, uponconsidera--he--hem--upon second thoughts, I don't see why you shouldprevent her from helping you; she's a neighbor's daughter, and awell-wisher, of whose prosperity in life I'd always wish to hear. 

"The poor girl's very bad in her health, for the last three weeks, "observed his other sister Alley: "she has lost her appetite, an' is castdown entirely in her spirits. You ought to go an' see her, Denis, beforeyou set out for the college, if it was only on her dacent father'saccount. When I was tellin' her yisterday that you wor to get thebishop's letter for Maynewth to-morrow, she was in so poor a state ofhealth that she nearly fainted. I had to give her a drink of wather, andsprinkle her face with it. Well, she's a purty crathur, an' a good girl, an' was always that, dear knows!"

"Denis achree, " said his mother, somewhat alarmed, "are you any wayunwell? Why your heart's batin' like a new catched chicken! Are yousick, acushla; or are you used to this?"

"It won't signify, " replied Denis, gently raising himself from hismother's arms, "I will sit up, mother; it's but a sudden stroke or twoof _tremor cordis_, produced probably by having my mind too much uponone object. "

"I think, " said his father, "he will be the betther of a little drop ofthe poteen made into punch, an' for that matter we can all take a supof it; as there's no one here but ourselves, we will have it snug an'comfortable. "

Nothing resembles an April day more than the general disposition ofthe Irish people. When old Denis's proposal for the punch was made, thegloom which hung over the family--originating, as it did, more in joythan in soitow--soon began to disappear. Their countenances graduallybrightened, by and by mirth stole out, and ere the punch hadaccomplished its first round, laughter, and jest, and good-humor, --each, in consequence of the occasion, more buoyant and vivacious than usual, were in full play. Denis himself, when animated by the unexcised liquor, threw off his dejection, and' ere the night was half spent found himselfin the highest region of pedantry. 

"I would not, " said he, "turn my back upon any other candidate in theprovince, in point of preparatory excellence and ardency of imagination. I say, sitting here beside you, my worthy and logical father, I wouldnot retrograde from any candidate for the honors of the Catholic Churchin the province--in the kingdom--in Europe; and it is not improbable butI might progradiate another step, and say Christendom at large. And now, what's a candidate? Father, you have some apprehension in you, and are apassable second-hand controversialist--what's a candidate? Will you tellme?"

"I give it up, Denis; but you'll tell us. "

"Yes, I will tell you. Candidate signifies a man dressed in fustian; itcomes from _candidus_, which is partly Greek, partly Latin, and partlyHebrew. It was the learned designation for Irish linen, too, which inthe time of the Romans was in great request at Home; but it was changedto signify fustian, because it was found that everything a man promisedon becoming a candidate for any office, turned out to be only fustianwhen he got it. "

"Denis, avourneen, " said his mother, "the greatest comfort myself has isto be thinkin' that when you're a priest, you can be sayin' masses formy poor sinful sowl. "

"Yes, there is undoubtedly comfort in, that reflection; and dependupon it, my dear mother, that I'll be sure to clinch your masses inthe surest mode. I'll not fly over them like Camilla across a fieldof potato oats, without discommoding a single walk, as too many of myworthy brethren--I mane as! too many of those whose worthy brother Iwill soon be--do in this present year of grace. I'm no fool at theLatin, but, as I'm an unworthy candidate for Maynooth, I cannot evenunderstand every fifteenth word they say when reading mass, independently of the utter scorn with which they treat; these twoScholastic old worthies, called! Syntax and Prosody. "

"Denis, " said the father, "nothing would give me greater delight than tobe present at your first mass, an' your first sarmon; and next to that Iwould like to be stumpin' about wid a dacent staff in my hand, maybe wida bit of silver on the head of it, takin' care of your place when you'dhave a parish. "

"At all events, if you're not with me, father, I'll keep you comfortablewherever you'll be, whether in this world or the other; for, plasegoodness, I'll have some influence in both. --When I get a parish, however, it is not improbable that I may have occasion to see company;the neighboring gentlemen will be apt to relish my society, particularlythose who are addicted to conviviality; and our object will be to renderourselves as populous as possible; now, whether in that case it would becompatible--but never fear, father, whilst I have the means, you or oneof the family shall never want. "

"Will you let the people be far behind in their dues, Denis?" inquiredBrian. 

"No, no--leave that point to my management. Depend upon it, I'll havethem like mice before me--ready to run into the first augerhole theymeet. I'll collect lots of oats, and get as much yarn every year aswould clothe three regiments of militia, or, for that matther, ofdragoons. I'll appoint my stations, too, in the snuggest farmers' housesin the parish, just as Father Finnerty, our worthy parochial priest, ingeniously contrives to do. And, to revert secondarily to thecollection of the oats, I'll talk liberally to the Protestant boddaghs;give the Presbyterians a learned homily upon civil and religiousfreedom: make hard hits with them at that Incubus, the EstablishedChurch; and, never fear, but I shall fill bag after bag with good cornfrom many of both creeds. "

"That, " said Brian, "will be givin' them the bag to hould in airnest. "

"No, Brian, but it will be makin' them fill the bag when I hold it, which will be better still. "

"But, " said Susan, "who'll keep house for you? You know that a priestcan't live widout a housekeeper. "

"That, Susy, " replied Denis, "is, and will be the most difficult pointon which to accomplish anything like a satisfactory determination. Ihave nieces enough, however. There's Peter Finnegan's eldest daughterMary, and Hugh Tracy's Ailsey--(to whom he added about a dozen and ahalf more)--together with several yet to be endowed with existence, allof whom will be brisk candidates for the situation. "

"I don't think, " replied Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, "that you'll ever get anyone who'd be more comfortable about you nor your own ould mother. Whatdo you think of takin' myself, Denis?"

"Ay, but consider the accomplishments in the culinary art--_in re vel inarte culinaria_--which will be necessary for my housekeeper to know. Howwould you, for instance, dress a dinner for the bishop if he happened topay me a visit, as you may be certain he will? How would you make piesand puddings, and disport your fancy through all the varieties of roastand boil? How would you dress a fowl that it would stand upon a dishas if it was going to dance a hornpipe? How would you amalgamate thedifferent genera of wine with boiling fluid and crystallized saccharinematter? How would you dispose of the various dishes upon the tableaccording to high life and mathematics? Wouldn't you be too old to bathemy feet when I'd be unwell? Wouldn't you be too old to bring me my wheyin the morning soon as I'd awake, perhaps with a severe headache, afterthe plenary indulgence of a clerical compotation? Wouldn't you be tooold to sit up till the middle of the nocturnal hour, awaiting my arrivalhome? Wouldn't you be--"

"Hut, tut, that's enough, Denny, I'd never do at all. No, no, but I'llsit a clane, dacent ould woman in the corner upon a chair that you'llget made for me. There I'll be wid my pipe and tobacco, smokin' at myaise, chattin' to the sarvints, and sometimes discoorsin' the neighborsthat'll come to inquire for you, when they'll be sittin' in the kitchenwaitin' till you get through your office. Jist let me have that, Dinnyachora, and I'll be as happy as the day's long. "

"And I on the other side, " said his father, naturally enough struck withthe happy simplicity of the picture which his wife drew, "on the otherside, Mave, a snug, dacent ould man, chattin' to you across the fire, proud to see the bishop an' the gintlemen about him. An' I wouldn't axto be taken into the parlor at all, except, maybe, when there would benobody there but yourself, Denis; an' that your mother an' I would gointo the parlor to get a glass of punch, or, if it could be spared, alittle taste of wine for novelty. "

"And so you shall, both of you--you, father, at one side of the hob, and my mother here at the other, the king and queen of my culinariandominions. But practice taciturnity a little--I'm visited by the muse, and must indulge in a strain of vocal melody--hem--'tis a few lines ofmy own composure, the offspring of a moment of inspiration by the ninefemale Heliconians; but before I incipiate, here's to my own celebrityto-morrow, and afterwards all your healths!"

He then proceeded to sing in his best style a song composed, as he said, by himself, but which, as the composition was rather an eccentric one, we decline giving. 

"Denis, " said his brother, "you'll have great sport at the Station's. "

"Yes, Brian, most inimitable specimen of fraternity, I do look into thefuturity of a station with great complacency. Hem--in the morning Irise up in imagination, and after reading part of my office, I and mycurate--_ego et coadjutor metis_--or, if I get a large parish, perhaps Iand my two curates--_ego et coudjutores mei_--order our horses, andof a fine, calm summer morning we mount them as gracefully as threethroopers. The sun is up, and of coorse the moon is down, and theglitter of the light, the sparkling of the dew, the canticles of thebirds, and the _melodiotis_ cowing of the crows in Squire Grimshaw'srookery--"

"Why, Denis, is it this parish you'll have?"

"Silence, silence, till I complate my rural ideas--in some gentleman'srookery at all events; the thrush here, the blackbird there, thecorn-craik chanting its varied note in another place, and so on. In themeantime we reverend sentimentalists advance, gazing with odoriferousadmiration upon the prospect about us, and expatiating in the purestof Latin upon the beauties of unsophisticated nature. When we meet thepeasants going out to their work, they put their hands to their hatsfor us; but as I am known to be the parochial priest, it is to me thesalutation is directed, which I return with the air of a man who thinksnothing of such things; but, I on the contrary, knows them to be hisdue. The poor creatures of curates you must know, don't presume tospeak of themselves, but simply answer whenever I condescend to proposeconversation, for I'll keep them down, never fear. In this edifyingstyle we proceed--I a few steps in advance, and they at a respectfuldistance behind me, the heads of their horses just to my saddleskirts--my clerical boots as brilliant as the countenance of Phoebus, when decked with rosy smiles, theirs more subordinately polished, forthere should be gradations in all things, and humility is the first ofvirtues in a Christian curate. My bunch of gold sales stands out proudlyfrom my anterior rotundity, for by this time, plase God, I'll be gettingfrolicsome and corpulent: they with only a poor bit of ribbon, and asingle two-penny kay, stained with verdigrace. In the meantime, we comewithin sight of the wealthy farmer's house, wherein we are to hold theedifying solemnity of a station. There is a joyful appearance of studyand bustle about the premises: the peasantry are flocking towards it, dressed in their best clothes; the proprietors of the mansion itself arerunning out to try if we are in appearance, and the very smoke disportsitself hilariously in the air, and bounds up as if it was strivingto catch the first glimpse of the clargy. When we approach, thegood man--_pater-familias_--comes out to meet us, and the goodwoman--_mater-farmilias_--comes curtseying from the door to give thehead _milliafailtha_. No sooner do we parsave ourselves noticed, thenout comes the Breviary, and in a moment we are at our morning devotions. I being the rector, am particularly grave and dignified. I do not speakmuch, but am rather sharp, and order the curates, whom I treat, however, with great respect before the people, instantly to work. This impressesthose who are present with awe and reverence for us all, especially forFather O'Shaughnessy himself--(that's me). --I then take a short turn ortwo across the floor, silently perusing my office, after which I layit aside, and relax into a little conversation with the people of thehouse, to show that I can conciliate by love as readily as I can impressthem with fear; for, you see _divide et impera_ is as aptly appliedto the passions as to maxims of state policy--ehem. I then go to mytribunal, and first hear the man and woman and family of the house, andafther them the other penitents according as they can come to me. 

"Thus we go on absolving in great style, till it is time for the_matutinal_ meal--vulgarly called breakfast; when the whiskey, eggs, toast, and tea as strong as Hercules, with ham, fowl, beef-steaks, or mutton-chops, all pour in upon us in the full tide of hospitality. Helter-skelter, cut and thrust, right and left, we work away, till theappetite reposes itself upon the cushion of repletion: and off we goonce more, full an' warm, to the delicate employment of adjudicatingupon sin and transgression, until dinner comes, when, having despatchedas many as possible--for the quicker we get through them the better--weset about despatching what is always worth a ship-load of suchriff-raff--_videlicet_, a good and extensive dinner. Oh, ye pagan godsof eating and drinking, Bacchus and--let me see who the presiding deityof good feeding was in the Olympian synod--as I'm an unworthy candidateI forget that topic of learning; but no matter, _non constat_. Oh, yepagan professors of ating and drinking, Bacchus, and Epicurus, and St. Heliogabalus, Anthony of Padua, and Paul the Hermit, who poached for hisown venison, St. Tuck, and St. Takem, St. Drinkem, and St. Eatem, withall the other reverend worthies, who bore the blushing honors of thetable thick upon your noses, come and inspire your unworthy candidate, while he essays to chant the praises of a Station dinner!

"Then, then, does the priest appropriate to himself his due share ofenjoyment Then does he, like Elias, throw his garment of inspirationupon his coadjutors. Then is the goose cut up, and the farmer'sdistilled Latin is found to be purer and more edifying than thedistillation of Maynooth. 

 'Drink deep, or taste not that Pierian spring, A little learning here's a dangerous thing. '

And so it is, as far as this inspiring language is concerned. A stationdinner is the very pinnacle of a priest's happiness. There is the funand frolic; then does the lemon-juice of mirth and humor come out oftheir reverences, like secret writing, as soon as they get properlywarm. The song and the joke, the laugh and the leer, the shaking ofhands, the making of matches, and the projection of weddings, --och, Imust conclude, or my brisk fancy will dissolve in the deluding vision!Here's to my celebrity to-morrow, and may the Bishop catch a Tartarin your son, my excellent and logical father!--as I tell you amongourselves he will do. Mark me, I say it, but it's _inter nos_, it won'tgo further; but should he trouble me with profundity, may be I'll make a_ludibrium_ of him. "

"But you forget the weddings and christenings, Denis; you'll have greatsport at them too. "

"I can't remember three things at a time, Brian; but you are mistaken, however, I had them snug in one corner of my cranium. The weddings andthe christenings! do you think I'll have nothing to do in them, you!_stultus_ you?"

"But, Denis, is there any harm in the priests enjoying themselves, andthey so holy as we know they are?" inquired his mother. 

"Not the least in life; considering what severe fasting, and greatpraying they have; besides it's necessary for them to take something toput the sins of the people out of their heads, and that's one reason whythey are often jolly at Stations. "

"My goodness, what light Denis can throw upon anything!"

"Not without deep study, mother; but let us have another portion ofpunch each, afther which I'll read a Latin De Profundis, and we'll go tobed, I must be up early tomorrow; and, Brian, you'll please to have theblack mare saddled and my spur brightened as jinteely as you can, for Imust go in as much state and grandeur as possible. " Accordingly, in duetime, after hearing the De Profundis, which Denis read in as sonorous atone, and as pompous a manner, as he could assume, they went to bed forthe night, to dream of future dignities for their relative. 

When Denis appeared the next morning, it was evident that the spiritof prophecy in which he had contemplated the enjoyments annexed to hisideal station on the preceding night, had departed from him. He was paleand anxious, as in the early part of the, previous evening. At breakfast, his very appetite treacherously abandoned him, despite the butteredtoast and eggs which his mother forced upon him with such tenderassiduity, in order, she said, to make him stout against the Bishop. Her solicitations, however, were vain; after attempting to eat to nopurpose, he arose and began to prepare himself for his journey. This, indeed, was a work of considerable importance, for, as they had nolooking-glass, he was obliged to dress himself over a tub of water, inwhich, since truth must be told, he saw a very cowardly visage. In duetime, however, he was ready to proceed upon his journey, apparelled in anew suit of black that sat stiffly and awkwardly upon him, crumpled ina manner that enabled any person, at a glance, to perceive that it wasworn for the first time. When he was setting out, his father approachedhim with a small jug of holy water in his hand. "Denis, " said he, "Ithink you won't be the worse for a sprinkle of this;" and he accordinglywas about to shake it with a little brush over his person, when Denisarrested his hand. 

"Easy, father, " he replied, "you don't remember that my new clothes areon. I'll just take a little with, my fingers, for you know one drop isas good as a thousand. "

"I know that, " said the father, "but on the other hand you know it's notlucky to refuse it. "

"I didn't refuse it, " rejoined Denis, "I surely took a quantum suff. Ofit with my own hand. "

"It was very near a refusal, " said the father, in a disappointed andsomewhat sorrowful tone; "but it can't be helped now. I'm only sorryyou put it and quantum suff. In connection at all. Quantum suff. Is whatFather Finnerty says, when he will take no more punch; and it doesn'targue respect in you to make as little of a jug of holy wather as hedoes of a jug of punch. "

"I'm sarry for it too, " replied Denis, who was every whit assuperstitious as his father; "and to atone for my error, I desire youwill sprinkle me all over with it--clothes and all. "

The father complied with this, and Denis was setting out, when hismother exclaimed, "Blessed be them above us, Denis More! Look at theboy's legs! There's luck! Why one of his stockin's has the wrong sideout, and it's upon the right leg too! Well, this will be a fortunateday for you, Denis, any way; the same thing never happened myself, butsomething good followed it. "

This produced a slight conflict between Denis's personal vanity andsuperstition; but on this occasion superstition prevailed: he even felthis spirits considerably elevated by the incident, mounted the mare, andafter jerking himself once or twice in the saddle, to be certain thatall was right, he touched her with the spur, and set out to be examinedby the Bishop, exclaiming as he went, "Let his lordship take care that Idon't make a _ludibrium_ of him. "

The family at that moment all came to the door, where they stood lookingafter, and admiring him, until he turned a corner of the road, and lefttheir sight. 

Many were the speculations entered into during his absence, as to thefact, whether or not he would put down the bishop in the course of theexamination; some of them holding that he could do so if he wished; butothers of them denying that it was possible for him, inasmuch as he hadnever received holy orders. 

The day passed, but not in the usual way, in Denis More O'Shaughnessy's. The females of the family were busily engaged in preparing for thedinner, to which Father Finnerty, his curate, and several of theirnearest and wealthiest friends had been invited; and the men in clearingout the stables and other offices for the horses of the guests. Prideand satisfaction were visible on every face, and that disposition tocordiality and to the oblivion of everything unpleasant to the mind, marked, in a prominent manner, their conduct and conversation. OldDenis went, and voluntarily spoke to a neighbor, with whom he had notexchanged a word, except in anger, for some time. He found him at workin the field, and, advancing with open hand and heart, he begged hispardon for any offence he might have given him. 

"My son, " said he, "is goin' to Maynooth; and as he is a boy that wehave a good right to be proud of, and as our friends are comin' toate their dinner wid us to-day, and as--as my heart is to full to bearill-will against any livin' sowl, let alone a man that I know to besound at the heart, in spite of all that has come between us--I say, Darby, I forgive you, and I expect pardon for my share of the offence. There's the hand of an honest man--let us be as neighbors ought to be, and not divided into parties and factions against one another, as wehave been too long. Take your dinner wid us to-day, and let us hear nomore about ill-will and unkindness. "

"Denis, " said his friend, "it ill becomes you to spake first. 'Tis Ithat ought to do that, and to do it long ago too; but you see, somehow, so long as it was to be decided by blows between the families, I'd nevergive in. Not but that I might do so, but my sons, Denis, wouldn't hearof it. Throth, I'm glad of this, and so will they too; for only for thehonor and glory of houldin' out, we might be all friends throughother long ago. And I'll tell you what, we couldn't do better, thetwo factions of us, nor join and thrash them Haigneys that always putbetween us. "

"No, Darby, I tell you, I bear no ill-will, no bad thoughts agin anyborn Christian this day, and I won't hear of that. Come to us about fiveo'clock: we're to have Father Finnerty, and Father Molony, his curate:all friends, man, all friends; and Denny, God guard him this day, willbe home, afther passin' the Bishop, about four o'clock. "

"I always thought that gorsoon would come to somethin'. Why it waswondherful how he used to discoorse upon the chapel-green, yourself andhimself: but he soon left you behind. And how he sealed up poor ouldDixon, the parish dark's mouth, at Barny Boccagh's wake. God rest hissoul! It was talkin' about the Protestant church they wor. 'Why, ' saidMisther Denis, 'you ould termagent, can you tell me who first discoveredyour church?' The dotin' ould crathur began of hummin', and hawin', and advisin' the boy to have more sense. 'Come, ' said he, 'you ouldcanticle, can you answer? But for fear you can't, I'll answer for you. It was the divil discovered it, one fine mornin' that he went out to getan appetite, bein' in delicate health. ' Why, Denis, you'd tie all thatwor present wid a rotten sthraw. "

"Darby, I ax your pardon over agin for what came between us; and I seenow betther than I did, that the fault of it was more mine nor yours. You'll be down surely about five o'clock?"

"I must go and take this beard off o' me, and clane myself; and I may aswell do that now: but I'll be down, never fear. "

"In throth the boy was always bright!--ha, ha, ha!--and he soberedDixon?"

"Had him like a judge in no time. "

"Oh, he would do it--he could do that, at all times. God be wid you, Darby, till I see you in the evenin'. 

"_Bannaght lhath_, Denis, an' I'm proud we're as we ought to be. "

About four o'clock, the expected guests began to assemble at Denis's;and about the same hour one might perceive Susan O'Shaughnessy runningout to a stile a little above the house, where she stood for a fewminutes, with her hand shadingher eyes, looking long and intenselytowards the direction from which she expected her brother to return. Hitherto, however, he could not be discovered in the distance, althoughscarcely five minutes elapsed during the intervals of her appearanceat the stile to watch him. Some horsemen she did notice; but afterstraining her eyes eagerly and anxiously, she was enabled only toreport, with a dejected air, that they were their own friends comingfrom a distant part of the parish, to be present at the dinner. Atlength, after a long and eager look, she ran in with an exclamation ofdelight, saying--

"Thank goodness, he's comin' at last; I see somebody dressed in blackridin' down the upper end of Tim Marly's boreen, an' I'm sure an'certain it must be Denis, from his dress!"

"I'll warrant it is, my colleen, " replied her father; "he said he'd behere before the dinner would be ready, an' it's widin a good hour ofthat. I'll thry myself. "

He and his daughter once more went out; but, alas! only to experience afresh disappointment. Instead of Denis, it was Father Finnerty; who, it appeared, felt as anxious to be in time for dinner, as the youngcandidate himself could have done. He was advancing at a brisk trot, not upon the colt which had been presented to him, but upon his old nag, which seemed to feel as eager to get at Denis's oats, as its owner didto taste his mutton. 

"I see, Susy, we'll have a day of it, plase goodness, " observed Denisto the girl; "here's Father Finnerty, and I wouldn't for more nor I'llmention that he had staid away: and I hope the coidjuther will come aswell as himself. Do you go in, aroon, and tell them he's comin', andI'll go and meet him. "

Most of Denis's friends were now assembled, dressed in their bestapparel, and Raised to the highest pitch of good humor; no man who knowsthe relish with which Irishmen enter into convivial enjoyments, canbe ignorant of the remarkable flow of spirits which the prospect of anabundant and hospitable dinner produces among them. 

Father Finnerty was one of those priests who constitute a numerousspecies in Ireland; regular, but loose and careless in the observancesof his church, he could not be taxed with any positive neglect ofpastoral duty. He held his stations at stated times and places, withgreat exactness, but when the severer duties annexed to them wereperformed, he relaxed into the boon companion, sang his song, told hisstory, laughed his laugh, and occasionally danced his dance, the very_beau ideal_ of a rough, shrewd, humorous divine, who, amidst thehilarity of convivial mirth, kept an eye to his own interest, andsweetened the severity with which he exacted his "dues" by a manner atonce jocose and familiar. If a wealthy farmer had a child to christen, his reverence declined baptizing it in the chapel, but as a proof of hismarked respect for its parents, he and his curate did them the honorof performing the ceremony at their own house. If a marriage was tobe solemnized, provided the parties were wealthy, he adopted the samecourse, and manifested the same flattering marks of his particularesteem for the parties, by attending at their residence; or if theypreferred the pleasure of a journey to his own house, he and his curateaccompanied them home from the same motives. This condescension, whilstit raised the pride of the parties, secured a good dinner and a pleasantevening's entertainment for the priests, enhanced their humilityexceedingly, for the more they enjoyed themselves, the more highly didtheir friends consider themselves honored. This mode of life might, onewould suppose, lessen their importance and that personal respect whichis entertained for the priests by the people; but it is not so--thepriests can, the moment such scenes are ended, pass, with the greatestaptitude of habit, into the hard, gloomy character of men who arereplete with profound knowledge, exalted piety, and extraordinary power. The sullen frown, the angry glance, or the mysterious allusion to theomnipotent authority of the church, as vested in their persons, joinedto some unintelligible dogma, laid down as their authority, are alwayssufficient to check anything derogatory towards them, which is apt tooriginate in the unguarded moments of conviviality. 

"Plase your Reverence, I'll put him up myself, " said Denis to FatherFinnerty, as he took his horse by the bridle, and led him towards thestable, "and how is my cowlt doin' wid you, sir?"

"Troublesome, Denis; he was in a bad state when I got him, and he'llcost me nearly his price before I have him thoroughly broke. "

"He was pretty well broke wid me, I know, " replied Denis, "and I'mafear'd you've given him into the hands of some one that knows littleabout horses. Mave, " he shouted, passing the kitchen door, "here'sFather Finnerty--go in, Docthor, and put big Brian Buie out o' thecorner; for goodness sake Exltimnicate him from the hob--an' sure youhave power to do that any way. "

The priest laughed, but immediately assuming a grave face, as heentered, exclaimed--

"Brian Buie, in the name of the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid'sElements--in the name of the cube and square roots--of Algebra, Mathematics, Fluxions, and the doctrine of all essential spirits thatadmit of proof--in the name of Nebuchadanezar the divine, who inventedthe convenient scheme of taking a cold collation under a hedge--by thepower of that profound branch of learning, the Greek Digemma--by theauthority of true Latin, primo, of Beotian Greek, secundo, and ofArabian Hebrew, tertio; which is, when united by the skill of profounderudition, primo, secundo, tertio; or, being reversed by the logic ofillustration, _tertio, secundo, primo. Commando te in nominebotteli potheeni boni drinkandi his oedibus, hac note, inter amicosexcellentissimi amici mei, Dionissii O'Shaughnessy, quem beknavavi exexcellentissimo colto ejus, causa pedantissimi filii ejus, designalieccleseae, patri, sed nequaquam deo, nec naturae, nec ingenio;--commandote inquam, Bernarde Buie, surgere, stare, ambulare, et decedere ecornero isto vel hobbo, qua nunc sedes!_ Yes, I command thee, BrianBuie, who sit upon the hob of my worthy and most excellent friend andparishioner, Denis O'Shaughnessy, to rise, to stand up before yourspiritual superior, to walk down from it, and to tremble as if you wereabout to sink into the earth to the neck, but no further; before thefulminations of him who can wield the thunder of that mighty Salmoneus, his holiness the Pope, successor to St. Peter, who left the servant ofthe Centurion earless--I command and objurgate thee, sinner as thou art, to vacate your seat on the hob for the man of sancity, whose legitimatepossession it is, otherwise I shall send you, like that worthyarchbishop, the aforesaid Nebuchadanezar, to live upon leeks for sevenyears in the renowned kingdom of Wales, where the leeks may be seen tothis day! Presto!"

These words, pronounced with a grave face, in a loud, rapid, andsonorous tone of voice, startled the good people of the house, who satmute and astonished at such an exordium from the worthy pastor: but nosooner had he uttered Brian Buie's name, giving him, at the same time, afierce and authoritative look, than the latter started to his feet, andstepped down in a kind of alarm towards the door. The priest immediatelyplaced his hand upon his shoulder in a mysterious manner, exclaiming--

"Don't be alarmed, Brian, I have taken the force of the anathema offyou; your power to sit or stand, or go where you please, is returnedagain. I wanted your seat, and Denis desired, me to excommunicate youout of it, which I did, and you accordingly left it without your ownknowledge, consent, or power; I transferred you to where you stand, andyou had no more strength to resist me than if you were an infant notthree hours in the world!"

"I ax God's pardon, an' your Reverence's, " said Brian, in a tremor, "if I have given offince. Now, bless my soul! what's this? As sure as Istand before you, neighbors, I know neither act nor part of how I wasbrought from the hob at all--neither act nor part! Did any of yez see melavin' it; or how did I come here--can you tell me?"

"Paddy, " said one of his friends, "did you see him?"

"The sorra one o' me seen him, " replied Paddy: "I was lookin' at hisReverence, sthrivin' to know what he was sayin'. "

"Pether, did you?" another inquired. "Me! I never seen a stim of himtill he was standin' alone on the flure! Sure, when he didn't see orfind himself goin', how could another see him?"

"Glory be to God!" exclaimed Mave; "one ought to think well what theysay, when they spake of the clargy, for they don't know what it maybring down upon them, sooner or later!"

"Our Denis will be able to do that yet, " said Susan to her elder sister. 

"To be sure he will, girsha, as soon as he's ordained--every bit as wellas Father Finnerty, " replied Mary. 

The young enthusiast's countenance brightened as her sister spoke: herdark eye became for a minute or two fixed upon vacancy, during whichit flashed several times; until, as the images of her brother'sfuture glory passed before her imagination; she became wrapt--her lipquivered--her cheek flushed into a deeper color, and the tears burst ingushes from her eyes. 

The mother, who was now engaged in welcoming Father Finnerty--aduty which the priest's comic miracle prevented her from performingsooner--did not perceive her daughter's agitation, nor, in fact, didany one present understand its cause. Whilst the priest was taking BrianBuie's seat, she went once more to watch the return of Denis; and whileshe stood upon the stile, her father, after having put up the horse, entered the house, "to keep his Reverence company. "

"An' pray, Docthor, " he inquired, "where is Father Molony, that he's notwid you? I hope he won't disappoint us; he's a mighty pleasant gintlemanof an evenin', an', barrin' your Reverence, I don't know a man tells abetter story. "

"He entreated permission from me this morning, " replied Father Finnerty, "and that was leave to pay a visit to the Bishop, for what purpose Iknow not, unless to put in a word in season for the first parish thatbecomes vacant. "

"Throth, an' he well desarves a parish, " replied Denis; "an' althoughwe'd be loath to part wid him, still we'd be proud to hear of hispromotion. "

"He'll meet Denis there, " observed Susan, who had returned from thestile: "he'll be apt to be present at his trial wid the Bishop; an'maybe he'll be home along wid him. I'll go an' thry if I can see themagin;" and she flew out once more to watch their return. 

"Now, Father Finnerty, " said an uncle of Denis's, "you can give a goodguess at what a dacent parish ought to be worth to a parish priest?"

"Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, " said the priest, "is that fat brown goosesuspended before the fire, of your own rearing?"

"Indeed it is, plase your Reverence; but as far as good male an phatiescould go for the last month, it got the benefit of them. "

"And pray, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, have you many of the same kidney? I onlyask for information, as I said to Peery Hacket's wife, the last day Iheld the Station in Peery's. There was just such another goose hangingbefore the fire; but, you must know, the cream of the joke was, that Ihad been after coming from the confessional, as hungry as a man couldconveniently wish himself; and seeing the brown fat goose before thefire just as that is, why my teeth, Mave, began to get lachrymose. Uponmy Priesthood it was such a goose as a priest's corpse might get up onits elbow to look at, and exclaim, 'avourneen machree, it's a thousandpities that I'm not living to have a cut at you!'--ha, ha, ha! God begood to old Friar Hennessy, I have that joke from him. 

"'Well, Mrs. Hacket, ' says I, as I was airing my fingers at the fire, 'Idare say you haven't another goose like this about the house? Now, tellme, like an honest woman, have you any of the same kidney?--I only askfor information. '

"Mrs. Hacket, however, told me she believed there might be a few of thesame kind straggling about the place, but said nothing further upon it, until the Saturday following, when her son brings me down a pair ofthe fattest geese I ever cut up for my Sunday's dinner. Now, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, wasn't that doing the thing dacent?"

"Well, well, Docthor, " said Denis, "that was all right; let Mavealone, an' maybe she'll be apt to find out a pair that will match Mrs. Hacket's. Not that I say it, but she doesn't like to be outdone inanything. "

"Docthor, I was wishin' to know, sir, " continued the uncle of the absentcandidate, "what the value of a good parish might be. "

"I think, Mave, there's a discrepancy between the goose and the shoulderof mutton. The fact is, that if it be a disputation between them, as towhich will be roasted first, I pronounce that the goose will have it. It's now, let me see, half past four o'clock, and, in my opinion, itwill take a full half hour to bring up the mutton. So Mave, if you'llbe guided by your priest, advance the mutton towards the fire about twoinches, and keep the little girsha basting steadily, and then you'll besure to have it rich and juicy. "

"Docthor, wid submission, I was wantin' to know what a good parish mightbe--"

"Mike Lawdher, if I don't mistake, you ought to have good grazing downin your meadows at Ballinard. What will you be charging for a monthor two's grass for this colt I've bought from my dacent friend, DenisO'Shaughnessy, here? And, Mike, be rasonable upon a poor man, for we'reall poor, being only tolerated by the state we live under, and oughtnot, of course, to be hard upon one another. "

"An' what did he cost you, Docthor?" replied Mike, answering onequestion by another; "what did you get for him, Denis?" he continued, referring for information to Denis, to whom, on reflection, he thoughtit more decorous to put the question. 

Denis, however, felt the peculiar delicacy of his situation, and lookedat the priest, whilst the latter, under a momentary embarrassment, looked significantly at Denis. His Reverence, however, was seldom at aloss. 

"What would you take him to be worth, Mike?" he asked; "remember he'sbut badly trained, and I'm sure it will cost me both money and troubleto make anything dacent out of him. "

"If you got him somewhere between five and twenty and thirty guineas, Iwould say you have good value for your money, plase your Reverence. Whatdo you say, Denis--am I near it?"

"Why, Mike, you know as much about a horse as you do about thePentateuch or Paralipomenon. Five and twenty guineas, indeed! I hope youwon't set your grass as you would sell your horses. "

"Why, thin, if your Reverence ped ready money for him, I maintain hewas as well worth twenty guineas as a thief's worth the gallows; an'you know, sir, I'd be long sorry to differ wid you. Am I near it now, Docthor?"

"Denis got for the horse more than that, " said his Reverence, "and hemay speak for himself. "

"Thrue for you, sir, " replied Denis; "I surely got above twenty guineasfor him, an' I'm well satisfied wid the bargain. "

"You hear that now, Mike--you hear what he says. "

"There's no goin' beyant it, " returned Mike; "the proof o' the puddin'is in the atin, ' as we'll soon know, Mave--eh, Docthor?"

"I never knew Mave to make a bad one, " said the priest, "except upon theday Friar Hennessy dined with me here--my curate was sick, and I hadto call in the Friar to assist me at confession; however, to do Mavejustice, it was not her fault, for the Friar drowned the pudding, whichwas originally a good one, with a deluge of strong whiskey. "

"'It's too gross, ' said the facetious Friar, in his loud, strongvoice--'it's too gross, Docthor Finnerty, so let us spiritualize it, that it may be Christian atin, fit for pious men to digest, ' and then hecame out with his thundering laugh--oigh, oigh, oigh, oigh! but he hadconsequently the most of the pudding to himself, an' indeed brought thebetter half of it home in his saddle-bags. "

"Faix, an' he did, " said Mave, "an' a fat goose that he coaxed Mary tokill for him unknownst to us all, in the coorse o' the day. "

"How long is he dead, Docthor?" said Denis; "God rest him any way, he'shappy!"

"He died in the hot summer, now nine years about June last; and talkingabout him, reminds me of a trick he put on me about two years before hisdeath. He and I had not been on good terms for long enough before thattime; but as the curate I had was then sickly, and as I wouldn't beallowed two, I found that it might be convenient to call in the Friaroccasionally, a regulation he did not at all relish, for he said hecould make far more by questing and poaching about among the old womenof the parish, with whom he was a great favorite, in consequence of theLatin hymns he used to sing for them, and the great cures he used toperform--a species of devotion which neither I nor my curate had time topractise. So, in order to renew my intimacy, I sent him a bag of oatmealand a couple of flitches of bacon, both of which he readily accepted, and came down to me on the following day to borrow three guineas. Afterattempting to evade him--for, in fact, I had not the money to spare--heat length succeeded in getting them from me, on the condition thathe was to give my curate's horse and mine a month's grass, by way ofcompensation, for I knew that to expect payment from him was next togoing for piety to a parson. 

"'I will, ' said he, 'give your horses the run of my best field'--forhe held a comfortable bit of ground; 'but, ' he added, 'as you have beenalways cutting at me about my principle, I must insist, if it was onlyto convince you of my ginerosity, that you'll lave the choosing of themonth to myself. '

"As I really wanted an assistant at the time, in consequence of mycurate's illness, he had me bound, in some degree, to his own will. Iaccordingly gave him the money; but from that till the day of his death, he never sent for our horses, except when there was a foot and a half ofsnow on the ground, at which time he was certain to despatch a messengerfor him, 'with Father Hennessy's compliments, and he requested DoctorFinnerty to send the horses to Father Hennessy's field, to ate theirmonth's grass. '"

"But is it true, Docthor, that his face was shinin' after his death?"

"True enough, and to my own knowledge, long before that event. "

"Dear me, " exclaimed Mave, "he was a holy man afther all!"

"Undoubtedly he was, " said the priest; "there are spots in the sun, Mrs. O'Shaugh-nessy--we are not all immaculate. There never was one sentinto this world without less or more sin upon them. Even the saintsthemselves had venial touches about them, but nothing to signify. "

"Docthor, " said the uncle, pertinaciously adhering to the originalquestion, "you have an opportunity of knowin' what a good parish mightbe worth to a smart, active priest? For the sake of a son of mine thatI've some notion of--"

"By the by, I wonder Denis is not here before now, " exclaimed hisReverence, lending a deaf ear to Mike O'Shaughnessy's interrogatory. 

Old Denis's favorite topic had been started, and he accordingly launchedout upon it with all the delight and ardor of a fond father. 

"Now, Docthor dear, before us all--an' sure you know as well as I do, that we're all friends together--what's your downright opinion of Denis?Is he as bright as you tould me the other mornin' he was?"

"Really, Denis O'Shaughnessy, " replied his Reverence, "it's not pleasantto me to be pressed so often to eulogize a young gintleman of whosetalents I have so frequently expressed my opinion. Is not oncesufficient for me to say what I've said concerning him? But, as weare all present, I now say and declare, that my opinion of DenisO'Shaughnessy, jun. , is decidedly _peculiar_--decidedly. 

"Come, girsha, keep basting the mutton, and never heed my boots--turn itabout and baste the back of it better. "

"God be thanked, " exclaimed the delighted father, "sure it's comfort tohear that, any how--afther all the pains and throuble we've taken widhim, to know it's not lost. Why, that boy was so smart, Docthor, that, may I never sin, when he went first to the Latin, but--an' this no lie, for I have it from his own lips--when he'd look upon his task two orthree times over night, he'd waken wid every word of it, pat off thebook the next mornin'. And how do you think he got it? Why, the crathur, you see, used to dhrame that he was readin' it off, and so he used toget it that way in his sleep!"

At this moment Darby Moran, Denis's old foe entered, and his receptionwas cordial, and, if the truth were known, almost magnanimous on thepart of Denis. 

"Darby Moran, " said he, "not a man, barrin' his Reverence here, in theparish we sit in, that I'm prouder to see on my flure--give me yourhand, man alive, and Mave and all of ye welcome him. Everything of whatyou know is buried between us, and you're bound to welcome him, ifit was only in regard of the handsome way he spoke of our son thisday--here's my own chair, Darby, and sit down. "

"Throth, " said Darby, after shaking hands with the priest and greetingthe rest of the company, "the same boy no one could spake ill of; and, although we and his people were not upon the best footin', still thesarra one o' me but always gave him his due. "

"Indeed, I believe you, Darby, " said his father; "but are youcomfortable? Draw your chair nearer the fire--the evenin's gettin'cowld. "

"I'm very well, Denis, I thank you;--nearer the fire! Faix, except youwant to have me roasted along wid that shoulder of mutton and goose, Ithink I can't go much nearer it. "

"I'm sorry, you wasn't in sooner, Darby, till you'd hear what DocthorFinnerty here--God spare him long among us--said of Denis a while ago. Docthor, if it wouldn't be makin' too free, maybe you'd oblage me widrepatin' it over again?"

"I can never have any hesitation, " replied the priest, "in repeatinganything to his advantage--I stated, Darby, that young MistherO'Shaughnessy was a youth of whom my opinion was decidedly_peculiar_--keep basting; child, you're forgetting the goose now; didyou never see a priest's boots before?"

"An' nobody has a better right to know nor yourself, wherever larnin'and education's consarned, " said the father. 

"Why, it's not long since I examined him myself; I say it sitting here, and I believe every one that hears me is present; and during the courseof the examination I was really astonished. The translations, andderivations, and conjugations, and ratiocinations, and variations, andinvestigations that he gave, were all the most remarkably originalI ever heard. He would not be contented with the common sense of apassage; but he'd keep hunting, and hawking, and fishing about forsomething that was out of the ordinary course of reading, that I wastruly struck with his eccentric turn of genius. "

"You think he'll pass the Bishop with great credit, Docthor?"

"I'll tell you what I think, Denis--which is going further than I wentyet--I think that if he were the Bishop, and the Bishop the candidatefor Maynooth, that his lordship would have but a poor chance of passing. There's the pinnacle of my eulogium upon him; and now, to give myopinion on another important subject; I pronounce both the goose andmutton done to a turn. As it appears that Mrs. O'Shaughnessy has everyother portion of the dinner ready, I move that we commence operations assoon as possible. "

"But Denis, Docthor? it would be a pleasure to me to have him, poorfellow, wid all his throuble over, and his mind at ase; maybe if we waita weeshy while longer, Docthor, that he'll come, and you know FatherMolony too is to come yet, and some more of our friends. "

"If the examination was a long one, I tell you that Mr. O'Shaughnessymay not be here this hour to come; and you may be sure, the Bishop, meeting such a bright boy, wouldn't make it a short one. As for FatherMolony, he'll be here time enough, so I move again that we attack thecitadel. "

"Well, well, never say it again--the sarra one o' me will keep it back, myself bein' as ripe as any of you, barrin' his Reverence, that we're notto take the foreway of in anything. Ha! ha! ha!"

Whilst Mave and her daughters were engaged in laying dinner, and inmaking all the other arrangements necessary for their comfort, thepriest took Denis aside, and thus addressed him:--

"Denis, I need scarcely remark that this meeting of our friends is uponno common occasion; that it's neither a wedding, nor a Station, nor achristening, but a gathering of relations for a more honorable purposethan any of them, excepting the Station, which you know is a religiousrite. I just mention this privately, lest you might not be properly onyour guard, and to prevent any appearance of maneness; or--in short, Ihope you have abundance of everything; I hope you have, and that, notfor your own sake so much as for that of your son. Remember your boy, and what he's designed for, and don't let the dinner or its concomitantsbe discreditable to him; for, in fact, it's his dinner, observe, and notyours. "

"I'm thankful, I'm deeply thankful, an' for ever oblaged to yourReverence for your kindness; although, widout at all makin' little ofit, it wasn't wanted here; never fear, Docthor, there'll be lashings andlavins. "

"Well, but make that clear, Denis; here now are near two dozen of us, and you say there are more to come, and all the provision I see forthem is a shoulder of mutton, a goose, and something in that large poton the fire, which I suppose is hung beef. "

"Thrue for you, sir, but you don't know that we've got a tarin' firedown in the barn, where there's two geese more and two shouldhers ofmutton to help what you seen--not to mintion a great big puddin', an'lots of other things. Sure you might notice Mave and the girls runnin'in an' out to attind the cookin' of it. "

"Enough, Denis, that's sufficient; and now, between you and me, I sayyour son will be the load-star of Maynooth, winch out-tops anything Isaid of him yet. "

"There's a whole keg of whiskey, Docthor. "

"I see nothing, to prevent him from being a bishop; indeed, it's almostcertain, for he can't be kept back. "

"I only hope your Reverence will be livin' when he praches his firstsarmon. I have the dam of the coult still, an a wink's as good as a nod, please your Reverence. "

"A strong letter in his favor to the President of Maynooth will do himno harm, " said the priest. 

They then joined their other friends, and in a few minutes an excellentdinner, plain and abundant, was spread out upon the table. It consistedof the usual materials which constitute an Irish feast in the house ofa wealthy farmer, whose pride it is to compel every guest to eat solong as he can swallow a morsel. There were geese and fowl of allkinds--shoulders of mutton, laughing-potatoes, carrots, parsnips, andcabbage, together with an immense pudding, boiled in a clean sheet, and ingeniously kept together with long straws* drawn through it in alldirections. A lord or duke might be senseless enough to look upon sucha substantial, yeoman-like meal with a sneer; but with all their wealthand elegance, perhaps they might envy the health and appetite of thosewho partook of it. When Father Finnerty had given a short grace, and theoperations of the table were commenced, --Denis looked around him with adisappointed air, and exclaimed:

"Father Finnerty, there's only one thing, indeed I may say two, awantin' to complate our happiness--I mean Denis and Father Molony! Whaton earth does your Reverence think can keep them?"

 * This, about thirty years ago, was usual at weddings and other feasts, where everything went upon a large scale. 

To this he received not a syllable of reply, nor did he consider itnecessary to urge the question any further at present. Father Finnerty'spowers of conversation seemed to have abandoned him; for, althoughthere were some few expressions loosely dropped, yet the worthy priestmaintained an obstinate silence. 

At length, in due time, he began to let fall an occasional remark, impeded considerably by hiccups, and an odd _Deo Gratias_, or _LausDeo_, uttered in that indecisive manner which indicates the position ofa man who debates within himself whether he ought to rest satisfied ornot. 

At this moment the tramping of a horse was heard approaching the door, and immediately every one of Denis's family ran out to ascertain whetherit was the young candidate. Loud and clamorous was their joy on findingthat they were not mistaken; he was alone, and, on arriving at the door, dismounted slowly, and received their welcomes and congratulations witha philosophy which perplexed them not a little. The scene of confusionwhich followed his entrance into the house could scarcely be conceived:every hand was thrust out to welcome him, and every tongue loud inwishing him joy and happiness. The chairs and stools were overturned asthey stood in the way of those who wished to approach him; plates fellin the bustle, and wooden trenchers trundled along the ground; the dogs, on mingling with the crowd that surrounded him, were kicked angrily fromamong them by those who had not yet got shaking hands with Denis. FatherFinnerty, during this commotion, kept his seat in the most dignifiedmanner; but the moment it had subsided he stretched out his hand toDenis, exclaiming:

"Mr. O'Shaughnessy, I congratulate you upon the event of this auspiciousday! I wish you joy and happiness!"

"So do we all, over and over agin!" they exclaimed; "a proud gintlemanhe may be this night!"

"I thank you, Father Finnerty, " said Denis, "and I thank you all!"

"Denis, avourneen, " said his mother, "sit down an' ate a hearty dinner;you must be both tired and hungry, so sit down, avick, and when you'redone you can tell us all. "

"_Bonum concilium, mi chare Dionysi_--the advice is good, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, and I myself will, in honor of this day, although Ihave already dined, just take another slice;" and as he spoke he helpedhimself. "Anything to honor a friend, " he continued; "but, by the by, before I commence, I will try your own prescription, Denis--a whetter ofthis poteen at intervals. Hoch, that's glorious stuff--pure as any oneof the cardinal virtues, and strong as fortitude, which is the championof them all. "

Denis, during these pleasant observations of the priest, sat silent, with a countenance pale and apparently dejected. When his mother hadfilled his plate, he gently put it away from him; but poured out alittle spirits and water, which he drank. 

"I cannot eat a morsel, " said he; "mother, don't press me, it'simpossible. We are all assembled here--friends, neighbors, andrelations--I'll not disguise the fact--but the truth is, I have beenbadly treated this day; I have been, in the most barefaced manner, rejected by the Bishop, and a nephew of Father Molony's elected in myplace. "

The effect which this disclosure produced upon the company present, especially upon his own family, utterly defies description. His fatherhastily laid down his glass, and his eyes opened to the utmost stretchof their lids; his mother let a plate fall which she was in the act ofhanding to one of her daughters, who was about to help a poor beggar atthe door; all convivial enjoyment was suspended; the priest laid downhis knife and fork, and fixed his large eyes upon Denis, with hismouth full; his young sister, Susan, flew over to his side, and lookedintensely into his countenance for an explanation of what he meant, forshe had not properly understood him. 

"Rejected!" exclaimed the priest--"rejected! Young man, I am yourspiritual superior, and I command you, on this occasion, to practiseno jocularity whatsoever--I lay it upon you as a religious duty to beserious and candid, to speak truth, and inform us at once whether whatyou have advanced be true or not?"

"I wish, " said Denis, "that it was only jocularity on my part; butI solemnly assure you all that it is not. The Bishop told me that Isuffered myself to be misled as to my qualifications for entrance;he says it will take a year and a half's hard study to enable me tomatriculate with a good grace. I told him that your Reverence examinedme, and said I was well prepared; and he said to me, in reply, that yourReverence was very little of a judge as to my fitness. "

"Very well, " said the priest, "I thank his lordship; 'tis true, Ideserved that from him; but it can't be helped. I see, at all events, how the land lies. Denis O'Shaughnessy, I pronounce you to be, in thefirst place, an extremely stultified and indiscreet young man; and, in the next place, as badly treated and as oppressed a candidate forMaynooth as entered it. I pronounce you, in the face of the world, rightwell prepared for it; but I see now who is the spy of the diocese--oh, oh, thank you, Misther Molony--I now remimber, that he is related to hislordship through the beggarly clan of the M----'s. But wait a little;if I have failed here, thank Heaven I have interest in the next diocese, the Bishop of which is my cousin, and we will yet have a tug for it. "

The mother and sisters of Denis were now drowned in tears; and the griefof his sister Susan was absolutely hysterical. Old Denis's brow becamepale and sorrowful, his eye sunk, and his hand trembled. His friendsall partook of this serious disappointment, and sat in silence andembarrassment around the table. Young Denis's distress was trulyintense: he could not eat a morsel; his voice was tremulous withvexation; and, indeed, altogether the aspect of those present betokenedthe occurrence of some grievous affliction. 

"Well, " said Brian, Denis's elder brother, "I only say this, that it'sa good story for him to tell that he is a Bishop, otherwise I'd think nomore of puttin' a bullet through him from behind a hedge, than I wouldof shootin' a cur dog. "

"Don't say that, Brian, " said his mother; "bad as it is, he's one of ourclargy, so don't spake disrespectful of him; sure a year is not much towait, an' the next time you go before him it won't be in his power tokeep you back. As for Father Molony, we wish, him well, but undher theroof of this house, except at a Station, or something else of the kind, he will never sit, barrin' I thought it was either dhry or hungry, thatI wouldn't bring evil upon my substance by refusin' him. "

"And that was his lordship's character of me?" inquired the priest oncemore with chagrin. 

"If that was not, perhaps you will find it in this letter, " repliedDenis, handing him a written communication from the Bishop. FatherFinnerty hastily broke open the seal, and read silently as follows:--

"_To the Rev. Father Finnerty, peace, and benediction. _

"Rev. Sir, "I feel deep indignation at hearing the disclosure made to me thisday by the bearer, touching your negotiation with him and his family, concerning a horse, as the value paid by them to you for procuring theuse of my influence in his favor; and I cannot sufficiently reprobatesuch a transaction, nor find terms strong enough in which to condemn theparties concerned in it. Sir, I repeat it, that such juggling ismore reprehensible on your part than on theirs, and that it is doublydisrespectful to me, to suppose that I could be influenced by anythingbut merit in the candidates. I desire you will wait upon me to-morrow, when I hope you may be able to place the transaction in such a light aswill raise you once more to the estimation in which I have always heldyou. There are three other candidates, one of whom is a relation ofyour excellent curate's; but I have as yet made no decision, so that theappointment is still open. In the meantime, I command you to send backthe horse to his proper owner, as soon after the receipt of thisas possible, for O'Shaughnessy must not be shackled by any suchstipulations. I have now to ask your Christian forgiveness, for having, under the influence of temporary anger, spoken of you before thislad with disrespect. I hereby make restitution, and beg that you willforgive me, and remember me by name in your prayers, as I shall alsoname you in mine. 

"I am, etc. , "+ James M. "

When Father Finnerty read this letter, his countenance gradually assumedan expression of the most irresistible humor; nothing could be moretruly comic than the significant look he directed toward each individualof the O'Shaughnessys, not omitting even the little boy who had bastedthe goose, whom he patted on the head with that mechanical abstractionresulting from the occurrence of something highly agreeable. The cast ofhis features was now the more ludicrous, when contrasted with the ruefulvisage he presented on hearing the manner in which his character hadbeen delineated by the Bishop. At length he laid himself back in hischair, and putting his hands to his sides, fairly laughed out loudly fornear five minutes. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "Dionysius, Dionysius, but you are the simple andunsophisticated youth! Oh, you _bocaun_ of the wide earth, to come homewith a long face upon you, telling us that you were rejected, and younot rejected. "

"Not rejected!--not rejecet!--not rejeckset!--not raxjaxet!" they allexclaimed, attempting to pronounce the word as well as they could. 

"For the sake of heaven above us, Docthor, don't keep us in doubt oneminute longer, " said old Denis. 

"Follow me, " said the priest, becoming instantly grave, "follow me, Dionysius; follow me Denis More, and Brian, all follow--follow me. Ihave news for you! My friends, we'll be back instantly. "

They accordingly passed into another room, where they remained in closeconference for about a quarter of an hour, after which they re-enteredin the highest spirits. 

"Come, " said Denis, "Pether, go over, _abouchal_, to Andy Bradagh'sfor Larry Cassidy the piper--fly like a swallow, Pether, an' don't comewithout him. Mave, achora, all's right. Susy, you darlin', dhry youreyes, avourneen, all's right. Nabors, friends--fill, fill--I say all'sright still. My son's not disgraced, nor he won't be disgraced whilstI have a house over my head, or a beast in my stable. Docthor, reverendDocthor, drink; may I never sin, but you must get merry an' dance a'cut-along' wid myself, when the music comes, and you must thrip thepriest in his boots wid Susy here afther. Excuse me, nabors--Docthor, you won't blame me, there's both joy and sorrow in these tears. I havehad a good family of childhre, an' a faithful wife; an' Mave, achora, although time has laid his mark upon you as well as upon myself, and thelocks are gray that wor once as black as a raven: yet, Mave, I seen theday, an' there's many livin' to prove it--ay, Mave, I seen the daywhen you wor worth lookin' at--the wild rose of Lisbuie she was called, Docthor. Well, Mave, I hope that my eyes may be closed by the handsI loved an' love so well--an' that's your own, _agrab machree_, an'Denis's. "

"Whisht, Denis asthore, " said Mave, wiping her eyes, "I hope I'll neversee that day. Afther seein' Denis here, what we all hope him to be, thenext thing I wish is, that I may never live to see my husband taken awayfrom me, acushla; no, I hope God will take me to himself before thatcomes. "

There is something touching in the burst of pathetic affection whichsprings strongly from the heart of a worthy couple, when, seated amongtheir own family, the feelings of the husband and father, the wife andmother, overpower them. In this case, the feeling is always deep inproportion to the strength and purity of domestic affection; still it ischecked by the melancholy satisfaction that our place is to be filled bythose who are dear to us. 

"But now, " said the priest, "that the scent lies still warm, let me askyou, Dionysius, how the Bishop came to understand the compactum?"

"I really cannot undertake to say, " replied Denis; "but if any man hasan eye like a _basileus_ he has. On finding, sir, that there was somedefect in my responsive powers, he looked keenly at me, closing hispiercing-eyes a little, and inquired upon what ground I had presentedmyself as a candidate. I would have sunk the compactum altogether, butfor the eye. I suspended and hesitated a little, and at length told himthat there was an understanding--a--a--kind of--in short, he squeezedthe whole secret out o' me gradationally. You know the result!"

"Ah, Dionysius, you are yet an unfledged bird; but it matters little. All will be rectified soon. "

"Arrah, Dinis, " inquired his mother, "was it only takin' a rise out ofus you wor all the time? Throth, myself's not the betther of the frightyou put me into. "

"No, " replied Denis, "the Bishop treated me harshly, I thought: he saidI was not properly fit. 'You might pass, ' said he, 'upon a particularoccasion, or under peculiar circumstances; but it will take at least ayear and a half's study to enable you to enter Maynooth as I would wishyou. You may go home again, ' said he; 'at present I have dismissed thesubject. '

"After this, on meeting Father Molony, he told me that his cousin hadpassed, and that he would be soon sent up to Maynooth: so I concludedall hope was over with me; but I didn't then know what the letter toFather Finnerty contained. I now see that I may succeed still. "

"You may and shall, Denis; but no thanks to Father Molony for that:however, I shall keep my eye upon the same curate, never fear. Well, letthat pass, and now for harmony, conviviality, and friendship. Gentlemen, fill your glasses--I mean your respective vessels. Come, Denis More, letthat porringer of yours be a brimmer. Ned Hanratty, charge your noggin. Darby, although your mug wants an ear, it can hold the full of it. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, that old family cruiskeen ought to be with your husband:but no matther--_non constat_--Eh? Dionysi? Intelligible?"

"_Intelligo, domine_. "

"Here then is health, success, and prosperity to Mr. DionysiusO'Shaughnessy, jun. ! May he soon be on the Retreat in the vivaciouswalls of that learned and sprightly seminary, Maynooth! * On theRetreat, I say, getting fat upon half a meal a day for the first week, fasting tightly against the grain, praying sincerely for a settin' atthe king's mutton, and repenting thoroughly of his penitence!"

 * This is a passage which I fear few general readers will understand without explanation; the meaning is this:--When a young-man first enters Maynooth College he devotes himself for the space of eight days to fasting and prayer, separating himself as much as possible from all society. He must review his whole life, and ascertain, it he can, whether he has ever left any sin of importance unconfessed, either knowingly or by an emission that was culpably negligent. After this examination, which must be both severe and strict, he makes what is called a General Confession; that is, he confesses all the sins he ever committed as far back and as accurately as he can recollect them. This being over, he enters upon his allotted duties as a student and in good sooth feels himself in admirable trim for "a set-in at the King's Mutton. "

"Well, Docthor, that is a toast. Denis, have you nothing to say to that?Won't you stand up an' thank his Reverence, anyhow?"

"I am really too much oppressed with relaxation, " said Denis, "to returnthanks in that florid style which would become my pretensions. I cannot, however, but thank Father Finnerty for his ingenious and learned toast, which does equal honor to his head and heart, and I might superadd, to his intellects also; for in drinking toasts, my friends, I alwayselaborate a distinction between strength of head and strength ofintellect. I now thank you all for having in so liberal a manner drunkmy health; and in grateful return, I request you will once more fillyour utensils, and learnedly drink--long life and a mitre to theReverend Father Finnerty, of the Society of St. Dominick, Doctor ofDivinity and Parochial Priest of this excellent parish!--_Propino tibisalutem, Doctor doctissime, reverendissime, et sanctissime; nec nonomnibus amicis hic congregatis!_"

The priest's eye, during this speech, twinkled with humor; he sawclearly that Denis thoroughly understood the raillery of his toast, andthat the compliment was well repaid. On this subject he did not wish, however, to proceed further, and his object now was, that the eveningshould pass off as agreeably as possible. 

Next morning Father Finnerty paid Denis a timely visit, having first, ashe had been directed, sent home the colt a little after day-break. Theythen took an early breakfast, and after about half an hour's furtherdeliberation, the priest, old Denis, and his son--the last mounted uponthe redoubtable colt--proceeded to the Bishop's residence. His lordshiphad nearly finished breakfast, which he took in his study; but as hewas engaged with his brother, the barrister, who slept at his house thenight before, in order to attend a public meeting on that day, hecould not be seen for some time after they arrived. At length they wereadmitted. The Right Reverend Doctor was still seated at the breakfasttable, dressed in a morning-gown of fine black stuff, such as thebrothers of the Franciscan order of monks usually wear, to which orderhe belonged. He wore black silk stockings, gold knee-buckles to hissmall-clothes, a rich ruby ring upon his finger, and a small gold cross, net with brilliants, about his neck. This last was not usually visible;but as he had not yet dressed for the day, it hung over his vest. Hesat, or rather lolled back in a stuffed easy chair, one leg thrownindolently over the other. Though not an old man, he wore powder, whichgave him an air of greater reverence; and as his features were sharpand intelligent, his eye small but keen, and his manner altogetherimpressive and gentlemanly, if not dignified, it was not surprising thatFather Finnerty's two companions felt awed and embarrassed before him. Nor was the priest himself wholly free from that humbling sensationwhich one naturally feels when in the presence of a superior mind in asuperior station of life. 

"Good morning to your lordship!" said the priest, "I am exceedinglyhappy to see you look so well. Counsellor, your most obedient; I hope, sir, you are in good health!"

To this both gentlemen replied in the usual commonplace terms. 

"Doctor, " continued the priest, "this is a worthy dacent parishioner ofmine, Denis O'Shaughnessy; and this is his son who has the honor to bealready known to your lordship. "

"Sit down, O'Shaughnessy, " said the Bishop, "take a seat, young man. "

"I humbly thank your lordship, " replied Denis the elder, taking a chairas he spoke, and laying his hat beside him on the carpet. The son, whotrembled at the moment from head to foot, did not sit as he was asked, but the father, after giving him a pluck, said in a whisper, "Can'tyou sit, when his lordship-bids you. " He then took a seat, but appearedscarcely to know whether he sat or stood. 

"By the by, Doctor, you have improved this place mightily, " continuedFather Finnerty, "since I had the pleasure of being here last. I thoughtI saw a green-house peeping over the garden-wall. "

"Yes, " replied the Bishop, "I am just beginning to make a collectionof shrubs and flowers upon a small scale. I believe you are aware thattending and rearing flowers, Mr. Finnerty, is a favorite amusement withme. "

"I believe I have a good right to know as much, Dr. M------, " repliedMr. Finnerty. 

"If I don't mistake, I sent you some specimens for your garden that werenot contemptible. And if I don't mistake again, I shall be able to sendyour lordship a shrub that would take the pearl off a man's eye only tolook at it. And what's more, it's quite a new-comer; not two years inthe country. "

"Pray how is it called, Mr. Finnerty. "

"Upon my credit, Doctor, with great respect, I will tell you nothingmore about it at present. If you wish to see it, or to know its name, orto get a slip of it, you must first come and eat a dinner with me. And, Counsellor, if you, too, could appear on your own behalf, so much thebetter. "

"I fear I cannot, Mr. Finnerty, but I dare say my brother will dohimself the pleasure of dining with you. "

"It cannot be for at least six weeks, Mr. Finnerty, " said the Bishop. "You forget that the confirmations begin in ten days; but I shall havethe pleasure of dining with you when I come to confirm in your parish. "

"Phoo! Why, Doctor, that's a matter of course. Couldn't your lordshipmake it convenient to come during the week, and bring the Counsellorhere with you? Don't say no, Counsellor; I'll have no demurring. "

"Mr. Finnerty, " said the Bishop, "it is impossible at present. Mybrother goes to Dublin to-morrow, and I must go on the following day toattend the consecration of a chapel in the metropolis. "

"Then upon my credit, your lordship will get neither the name nordescription of my Facia, until you earn it by eating a dinner, anddrinking a glass of claret with the Rev. Father Finnerty. Are those hardterms, Counsellor?--Ha! ha! ha! I'm not the man to put off a thing, Iassure you. "

"Mr. Finnerty, " said the Bishop, smiling at, but not noticing the worthypriest's blunder about the Fucia, "if possible, I shall dine with yousoon; but at present it is out of my power to appoint a day. "

"Well, well, Doctor, make your own time of it; and now for thepurport of our journey. Denis O'Shaughnessy here, my lord, is a warm, respectable parishioner of mine--a man indeed for whom I have a greatregard. He is reported to have inherited from his worthy father, twohorns filled with guineas. His grandmother, as he could well inform yourlordship, was born with a lucky caul upon her, which caul is still inthe family. Isn't it so, Denis?"

"My lord, in dignity, it's truth, " replied Denis, "and from the time itcame into the family they always thruv, thanks be to goodness!"

The lawyer sat eyeing the priest and Denis alternately, evidentlypuzzled to comprehend what such a remarkable introduction could lead to. 

The Bishop seemed not to be surprised, for his features betrayed nochange whatsoever. 

"Having, therefore, had the necessary means of educating a son for thechurch, he has accordingly prepared this young man with much anxiety andexpense for Maynooth. "

"Plase your lordship, " said Denis, "Docthor Finnerty is clothin' itbetther than I could do. My heart is fixed upon seein' him what we allexpect him to be, your lordship. "

"Mr. Finnerty, " observed the Bishop, "you seem to be intimatelyacquainted with O'Shaughnessy's circumstances; you appear to take a warminterest in the family, particularly in the success of his son. "

"Undoubtedly my lord; I am particularly anxious for his success. "

"You received my letter yesterday?"

"I am here to-day, my lord, in consequence of having received it. But, by the by, there was, under favor, a slight misconception on the part ofyour--"

"What misconception, sir!"

"Why, my lord--Counsellor, this is a--a--kind of charge his lordship isbringing against me, under a slight misconception. My lord, the fact is, that I didn't see what ecclesiastical right I had to prevent Denis herefrom disposing of his own property to--"

"I expect an apology from you, Mr. Finnerty, but neither a defence nora justification. An attempt at either will not advance the interests ofyour young friend, believe me. "

"Then I have only to say that the wish expressed in your lordship'sletter has been complied with. But wait awhile, my lord, " continued thepriest, good-humoredly, "I shall soon turn the tables on yourself. "

"How is that, pray?"

"Why, my lord, the horse is in your stable, and Denis declares he willnot take him out of it. "

"I have not the slightest objection to that, " replied the Bishop, "uponthe express condition that his son shall never enter Maynooth. "

"For my part, " observed Mr. Finnerty, "I leave the matter now betweenyour lordship and O'Shaughnessy himself. You may act as you please, Doctor, and so may he. "

"Mr. Finnerty, if I could suppose for a moment that the suggestion ofthus influencing me originated with you, I would instantly deprive youof your parish, and make you assistant to your excellent curate, forwhom I entertain a sincere regard. I have already expressed my opinionof the transaction alluded to in my letter. You have frequently offendedme, Mr. Finnerty, by presuming too far upon my good temper, and byrelying probably upon your own jocular disposition. Take care, sir, thatyou don't break down in some of your best jokes. I fear that underthe guise of humor, you frequently avail yourself of the weakness, orignorance, or simplicity of your parishioners. I hope, Mr. Finnerty, that while you laugh at the jest, they don't pay for it. "

The priest here caught the Counsellor's eye, and gave him a dry wink, not unperceived, however, by the Bishop, who could scarcely repress asmile. 

"You should have known me better, Mr. Finnerty, than to suppose that anymotive could influence me in deciding upon the claims of candidates forMaynooth, besides their own moral character and literary acquirements. So long as I live, this, and this alone, shall be the rule of myconduct, touching persons in the circumstances of young O'Shaughnessy. "

"My gracious lord, " said Denis, "don't be angry wid Mr. Finnerty. I'llbear it all, for it was my fau't. The horse is mine, and say whatyou will, out of your stable I'll never bring him. I think, wid greatsibmission a man may do what he pleases wid his own. "

"Certainly, " said the Bishop; "my consent to permit your son to gotoMaynooth is my own. Now this consent I will not give if you press thatmode of argument upon me. "

"My Reverend Lord, as heaven's above me, I'd give all I'm worth to seethe boy in Maynooth. If he doesn't go afther all our hopes, I'd break myheart. " He was so deeply affected that the large tears rolled down hischeeks as he spoke. 

"Will your Lordship buy the horse?" he added; "I don't want him, andyou, maybe, do?"

"I do not want him, " said the Bishop, "and if I did, I would not, underthe present circumstances, purchase him from you. "

"Then my boy won't get in, your lordship. And you'll neither buy thehorse, nor take him as a present. My curse upon him for a horse! Thefirst thing I'll do when I get home will be to put a bullet through him, for he has been an unlucky thief to us. Is my son aquil to the others, that came to pass your lordship?" asked Denis. 

"There is none of them properly qualified, " said the Bishop. "If therebe any superiority among them your son has it. He is not without naturaltalent, Mr. Finnerty; his translations are strong and fluent, butridiculously pedantic. That, however, is perhaps less his fault than thefault of those who instructed him. "

"Are you anxious to dispose of the horse?" said the Counsellor. 

"A single day, sir, he'll never pass in my stable, " said Denis; "he hasbeen an unlucky baste to me an' mine, an' to all that had anything to dowid him. "

"Pray what age is he?"

"Risin' four, sir; 'deed I believe he's four all out, an' a purtydevil's clip he is, as you'd wish to see. "

"Come, " said the Counsellor, rising, "let us have a look at him. Mr. Finnerty, you're an excellent judge; will you favor me with youropinion?"

The priest and he, accompanied by the two O'Shaughnessys, passed out tothe stable yard, where their horses stood. As they went, Father Finnertywhispered to O'Shaughnessy:--

"Now, Denis, is your time. Strike while the iron is hot. Don't takea penny!--don't take a fraction! Get into a passion, and swear you'llshoot him unless he accepts him as a present. If he does, all's right;he can twine the Bishop round his finger. "

"I see, sir, " said Denis; "I see! Let me alone for managin' him. "

The barrister was already engaged in examining the horse's mouth, as isusual, when the priest accosted him with--

"You are transgressing etiquette in this instance, Counsellor. You knowthe proverb--never look a gift horse in the mouth. "

"How, Mr. Finnerty?--a gift horse!"

"His Reverence is right!" exclaimed Denis: "the sorra penny ever willcross my pocket for the same horse. You must take him as he stands, sir, barrin' the bridle an' saddle, that's not my own. "

"He will take no money, " said the priest. 

"Nonsense, my dear sir! Why not take a fair price for him?"

"Divil the penny will cross my pocket for him, the unlucky thief!"replied the shrewd farmer. 

"Then in that case the negotiation is ended, " replied the barrister. "I certainly will not accept him as a present. Why should I? What claimhave I on Mr. O'Shaughnessy?"

"I don't want you to take him, " said Denis; "I want nobody to take him:but I know the dogs of the parish 'll be pickin' his bones afore night. You may as well have him, sir, as not. "

"Is the man serious, Mr. Finnerty?"

"I never saw a man in my life having a more serious appearance, I assureyou, " said the priest. 

"By Jove, it's a queer business, " replied the other: "a mostextraordinary affair as I ever witnessed! Why, it would be madnessto destroy such a fine animal as that! The horse is an excellent one!However, I shall certainly not accept him, until I ascertain whether Ican prevail upon the bishop to elect his son to this vacancy. If I canmake the man no return for him, I shall let him go to the dogs. "

"Go up and set to work, " said the priest; "but remember that _tace_ isLatin for a candle. Keep his lordship in the dark, otherwise this scionis ousted. "

"True, " said the other. "In the meantime bring them into the parloruntil I try what can be done. "

"Take the Bishop upon the father's affection for him, " said the priest. 

"You are right. I am glad you mentioned it. "

"The poor man will break his heart, " said the priest. 

"He will, " responded the Counsellor smiling. 

"So will the mother, too, " said the priest, with an arch look. 

"And the whole family, " replied the Counsellor. 

"Go up instantly, " said the priest; "you have often got a worse fee. "

"And, perhaps, with less prospect of success, " said the other. "Gentlemen, have the goodness to walk into the parlor for a few minutes, while I endeavor to soften my brother a little, if I can, upon thisuntoward business. "

When the priest and his two friends entered the parlor, which waselegantly furnished, they stood for a moment to survey it. 

Old Denis, however, was too much engaged in the subject which laynearest his heart to take pleasure in anything else; at least until heshould hear the priest's opinion upon the posture of affairs. 

"What does your reverence think?" said Denis. 

"Behave yourself, " replied the pastor. "None of your nonsense! You knowwhat I think as well as I do myself. "

"But will Dionnisis pass?--Will he go to Maynooth?"

"Will you go to your dinner to-day, or to your bed to-night?"

"God be praised! Well, Docthor, wait till we see him off, then I'll bespakin' to you!"

"No, " said the priest; "but wait till you tike a toss upon this sofa, and then you will get a taste of ecclesiastical luxury. "

"Ay, " said Denis, "but would it be right o' me to sit in it? Maybe it'sconsecrated. "

"Faith, you may swear that; but it is to the ease and comfort of hislordship! Come, man, sit down, till you see how you'll sink in it. "

"Oh, murdher!" exclaimed Denis, "where am I at all? Docthor dear, am Iin sight? Do you see the crown o' my head, good or bad? Oh, may I neversin, but that's great state!--Well, to be sure!"

"Ay, " said the priest, "see what it is to be a bishop in any church! Themoment a man becomes a bishop, he fastens tooth and nail upon luxury, as if a mitre was a dispensation for enjoying the world that they havesworn to renounce. Dionysius, look about you! Isn't this worth studyingfor?"

"Yes, " replied the hitherto silent candidate, "if it was perusal on thepart of his lordship that got it. "

"Upon my credit, a shrewd observation! Ah, Dionysius, meritis overlooked in every church, and in every profession; orperhaps--hem!--ehem!--perhaps some of your reverend friends might behigher up! I mean nobody; but if sound learning, and wit, and humor, together with several other virtues which I decline enumerating, couldsecure a mitre, why mitres might be on other brows. "

"This is surely great state, " observed the candidate; "and if it be athing that I matriculate--"

"And yet, " said the priest, interrupting him, "this same bishop--who is, no doubt, a worthy man, but who has no natural ear for a jest--was onceupon a time the priest of an indifferent good parish, like myself; ay, and a poor, cowardly, culprit-looking candidate, ready to sink into theearth, before his bishop, like you. "

"Me cowardly!" said the candidate: "I decline the insinuationaltogether. It was nothing but veneration and respect, which you know weshould entertain for all our spiritual superiors. "

"That's truth decidedly; though, at the same time, your nerves werecertainly rather entangled, like a ravelled hank. But no matter, man;we have all felt the same in our time. Did you observe how I managed thebishop?"

"I can't say I did, " replied the candidate, who felt hurt at theimputation of cowardice before his father; "but I saw, sir, that thebishop managed you. "

"Pray for a longer vision, Dionysius. I tell you that no other priest inthe diocese could have got both you and me out of the dilemma in whichwe stood but myself. He has taken to the study of weeds and plants inhis old days; and I, who have a natural taste for botany, know it is hisweak side. I tell you, he would give the right of filling a vacancy inMaynooth, any day in the year, for a rare plant or flower. So much foryour knowledge of human nature. You'll grant I managed the Counsellor?"

"Between my father and you, sir, things look well. We have not, however, got a certificate of success yet. "

"_Patientia fit levior ferendo!_--Have patience, man. Wait till we seethe Counsellor!"

He had scarcely uttered the last words when that gentleman entered. 

"Well, Counsellor, " said the priest, "is it a hit?"

"Pray what is your Christian name, Mr. O'Shaughnessy?" inquired thelawyer o! young Denis. 

"My Christian name, sir, " replied Denis, "is Di-o-ny-si-usO'Shaughnessy. That, sir, is the name by which I am always appellated. "

"That's quite sufficient, " said the other, "I shall be with you againin a few minutes. "

"But won't you give us a hint, my good sir, as to how the land lies?"said the priest, as the lawyer left the room. 

"Presently, Mr. Finnerty, presently. "

"Intelligisme, Dionisi?"

"Vix, Domine. Quid sentis?"

"Quid sentis! No, but it was good fortune sent us. Don't you persave, Dionysius, and you, Denis--don't you know, I say, that this letter ofadmission couldn't be written except the bishop knew his name in full?Unlucky! Faith if ever a horse was lucky this is he. "

"I declare, Docthor, " said the father, "I can neither sit nor stand, northink of any one thing for a minute, I'm so much on the fidgets to knowwhat the Bishop 'ill say. "

"I also, " said Dionysius, "am in state of evaporation and uncertaintytouching the same point. However, this I can affirm with veracity, thatif I am rejected, my mind is made up to pursue an antithetical course oflife altogether. If he rejects me now, he will never reject me again. "

"Musha, how--Denny--Dionysis, avick? What do you mane?" said the father. 

"I will give, " said the son, "what is designated a loose translation ofmy meaning to Mr. Finnerty here, if I find that I am excluded on thisoccasion. "

"And if you do succeed, " said the priest, "I would advise you to hirea loose translator during the remainder of your residence among us; forupon my veracity, Dionysius, the King's English will perform hard dutyuntil you enter Maynooth. Not a word under six feet will be brought intothe ranks--grenadiers every one of them, not to mention the thumpers youwill coin. "

"Come, Docthor Finnerty, " said our candidate, pulling up a little, "ifthe base Latin which you put into circulation were compared withmy English thumpers, it would be found that of the two, I am morelegitimate and etymological. "

"I shall be happy to dispute that point with you another time, " said thepriest, "when we can--Silence, here comes the Counsellor. "

"Mr. O'Shaughnessy, " said the lawyer, addressing the candidate, "allowme to congratulate you on your success! Your business is accomplished. The Bishop is just finishing a letter for you to the President ofMaynooth. I assure you, I feel great pleasure at your success. "

"Accept my thanks, sir, " said Denis, whose eye was instantly lit up withdelight--"accept my most obsequious thanks to the very furthest extentof my gratitude. "

The Barrister then shook hands with old Denis. "O'Shaughnessy, " said he, "I am very happy that I have had it in my power to serve you and yourson. "

"Counsellor, " said Denis, seizing his hand in both of his--"Counsellor, _ahagur machree_ Counsellor, oh, what--what--can I say!--Is he--is itpossible--is it thruth that my boy is to go to Maynewth this time? Oh, if you knew, but knew, the heavy, dead weight you tuck off o' my heart!Our son not cast aside--not disgraced!--for what else would the peoplethink it? The horse!--a poor bit of a coult--a poor unsignified animal!To the devil wid him. What is he compared to the joy an' delight ofthis minute? Take him, sir; take him--an' if he was worth his weightin goold, I vow to Heaven above me, I'd not think him too good. Toogood!--no, nor half good enough for you. God remimber this to you!an' he will, too. Little you know the happiness you have given us, Counsellor! Little you know it. But no matther! An' you, too, FatherFinnerty, helped to bring this about. But sure you were ever an' alwaysour friend! Well, no matther--no matther! God will reward you both. "

"My brother wishes me to see Mr. Finnerty and your son, " said thebarrister; "I think they had better go up to him. He is anxious to get aslip of your shrub, Mr. Finnerty. "

"Ah, I thought so, " said the priest--"I thought as much. "

The Bishop, on their reappearance, presented Denis with the longwished-for letter. He then gave him a suitable exhortation withreference to the serious and responsible duties for which he was aboutto prejjare himself. After concluding his admonition, he addressedFather Finnerty as follows:

"Now Mr. Finnerty, this matter has ended in a manner satisfactory, notonly to your young friend, but to yourself. You must promise me thatthere shall be no more horse-dealing. I do not think jockeying of thatdescription either creditable or just. I am unwilling to use harsherlanguage, but I could not conscientiously let it pass without reproof. In the next place, will you let me have a slip of that flowering shrubyou boast of?"

"Doctor, " said the priest, "is it possible you ask it of me? Why, Ithink your lordship ought to know that it's your own, as is every plantand flower in my garden that you fancy. Do you dine at home to-morrow, my lord?"

"I do, " said the Bishop. "Well, then, I shall come up with a slip or twoof it, and dine with you. I know the situation in which it grows best;and knowing this, I will put it down with my own hands. But I protest, my lord, against you allowing me to be traced in the business of theshrub at all, otherwise I shall have the whole county on my back. "

"Be under no apprehension of that, Mr. Finnerty. I shall be happy if youdine with me; but bring it with you. How did you come to get it so earlyafter its appearance in this country?"

"I got it from headquarters, Doctor---from one of the best botanists inthe three kingdoms; certainly from the best Irish botanist living--myfriend, Mr Mackay, of the College Botanic Gardens. My lord, I wish yougood morning; but before I go, accept my thanks for your kindness to myyoung friend. I assure you he will be a useful man; for he is even nowno indifferent casuist. "

"And I, my lord, " said Denis, "return you my most grateful--hem--my mostgrateful--and--most supercilious thanks for the favor--the stupendousfavor you have conferred upon me. "

"God bless you, my dear child, " returned the bishop; "but if you beadvised by me, speak more intelligibly. Use plain words, and discard alldifficult and pedantic expressions. God bless you! Farewell!"

On coming down, they found old Denis in the stable-yard in rather aridiculous kind of harness. The saddle that had been on the colt wasstrapped about him with the bridle, for both had been borrowed from aneighbor. 

"Dionnisis an' I must both ride the same horse, " said he, "an' as wehave two saddles, I must carry one of them. "

An altercation then ensued as to which should ride foremost. The son, now in high glee, insisted on the father's taking the seat of honor; butthe father would not hear of this. The lad was, in his opinion, at leastsemi-clerical, and to ride behind would be a degradation to so learneda youth. They mounted at length, the son foremost, and the father on thecrupper, the saddle strapped about him, with the stirrups dangling bythe horse's flanks. Father Finnerty, who accompanied them, could not, however, on turning from the bishop's grounds into the highway, get aword out of them. The truth is, both their hearts were full; both were, therefore, silent, and thought every minute an hour until they reachedhome. 

This was but natural. A man may conceal calamity or distress even fromhis dearest friends; for who is there who wishes to be thrust back fromhis acknowledged position in life? Or who, when he is thrust back, willnot veil his misfortunes or his errors with the guise of indifference orsimulation? In good fortune we act differently. It is a step advanced;an elevation gained; there is nothing to fear, or to be ashamed of, andwe are strongly prompted by vanity to proclaim it to the world, as weare by pride to ascribe its occurrence to our own talents or virtues. There are other and purer motives for this. The affections will not bestill; they seek the hearts to which they tend; and having found them, the mutual interchange of good takes place. Father Finnerty--whoseheart, though a kind one, had, probably, been too long out of practiceto remember the influence and working of the domestic affections--couldnot comprehend the singular conduct of the two O'Shaughnessys. 

"What the devil is the matter with you?" he inquired. "Have you lost theuse of your speech?"

"Push an' avourneen, " said the father to Denis--"push an; lay the spur tohim. Isn't your spur on the right foot?"

"Most certainly, " said Denis, now as pedantic as ever--"most certainlyit is. You are not to be informed that our family spur is a right-footspur. "

"Well, then, Peter Gallagher's spur that I have an is a left-foot spur, for it's an my left foot. "

"You are a bright pair, " said the priest, somewhat nettled at theirneglect of him--"you are a bright pair, and deeply learned in spurs. Can't you ride asier?"

"Never heed him, " said the father, in a whisper; "do you, give the marethe right spur, an' I'll give her the left. Push an! that's it. "

They accordingly dashed forwrard, Denis plying, one heel, and the fatheranother, until the priest found himself gradually falling behind. In vain he plied both spurs; in vain he whipped, and wriggled on thesaddle, and pressed forwrard his hack. Being a priest's horse, theanimal had been accustomed for the last twelve years to a certainjog-trot-pace, beyond which it neither would nor could go. On findingall his efforts to overtake them unsuccessful, he at last shouted afterthem. 

"Do you call that gratitude, my worthy friends? To lave me creeping overthe ups and downs of this villanous road without company?"

"Lay an, aroon, " said the father. "Let us get home. Oh, how your poormother will die with joy, an' Susy, an' Nanny, an' Brian, an' Michael, an' Dick, an' Lanty, an' all o' them. Glory be to Heaven! what a meetin'we'll have! An' the nabors, too! Push an' avick machree. "

"My curse upon you, Friar Hennessy!" exclaimed the priest, in asoliloquy, "it was you who first taught this four-footed snail to golike a thief to the gallows. I wish to Heaven you had palmed him on someone else, for many a dinner I have lost by him in my time. Is that yourgratitude, gentlemen? Do I deserve this?"

"What is he sayin'?" said the father. 

"He is declaiming about gratitude, " replied Denis. 

"Lay-an' her, " said the father. "Poor Mave!"

"Such conduct does you credit, " shouted the priest. "It's just the wayof the world. You have got what you wanted out of me, an' now you throwme off. However, go on. "

"What's that?" said the father again. 

"He is desiring us to go on, ' replied the son. 

"Then, in the name o' Goodness, do so, avourneen. Susy will diedownright. "

"Where am I to dine to-day?" shouted the priest, in a louder voice. "Isay, where am I to come in for my dinner, for I'm not expected at home, and my curate dines out?"

"I can't hear him, " said the father. 

"He says the curate dines out; an' he wants to know if he's to dine withus. "

"Throth, an' he won't; not that we begrudge it to him; but for this daythe sarra one we'll have but our own relations. Push an. An' Brian, too, poor fellow, that was always so proud of you!"

They had now reached the top of an ascent on the road, whilst thepriest toiled up after them. In a few minutes they began to descend, andconsequently were out of his sight. 

No description of mine could give an adequate perception to the readerof what was felt by the family on hearing that the object of Denis'shopes, and their own proud ambition, was at length accomplished. TheBishop's letter was looked at, turned in every direction, and the sealinspected with a kind of wonderful curiosity, such as a superstitiousperson would manifest on seeing and touching some sacred relic. Theperiod appointed for his departure now depended upon the despatch withwhich they could equip him for college. But until this event shouldarrive, his friends lost no opportunity of having him among them. Various were the treats he got in fair and markets. Proud were hisrelations when paying' him the respect which he felt right sincerepleasure in receiving. The medium between dignity and humility which hehit off in these scenes, was worthy o'f being recorded; but, to do himjustice, his forte lay in humility. He certainly condescended with agrace, and made them feel the honor done them by his vouchsafing toassociate with such poor creatures as if he was one of themselves. Todo them also justice, they appeared to feel his condescension; and, asa natural consequence, were ready to lick the very dust under his feet, considering him, as they did, a priest in everything but ordination. 

Denis, besides his intercourse with humble relatives, was now asked todine with the neighboring clergymen, and frequently made one at theirparties. In the beginning, his high opinion and awe of the clericalcharacter kept him remarkably dull and sheepish. Many an excellent jokewas cracked at his expense; and often did he ask himself what PhadrickMurray, his father's family, or his acquaintances in general, wouldsay, if they saw his learning and his logic so villanously degraded. In proportion, however, as conviviality developed among his reverendfriends many defects, opinions, and failings, which he never suspectedthem to possess, so did he begin to gather courage and facility ofexpression. By degrees he proceeded modestly from the mild and timideffort at wit to the steadier nerve of moderate confidence--another stepbrought him to the indifference of a man who can bear an unsuccessfulattempt at pleasantry, without being discomposed; the third and laststage advanced him to downright assurance, which having reached, hestopped at nothing. From this forward he began to retort upon hisclerical companions, who found that the sheepish youth whom they hadoften made ridiculous, possessed skill, when properly excited, to foilthem at their own weapons. He observed many things in their convivialmeetings. The holy man, whom his flock looked upon as a being of thehighest sanctity, when lit up into fun and frolic, Denis learned toestimate at his just value. He thought, besides, that a person resolvedto go to heaven, had as good a chance of being saved by the directmercy of God, as through the ministration of men, whose only spiritualadvantage over himself consisted in the mere fact of being in orders. To be sure, he saw the usual exceptions among them that are to be foundamong every other class; but he drew his conclusions from the generalrule. All this, however, failed in removing that fundamental principleof honest superstition in which he had been trained. The clergymen whomhe saw were only a few who constituted the great body of the church; butwhen the long and sanctified calendar of saints and miracles openedupon him, there still remained enough to throw a dim and solemn charm ofshadowy pomp around the visions of a mind naturally imaginative. 

Messengers were once more sent abroad, to inform their friends of histriumph, who, on ascertaining that his journey was fixed for an earlyday, lost no time in pouring in, each with some gift suited totheir circumstances. Some of these were certainly original, theappropriateness having been in every case determined by the wealth orpoverty, ignorance, or knowledge, of those who offered them. Some poorrelation, for instance, brought him a shirt or two of materials socoarse, that to wear it in a college would be out of the question;others offered him a pair of brogues, much too vulgar for the society hewas about to enter; others, again, would present him with books--forit is not at all uncommon to find in many illiterate Irish familieshalf-a-dozen old volumes of whose contents they are ignorant, lying ina dusty corner, where they are kept till some young scion shall besufficiently instructed to peruse them. The names of these were singularenough. One presented him with "The Necessity of Penance;" another with"Laugh and be Fat;" a third with the "Key of Paradise;" a fourthwith "Hell Open;" a fifth handed him a copy of the "Irish Rogues andRapparees; a sixth gave him "Butler's Lives of Saints;" a seventh "TheNecessity of Fasting;" an eighth "The Epicure's _Vade Mecum_. " The listran on very ludicrously. Among them were the "Garden of Love and RoyalFlower of Fidelity;" "An Essay on the Virtue of Celibacy;" and another"On the Increase of Population in Ireland. " To these we may add "TheDevil upon Two Sticks, " and "The Life of St. Anthony. "

"Take these, Misther Denis, " said the worthy souls; "they're of no useto us at all at all; but they'll sarve you, of coorse, where you'regoin', bekase when you want books in the college you can use them. "

Honest Phadrick Murray, in lieu of a more valuable present, brought himhis wife's largest and best shawl as a pocket handkerchief. 

"Katty, sir, sent you this, " said Phadrick, "as a pocket handkerchy; an'be gorra, Mither Denis, if you begin at this corner, an' take it out o'the face, it'll last you six months at a time, any how. "

Another neighbor came with a _cool_ of rendered lard, hoping it might beserviceable. 

"Norah, sir, " said the honest friend who brought it, "sent you a' crockof her own lard. When, you're makin' colcanon, sir, or _sthilk_, * inthe college, if you slip in a lamp of this, it'll save you the price ofbufther. The grace 'ill be useful to you, whether or not; an' they saythere's a scarcity of it in the college. ". 

 * Sthilk is made by bruising a quantity of boiled Potatoes and beans together. The potatoes, however, having first been reduced to a pulpy state, the beans are but partially broken. It is then put into dish, and a pound of butter or rendered lard thrust into the middle of it. 

A third brought him an oak sapling to keep in his hand about thepurlieus of the establishment. 

"We know, " said he, "that you're given to arguin' an' to that thingyou call logic, Misther Denis. Now, sir, if you're ever hard set inan argument or the like o' that, or if any o' the shthudjeents 'ud bethrouble-some or imperant, why give them a touch o' this--a lick of it, do you see; jist this a way. First come wid a back sthroke upon the leftear, if they want to be properly convinced; an' thin agin' afore theyhave time to recover, come down wid a visitation upon the kidney, Mylife for yours, they'll soon let you alone. Nothin' puzzles one in anargument more than it does. "

"Ay, " said Denis, "that is what they call--in the books the _argumentumbaculinum_. I accept your present, Roger; but I flatter myself I shallbe a match for any of the collegians without having recourse to theargumentum baculinum. "

A poor old widow, who was distantly related to them, came upwards offour miles with two or three score of eggs, together with a cock andhen; the eggs for his own use, and the latter for breeding in Maynooth. "Avourneen, Misther O'Shaughnessy, " said she, in broken English, "whenyou ate out all the eggs, maybe you could get a sonsy little cornerabout the collegian that you're goin' to larn to be a priest in, an'put them both into it; "--pointing at the same time to the cock andhen--"an' whishper, " she continued, in a low friendly voice, "if youcould get a weeshy wisp o' sthraw, an slip it undher your own bed, itwould make a nest for them, an' they'd lay an egg for your breakfast alldays in the year. But, achora, don't let them be widout a nest egg; an'whishper--maybe you'd breed a clackin' out o' them, that you mightsell. Sure they'd help to buy duds of cloes for you; or you might makepresents of the crathurs to the blessed an' holy collegian himself. Wouldn't it be good to have him an your side?--He'd help to make agintleman of you, any way. Faix, sure he does it for many, they say. An'whishper--the breed, avourneen, is good; an' I'm not afeard to say thatthere never was sich a chicken in the whole collegian, as the ould cockhimself. He's the darlin' all out, an' can crow so stoutly, that itbates the world. Sure his comb's a beauty to look at, the darlin'; an'only it's to yourself, an' in regard of the blessed place he's goin' to, I wouldn't part wid him to nobody whatsomever, at all, good or bad. "

The most original gift of all was a purse, formed of a small bladder, ingeniously covered with silk. It was given to him by his uncle, as aremembrance of him, in the first place; and secondly, for a more specialpurpose. 

"This will sarve you, sir, " said his uncle, "an' I'll tell you how: ifyou want to smuggle in a sup of good whiskey--as of coorse you will, plase goodness--why this houlds exactly a pint, an' is the very thingfor it. The sorra one among them will ever think of searchin' yourpurse, at least for whiskey. Put it in your pocket, Misther Dionmsis;an' I'd take it as a great kindness if you'd write me a scrape or two ofthe pen, mentionin' what a good parish 'ud be worth: you'll soon be ableto tell me, for I've some notion myself of puttin' Barny to Latin. "

Denis was perfectly aware of the honest warmth of heart with which thesesimple tokens of esteem were presented to him; and young as he was, his knowledge of their habits and prejudices prevented him fromdisappointing them by a refusal. He consequently accepted everythingoffered him, appropriated to himself whatever was suitable to his wants, converted the remainder into pocket-money, and, of course, kept hisconscience void of offence toward them all: a state of Christian virtuewhich his refusal of any one gift would have rendered difficult. 

On the day before his departure the friends and relations of the familyassembled to hold their farewell meeting. The same spirit which markedall their rustic symposia presided in this; if we except a feeling ofsorrow natural to his family on being separated from one they loved soaffectionately. Denis, who was never deficient in warmth of feeling, could not be insensible to the love and pride with which his family hadalways looked upon him. Ambition, as he approached it, lost much ofits fictitious glitter. A sense of sorrow, if not of remorse, for thefastidious and overbearing spirit he had manifested to them, pressedupon his heart. Pride, in fact, was expelled; nature resumed her empireover him; he looked upon the last two months of his life as a man wouldbe apt to do who had been all that time under the dominion of a feverishdream. We do not say, however, that either ambition or superstition wasthoroughly expelled from his mind; for it is hard at all times to rootthem out of the system of man: but they ceased to govern him altogether. A passion, too, as obstinate as either of them, was determined todispute their power. The domestic affections softened his heart; butlove, which ambition left for dead, was only stunned; it rose again, andfinding a favorable position, set its seal to his feelings. 

Denis himself, some days before that appointed for his departure, becameperfectly conscious that his affections were strongly fixed upon SusanConnor. The nature of their last interview filled him with shame; nay, more, it inspired him with pity for the fair, artless girl whom hehad so unfeelingly insulted. The manner in which he had won her youngaffections; the many tender interviews that had passed between them; thesacred promises of unchangeable love they had made to each other: allcrowded to his imagination with a power which reduced his spiritualambition and ecclesiastical pride, at least to the possession only of adivided empire. He had, therefore, with his book in his hand asusual, taken many solitary walks for the preceding few days, with theexpectation of meeting Susan. He heard that for the last month or sixweeks she had looked ill, been in low spirits, and lost her health. Thecause of this change, though a secret to the world, was known to him. Heknew, indeed, that an interview between them was indispensable; but hadit not been so, we question whether he would have been able to leavehome without seeing her. 

His evening strolls, however, up until the day before his setting outfor college, were fruitless. Susan, who heretofore had been in the habitof walking in the evenings among the green dells around her father'shouse, was ever since their last meeting almost invisible. In themeantime, as the day before that of his leaving the neighborhood hadarrived, and as an interview with her was, in a religious point of view, essentially necessary, he took his book in the course of the evening, and by a path slightly circuitous, descended the valley that ran betweenhis father's house and hers. With solemn strides he perambulated it inevery direction--north, south, east, and west; not a natural bower inthe glen was unexplored; not a green, quiet nook unsearched; not a shadytree unexam-ined; but all to no purpose. Yet, although he failed inmeeting herself, a thousand objects brought her to his heart. Everydell, natural bower, and shady tree, presented him with a history oftheir past affections. Here was the spot where, with beating heartand crimson cheek, she had first breathed out in broken music theacknowledgment of her love; there had another stolen meeting, a thousandtimes the sweeter for being stolen, taken place. Every spot, in fact, was dear to him, and every object associated itself with delightfulemotions that kindled new life in a spirit from which their parentaffections had not yet passed away. 

Denis now sought the only other place where he had any likelihood ofmeeting her: this was at the well below her father's house. He walkeddown along the banks of the little stream that ran past it, until hereached a thorn bush that grew within a few yards of the spring. Underthis he sat, anxiously hoping that Susan might come to fill her eveningpail, as he knew she was wont to do. A thick flowery branch of thehawthorn, for it was the latter end of May, hung down from the trunk, and served as a screen through which he could observe her should sheappear, without being visible himself. 

It was now the hour of twilight; the evening was warm and balmy; thewhitethorn tinder which he sat, and the profusion of wild flowers thatspangled the bosom of the green glen, breathed their fragrance aroundhim, and steeped, the emotions and remembrances which crowded thicklyon him in deep and exquisite tenderness. Up in the air he heard thequavering hum of the snipe, as it rose and fell in undulating motion, and the creak of the rail in many directions around him. From anadjoining meadow in the distance, the merry voices of the villagechildren came upon his ear, as they gathered the wild honey whichdropped like dew from the soft clouds upon the long grassy stalks, andmeadow-sweet, on whose leaves it lay like amber. He remembered whenhe and Susan, on meeting there for a similar purpose, felt the firstmysterious pleasure in being together, and the unaccountable melancholyproduced by separation and absence. 

At length he heard a footstep; but he could not persuade himself thatthe slow and lingering tread of the person approaching him was thatof Susan, so much did it differ from the buoyant and elastic step withwhich she used to trip along. On looking through the branches, however, he perceived her coming towards him, carrying the pitcher as usual inher hand. The blood was already careering at full speed through hisveins, and the palpitations of his heart were loud enough to be heard bythe ear. 

Oh, beauty, beauty! _terrima causa belli_, thou dost play the devil withthe hearts of men! Who is there who doth not wish to look upon thee, from the saint to the sinner?--None. For thee worlds have been lost;nations swept off the earth; thrones overturned; and cities laid inashes! Adam, David, Marc Antony, Abelard, and Denis O'Shaughnessy, exhibit histories of thy power never to be forgotten, but the greatestof these is Denis O'Shaughnessy. 

Susan was about the middle size; her tresses, like those of thedaughters of her country, were a fair brown, and abundant. Her featureswere not such, we admit, as mark regular and scientific perfection, and perhaps much of their power was owing to their not being altogethersymmetrical. Her great charm consisted in a spirit of youthfulinnocence, so guileless that the very light of purity and truth seemedto break in radiance from her countenance. Her form was round, light, and flexible. When she smiled her face seemed to lose the character ofits mortality--so seraphic and full of an indescribable spell were itslineaments; that is, the spell was felt by its thrilling influenceupon the beholder, rather than by any extraordinary perception of herexternal beauty. The general expression of her countenance, however, wasthat of melancholy. No person could look upon her! white forehead anddark flashing eyes, without perceiving that she was full of tendernessand enthusiasm; but let the light of cheerfulness fall upon her face, and you wished never to see it beam with any other spirit. In her metthose extremes of character peculiar to her country. Her laughing lipsexpanded with the playful delicacy of mirth, or breathed forth, withuntaught melody and deep pathos, her national songs of sorrow. 

A little before she made her appearance, the moon had risen and softenedwith her dewy light the calm secluded scene around them. Denis, too, hadan opportunity of seeing the lovely girl more distinctly. Her dress wassimple but becoming. Her hair, except the side ringlets that fell toheighten the beauty of her neck, was bound up with a comb which Denishimself had presented to her. She wore a white dimity bedgown, that satclose to her well-formed person, descended below her knee, and openedbefore; the sleeves of it did not reach the elbow, but displayed an armthat could not be surpassed for whiteness and beauty. The bedgown wasfrilled about the shoulder, which it covered, leaving the neck only, andthe upper part of her snowy bosom, visible. A dark ribbon, tied abouther waist, threw her figure into exquisite outline, and gave her thatsimple elegance which at once bespeaks the harmony of due proportion. 

On reaching the well she filled her vessel, and placed it on a smallmound beside her; then sitting down, she mused for some time, andturning her eyes towards Denis's father's sighed deeply. 

"It's the least, " said the humble girl, "that I may look towards thehouse that the only one I ever loved, or ever will love, lives in. Little I thought when I loved him that I was standin' between him an'God. Loved him! I wish I could say it was past. I wish I could: for I amafeared that till my weak heart breaks it will love him still. God pityme! It would be well for me I had never seen him! But why he should goto Maynooth without givin' me back my promise I cannot tell. "

Denis rose and approached her. Susan, on seeing him, started, and herlover could perceive that she hastily wiped the tears from her eyes. Asingle glance, however, convinced her that it was he; and such was theguileless simplicity of her heart, joined to the force of habit, thather face beamed with one of her wonted smiles at his appearance. Thissoon passed away, and her features again resumed an expression of deepmelancholy. Our hero now forgot his learning; his polysyllables werelaid aside, and his pedantry utterly abandoned. His pride, too, wasgone, and the petty pomp of artificial character thing aside like anunnecessary garment which only oppresses the wearer. 

"Susan, " said he, "I am sorry to see you look so pale and unhappy. I deeply regret it; and I could not permit this day to pass, withoutseeing and speaking to you. If I go to-morrow, Susan, may I now ask inwhat light will you remember me?"

"I'll remember you without anger, Denis; with sorrow will I rememberyou, but not, as I said, in anger; though God knows, and you know, theonly token you lave me to remember you by is a broken heart. "

"Susan, " said Denis, "it was an unhappy attachment, as circumstanceshave turned out; and I wish for both our sakes we had never loved oneanother. For some time past my heart has been torn different ways, and, to tell you the truth, I acknowledge that within the last three or fourmonths I have been little less than a villain to you. "

"You speak harshly of yourself, Denis; I hope, more so than youdeserve. "

"No, Susy. With my heart fixed upon other hopes, I continued to drawyour affections closer and closer to me. "

"Well, that was wrong, Denis; but you loved me long before that time, an' it's not so asy a thing to draw away the heart from what we love;that is, to draw it away for ever, Denis, even although greater thingsmay rise up before us. "

As she pronounced the last words, her voice, which she evidently stroveto keep firm, became unsteady. 

"That's true, Susan, I know it; but I will never forgive myself foracting a double part to you and to the world. There is not a pang yousuffer but ought to fall as a curse upon my head, for leading you intogreater confidence, at a time when I was not seriously resolved tofulfil my vows to you. "

"Denis, " said the unsuspecting girl, "you're imposin' on yourself--younever could do so bad, so treacherous an act as that. No, you nevercould, Denis; an', above all the world, to a heart that loved andtrusted you as mine did. I won't believe it, even from your own lips. You surely loved me, Denis, and in that case you couldn't be desatefulto me. "

"I did love you; but I never loved you half so well as I ought, Susy;and I never was worthy of you. Susy, I tell you--I tell you--my heartis breaking for your sake. It would have been well for both of us we hadnever seen, or known, or loved each other; for I know by my own heartwhat you must suffer. "

"Denis, don't be cast down on my account; before I ever thought of you, when I was runnin' about the glens here, a lonely little orphan, I wasoften sorry, without knowin' why. Sometimes I used to wonder at it, and search my mind to find out what occasioned it: but I never could. I suppose it was because I saw other girls, like myself, havin' theirlittle brothers an' sisters to play with or because I had no mother'svoice to call me night or mornin', or her bosom to lay my head on, if Iwas sick or tired. I suppose it was this. Many a time, Denis, even then, I knew what sorrow was, and I often thought that, come what would toothers, there was sorrow before me. I now find I was right; but for allthat, Denis, it's betther that we should give up one another in time, than be unhappy by my bein' the means of turning you from the ways andduties of God. "

The simple and touching picture which she drew of her orphan childhood, together with the tone of resignation and sorrow which ran through allshe said, affected Denis deeply. 

"Susan, " he replied, "I am much changed of late. The prospect before meis a dark one--a mysterious one. It is not many months since my headwas dizzy with the gloomy splendor which the pomps and ceremonies of theChurch--soon, I trust, to be restored in this country to all her prideand power--presented to my imagination. But I have mingled with those onwhom before this--that is, during my boyhood--I looked with awe, as onmen who held vested in themselves some mysterious and spiritual power. Ihave mingled with them, Susan, and I find them neither better nor worsethan those who still look upon them as I once did. "

"Well, but, Denis, how does that bear upon your views?"

"It does, Susan. I said I have found them neither better nor worse thantheir fellow-creatures; but I believe they are not so happy. I thinkI could perceive a gloom, even in their mirth, that told of someparticular thought or care that haunted them like a spirit. Some ofthem and not a few, in the moments of undisguised feeling, dissuaded meagainst ever entering the Church. "

"I am sure they're happy, " said Susan. "Some time ago, accordin' to yourown words, you thought the same; but something has turned your heartfrom the good it was fixed upon. You're in a dangerous time, Denis; andit's not to be wondhered at, if the temptations of the devil should thryyou now, in hopes to turn you from the service of God. This is a warnin'to me, too, Denis. May Heaven above forbid that I should be made themeans of temptin' you from the duty that's before you!"

"No, Susan, dear, it's not temptation, but the fear of temptation, thatprevails with me. "

"But, Denis, surely if you think yourself not worthy to enter thatblessed state, you have time enough to avoid it. "

"Ay, but, Susy, there is the difficulty. I am now so placed that I canhardly go back. First, the disgrace of refusing to enter the Churchwould lie upon me as if I had committed a crime. Again, I would break myfather's and my mother's heart: and rather than do that, I could almostsubmit to be miserable for life. And finally, I could not live in thefamily, nor bear the indignation of my brothers and other relations. Youknow, Susan, as well as I do, the character attached to those who puttheir friends to the expense of educating them for the Church, who raisetheir hopes and their ambition, and afterwards disappoint them. "

"I know it. "

"This, Susan, dear, prevails with me. Besides, the Church now is likelyto rise from her ruins. I believe that if a priest did his duty, he might possibly possess miraculous power. There is great pomp andsplendor in her ceremonies, a sense of high and boundless authority inher pastors; there is rank in her orders sufficient even for ambition. Then the deference, the awe, and the humility with which they areapproached by the people--ah! Susan, there is much still in thecharacter of a priest for the human heart to covet. The power ofsaying mass, of forgiving sin, of relieving the departed spirits of thefaithful in another world, and of mingling in our holy sacrifices, withthe glorious worship of the cherubims, or angels, in heaven--all this isthe privilege of a priest, and what earthly rank can be compared to it?"

"None at all, Denis--none at all. Oh, think this way still, and let noearthly temptation--no--don't let--even me--what am I?--a poor humblegirl--oh! no, let nothing keep you back from this. "

The tears burst from her eyes, however, as she spoke. 

"But, Denis, " she added, "there is one thing that turns my brain. I fearthat, even afther your ordination, I couldn't look upon you as I wouldupon another man. Oh, my heart would break if one improper thought of itwas fixed upon you then. "

"Susy, hear me. I could give up all, but you. I could bear to disappointfather, mother, and all; but the thought of giving you up for ever isterrible. I have been latterly in a kind of dream. I have been amongfriends and relatives until my brain was turned; but now I am restoredto myself, and I find I cannot part with you. I would gladly do it;but I cannot. Oh, no, Susan, dear, my love for you was dimmed by otherpassions; but it was not extinguished. It now burns stronger and purerin my heart than ever. It does--it does. And, Susan, I always lovedyou. "

Susan paused for some time, and unconsciously plucked a wild flowerwhich grew beside her: she surveyed it a moment, and exclaimed:--

"Do you see this flower, Denis? it's a faded primrose. I'm like thatflower in one sense; I'm faded; my heart's broke. "

"No, my beloved Susan, don't say so; you're only low-spirited. Whyshould your heart be broke, and you in the very bloom of youth andbeauty?"

"Do you remember our last meetin', Denis? Oh, how could you be so cruelthen as to bid me think of marryin' another, as if I had loved you foranything but yourself? I'm but a simple girl, Denis, and know but littleof the world; but if I was to live a thousand years, you would alwayssee the sorrow that your words made me feel visible upon my countenance. I'm not angry with you, Denis; but I'm telling you the truth. "

"Susan, my darling, this is either weakness of mind or ill health. Iwill see you as beautiful and happy as ever. For my part, I now tellyou, that no power on earth can separate us! Yes, my beloved Susan, Iwill see you as happy and happier than I have ever seen you. That willbe when you are my own young and guileless wife. "

"Ah, no, Denis! My mind is made up: I can never be your wife, Do youthink that I would bring the anger of God upon myself, by temptin' youback from the holy office you're entering into? Think of it yourselfDenis. Your feelings are melted now by our discoorse, and, maybe, because I'm near you; but when time passes, you'll be glad that in themoment of weakness you didn't give way to them. I know it's natural foryou to love me now. You're lavin' me--you're lavin' the place where Iam--the little river and the glen where we so often met, and where weoften spent many a happy hour together. That has an effect upon you;for why should I deny it--you see it--it is hard--very hard--even uponmyself. "

She neither sobbed nor cried so as to be heard, but the tears gusheddown her cheeks in torrents. 

"Susan, " said Denis, in an unsteady voice, "you speak in vain. Everyword you say tells me that I cannot live without you; and I will not. "

"Don't say that, Denis. Suppose we should be married, think of what Iwould suffer if I saw you in poverty or distress, brought on becauseyou married me! Why, my heart would sink entirely under it. Then yourfriends would never give me a warm heart. Me! they would never giveyourself a, warm heart; and I would rather be dead than see you broughtto shame, or ill-treatment, or poverty, on my account. Pray to God, Denis, to grant you grace to overcome whatever you feel for me. I haveprayed both for you and myself. Oh, pray to him, Denis, sincerely, thathe may enable you to forget that such, a girl--such an unhappy girl--asSusan Connor ever lived!"

Poor Denis was so much overcome that he could not restrain his tears. Hegazed upon the melancholy countenance of the fair girl, in a delirium oflove and admiration; but in a few minutes he replied:--

"Susan, your words are lost: I am determined. Oh! great heavens! whata treasure was I near losing! Susan, hear me: I will bear all that thisworld can inflict; I will bear shame, ill-treatment, anger, scorn, andevery harsh word that may be uttered against me; I will renounce church, spiritual power, rank, honor; I will give up father and family--all--allthat this world could flatter mo with: yes, I will renounce each andall for your sake! Do not dissuade me; my mind is fixed, and no power onearth can change it. "

"Yes, Denis, " she replied calmly, "there is a power, and a weak power, too, that will change it; for I will change it. Don't think, Denis, thatin arguin' with you, against the feelin's of my own heart, I am doin' itwithout sufferin'. Oh, no, indeed! You know, Denis, I am a lonelygirl; that I have neither brother, nor sister, nor mother to directme. Sufferin'!--Oh, I wish you knew it! Denis, you must forget me. I'mhopeless now: my, heart, as I said, is broke, and I'm strivin' to fix itupon a happier world! Oh! if I had a mother or a sister, that I could, when my breast is likely to burst, throw myself in their arms, and cryand confess all I feel! But I'm alone, and must bear all my own sorrows. Oh, Denis! I'm not without knowin' how hard the task is that I have setto myself. Is it nothing to give up all that the heart is fixed upon? Isit nothing to walk about this glen, and the green fields, to have one'seyes upon them, and to remember what happiness one has had in them, knowin', at the same time, that it's all blasted? Oh, is it nothing tolook upon the green earth itself, and all its beauty--to hear the happysongs and the joyful voices of all that are about us--the birds singingsweetly, the music of the river flowin'--to see the sun shinin', and tohear the rustlin' of the trees in the warm winds of summer--to see andhear all this, and to feel that a young heart is brakin', or alreadybroken within us--that we are goin' to lave it all--all we loved--and togo down into the clay under us? Oh, Denis, this is hard;--bitter is itto me, I confess it; for something tells me it will be my fate soon!"

"But, Susan"--

"Hear me out. I have now repated what I know I must suffer--what I knowI must lose. This is my lot, and I must bear it. Now, Denis, will yougrant your own Susan one request?"

"If it was that my life should save yours, I would grant it. "

"It's the last and only one I will ever ask of you. My health has beenill, Denis; my strength is gone, and I feel' I am gettin' worse everyday: now when you hear that I am--that I am--gone, --will you offer upthe first mass you say for my pace and rest in another world? I saythe first, for you know there's more virtue in a first mass than in anyother. Your Susan will be then in the dust, and you may feel sorrow, butnot love for her. "

"Never, Susan! For God's sake, forbear! You will drive me distracted. AsI hope to meet judgment, I think I never loved you till now; and by thesame oath, I will not change my purpose in making you mine. "

"Then you do love me still, Denis? And you would give up all for yourSusan? Answer me truly, for the ear of God is open to our words andthoughts. "

"Then, before God, I love you too strongly for words to express; and Iwould and will give up all for your sake!"

Susan turned her eyes upon vacancy; and Denis observed that a sudden andwild light broke from them, which alarmed him exceedingly. She put heropen hand upon her forehead, as if she felt pain, and remained glancingfearfully around her for a few minutes; her countenance, which becameinstantly like a sheet of paper, lost all its intelligence, except, perhaps, what might be gleaned from a smile of the most ghastly anddesolating misery. 

"Gracious heaven! Susan, dear, what's the matter? Oh, my God! your faceis like marble! Dearest Susan, speak to me!--Oh, speak to me, or I willgo distracted!"

She looked upon him long and steadily; but he perceived with delightthat her consciousness was gradually returning. At length she drew adeep sigh, and requested him to listen. 

"Denis, " said she, "you must now be a man. We can never be married. I amPROMISED TO ANOTHER!"

"Promised to another! Your brain is turned, Susy. Collect yourself, dearest, and think of what you say. "

"I know what I say--I know it too well! What did I say? Why--why, " sheadded, with an unsettled look, "that I'm promised to another! It istrue--true as God's in heaven. Oh, Denis! why did you lave me so' longwithout seein' me? I said my heart was broke, and you will soon knowthat it has bitter, bitter rason to be so. See here. "

She had, during her reply, taken from her bosom a small piece of browncloth, of a square shape, marked with the letters I. M. I. The initialsof the names of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She kissed it fervently as shespoke, and desired Denis to look upon it and hear her. 

"When you saw me last, " she continued, "I left you in anger, because Ithought you no longer loved me. Many a scaldin' tear I shed that nobodywitnessed; many a wringin' my heart felt since that time. I got low, and, as I said, my health left me. I began to think of what I ought todo; and bein' so much' alone, my thoughts were never off it. At lastI remembered the Virgin Mother of God, as bein' once a woman, and thelikelier to pity one of her own kind in sorrow. I then thought of ascapular; and made a promise to myself, that if you didn't come withina certain time, I would dedicate myself to her for ever. I saw that youneglected me, and I heard so much of the way you spent your time, howyou were pleasant and merry while my heart was breakin', that I made avow to remain a spotless virgin all my life. I got a scapular, too, thatI might be strengthened to keep my holy promise; for you didn't come tome within the time. This is it in my hand. It is now on me. The VOW ISMADE AND I AM MISERABLE FOB EVER!"

Denis sobbed and wrung his hands, whilst tears, intensely bitter, fellfrom his eyes. 

"Oh, Susan!" he exclaimed, "what have you done? Miserable! Oh you haveruined me utterly! You have rendered us both for ever miserable!"

"Miserable!" she exclaimed with flashing eyes. "Who talks of misery?"But again she put her hand to her forehead, and endeavored to recollectherself. "Denis, " she added, "Denis, my brain is turning! Oh, I haveno friend! Oh, mother, that I never seen, but as if it was in a dream;mother, daughter of your daughter's heart, look down from heaven, and. Pity your orphan child in her sore trouble and affliction! Oh, how oftendid I miss you, mother darlin', durin' all my life! In sickness I hadnot your tend her hands about me; in sorrow I could no' hear your voice;and in joy and happiness you were never with me to share them! I had notyour advice, my blessed mother, to guide and direct me, to tache me whatwas right and what was wrong! Oh, if you will not hear your own poorlonely orphan, who will you hear? if you will not assist her, whoought you to assist? for, as sure as I stand here this night, you area blessed saint in heaven. But let me not forget the Virgin Queen ofHeaven, that I am bound to. I kneel to you, Hope of the Afflicted! Toyou let them go that have a broken heart, as I have! Queen of Glory, pity me!--Star of the Sea--Comfort of the Hopeless--Refuge of Sinners, hear me, strengthen and support me! And you will, too. Who did youever cast away, mild and beautiful Virgin of Heaven? As the lily amongthorns, so are you among the daughters of Adam!* Yes, Denis, she willsupport me--she will support me! I feel her power on me now! I see theangels of heaven about her, and her mild countenance smilin' sweetlyupon the broken flower! Yes, Denis, her glory is upon me!" The lastwords were uttered with her eyes flashing wildly as before, and herwhole person and countenance evidently under the influence of a highlyexcited enthusiasm, or perhaps a touch of momentary insanity. 

 * The form of the Service of the Virgin, from which most of the above expressions are taken is certainly replete with beauty and poetry. 

Poor Denis stood with streaming eyes, incapable of checking orinterrupting her. He had always known that her education andunderstanding were above the common; but he never anticipated fromher such capacity for deep feeling, united to so much vivacity ofimagination as she then displayed. Perhaps he had not philosophy enough, at that period of his youth, to understand the effects of a solitarylife upon a creature full of imagination and sensibility. The sceneryabout her father's house was wild, and the glens singularly beautiful;Susan lived among them alone, so that she became in a manner enamored ofsolitude; which, probably mote than anything else, gives tendernessto feeling and force to the imaginative faculties. Soon after she hadpronounced the last words, however, her good sense came to her aid. 

"Denis, " said she, "you have seen my weakness; but you must now seemy strength. You know we have a trial to go through before we part forever. "

"Oh! Susy, don't say 'for ever. ' You know that the vow you made was arash vow. It may be set aside. "

"It was not a rash vow, Denis. I made it with a firm intention ofkeepin' it, and keep it I will. The Mother of God is not to be mocked, because I am weak, or choose to prefer my own will to hers. "

"But, Susy, the Church can dissolve it. You know she has power to bindand to loose. Oh, for God's sake, Susy, if you ever loved me, don'tattempt to take back your promise. "

"I love you too well to destroy you, Denis. I will never stand betweenyou and God, for that would be my crime. I will never bring disgrace, orshame, or poverty, upon you; for surely these things would fall upon youas a punishment for desartin' him. If you were another--if you weren'tintended to be the servant of God, I could beg with you--starve withyou--die with you. But when I am gone, remember, that I gave up allmy hopes, that you might succeed in yours. I'm sure that is love. Now, Denis, we must return our promises, the time is passin', and we'll bothbe missed from home. "

"Susan, for the sake of my happiness, both in this world and in thenext, don't take away all hope. Make me not miserable and wretched; sendme not into the church a hypocrite. If you do, I will charge you withmy guilt; I will charge you with the crimes of a man who will care butlittle what he does. "

"You will have friends, Denis; pious men, who will direct you and guideyou and wean your heart from me and the world. You will soon bless mefor this. Denis, " she added, with a smile of unutterable misery, "my mindis made up. I belong now to the Virgin Mother of God. I never will beso wicked as to forsake her for a mortal. If I was to marry you--witha broken vow upon me, I could not prosper. The curse of God and of hisBlessed Mother would follow us both. "

Denis felt perfectly aware of the view entertained by Susan, respectingsuch a vow as she had taken. To reason with her, was only to attacka prejudice which scorned reason. Besides this, he was not himselfaltogether free from the impression of its being a vow too solemn to bebroken without the sanction of the Church. 

"Let us go, " said Susan, "to the same spot where we first promised. It was under this tree, in this month, last year. Let us give it backthere. "

The hand-promise in Ireland between the marriageable young of bothsexes, is considered the most solemn and binding of all obligations. Fewwould rely upon the word or oath of any man who had been known to breaka hand-promise. And, perhaps, few of the country girls would marry orcountenance the addresses of a yoking person known to have violatedsuch a pledge. The vow is a solemn one, and of course, given by mutualconsent, by mutual consent, also, must it be withdrawn, otherwise, itis considered still binding. Whenever death removes one of the parties, without the other having had an opportunity of "giving it back, " thesurviving party comes, and in the presence of witnesses first graspingthe hand of the deceased, repeats the form of words usual in withdrawingit. Some of these scenes are very touching and impressive, particularlyone which the author had an opportunity of witnessing. It is supposedthat in cases of death, if the promise be not thus dissolved, the spiritof the departed returns and haunts the survivor until it be cancelled. 

When Denis and Susan had reached the hawthorn, they both knelt down. So exhausted, however, had Susan been by the agitation of her feelings, that Denis was under the necessity of assisting her to the place. He could perceive, too, that, amid the workings of her religiousenthusiasm, she trembled like an aspen leaf. 

"Now, " said she, "you are stronger than I am, begin and repeat thewords; I will repeat them with you. "

"No, " replied Denis, "I will never begin. I will never be the first toseal both your misery and mine. "

"I am scarcely able, " said she; "dear Denis, don't ask me to do whatI have not strength for. But it's useless, " she added; "you will neverbegin unless I do. "

They then blessed themselves after the form of their church, and as theyextended their right hands to each other, the tears fell fast from theeyes of both. The words they repeated were the same, with the differenceof the name only. 

"I, Susan Connor, in the presence of God, do release you, DenisO'Shaughnessy, from your promise of marriage to me, and from allpromises of marriage that you ever made me. I now give you back thatpromise of marriage, and all promises of marriage you ever made me. Towhich I call God to witness. "

Denis repeated the same words, substituting the name of Susan Connor. 

The sobs of Susan were loud and incessant, even before she had concludedthe words; their eyes were fixed upon each other with a hopeless andagonizing expression: but no sooner were they uttered, than a stronghysteric sense of suffocation rose to her throat; she panted rapidly forbreath; Denis opened his arms, and she fell, or rather threw herself, over in a swoon upon his bosom. To press his lips to hers, and carry herto the brink of the well, was but the work of a moment. There he laidher, and after having sprinkled her face with water, proceeded to slapthe palms of her hands, exclaiming, --

"Susan, my beloved, will you not hear me? Oh, look upon me, my heart'sdearest treasure, and tell me that you're living. Gracious God! herheart is broken--she is dead! This--this--is the severest blow of all! Ihave killed her!"

She opened her eyes as he spoke, and Denis, in stooping to assist her, weeping at the same time like a child; received--a bang from a cudgelthat made his head ring. 

"Your sowl to the divil, you larned vagabone, " said her father, forit was he, "is this the way you're preparin' yourself for the church?Comin' over that innocent colleen of a daughter o' mine before youset out, " he added, taking Denis a second thwack across theshoulders--"before you set out for Maynewth!!"

"Why, you miserable vulgarian, " said Denis, "I scorn you from the headto the heel. Desist, I say, " for the father was about to lay in anotherswinger upon his kidney--"desist, I say, and don't approximate, or Iwill entangle the ribs of you!"

"My sowl to glory, " said the father, "if ever I had a greater mindto ate my dinner, than I have to anoint you wid this cudgel, youblack-coated skamer!"

"Get out, you barbarian, " replied Denis, "how dare you talk aboutunction in connection with a cudgel? Desist, I say, for I willretaliate, if you approximate an inch. Desist, or I will baptize you inthe well as Philip did the Ethiopian, without a sponsor. No man but amiserable barbarian would have had the vulgarity to interrupt us in themanner you did. Look at your daughter's situation!"

"The hussy, " replied the father, "it's the supper she ought to haveready, instead of coortin' wid sich a larned vag----Heavens above me!What ails my child? Susy! Susy, _alanna dhas!_ what's over you? Oh, Isee how it is, " he continued--"I see how it is! This accounts for herlow spirits an' bad health for some time past! Susy, rouse yourself, avourneen! Sure I'm not angry wid you! My sowl to glory, DenisShaughnessy, but you have broke my child's heart, I doubt!"

"Owen, " said Denis, "your indecorous interruption has stamped you withthe signature of genuine ignorance and vulgarity; still, I say, we musthave some conversation on that subject immediately. Yes, I love yourdaughter a thousand times better than nay own life. "

"Faith, I'll take care that we'll have discoorse about it, " replied thefather. "If you have been a villain to the innocent girl--if you have, Denny, why you'll meet your God sooner than you think. Mark my words. I have but one life, and I'll lose it for her sake, if she has come toill. "

"Here, ", said Denis, "let me sprinkle her face with this cool water, that we may recover her, if possible. Your anger and your outrage, Owen, overcame the timid creature. Speak kindly to her, she is recovering. Thank God, she is recovering. "

"Susy, avourneen, " said the father, "rouse yourself, ' ma colleen; rouseyourself, an' don't thrimble that way. The sorra one o' me's angry widyou, at all at all. "

"Oh, bring me home, " said the poor girl. "Father, dear, have no badopinion of me. I done nothing, an' I hope I never will do anything, thatwould bring the blush of shame to your face. "

"That's as true as that God's in heaven, " observed Denis. "The angels inhis presence be not purer than she is. "

"I take her own word for it, " said the father; "a lie, to the best of myknowledge, never came from her lips. "

"Let us assist her home, " said Denis. "I told you that we must have someserious conversation about her. I'll take one arm, and do you take theother. "

"Do so, " said the father, "an', Denny, as you're the youngest and thestrongest, jist take up that pitcher o' wather in your hand, an' carryit to the house above. "

Denis, who was dressed in his best black from top to toe, made a wryface or two at this proposal. He was able, however, for Susan's sake, tocompromise his dignity: so looking about him, to be certain that therewas no other person observing them, he seized the pitcher in one hand, gave Susan his arm, and in this unheroic manner assisted to conduct herhome. 

In about half an hour or better after this, Denis and Owen Connorproceeded in close and earnest conversation towards old Shaughnessy's. On entering, Denis requested to speak with his father and brothers inprivate. 

"Father, " said he, "this night is pregnant--that is, _vulgariter_, inthe family way--with my fate. "

"Throth, it is, avick. Glory be to Goodness!"

"Here is Owen Connor, an honest, dacent neighbor--"

"Throth, he is an honest, dacent man, said the lather, interrupting him. 

"Yes, " replied the son, "I agree with you. Well, he has a certaindisclosure or proposal to make, which you will be pleased to take intoyour most serious consideration. I, for my part, cannot help beingendowed with my own gifts, and if I happen to possess a magnet toattract feminine sensibility, it is to heaven I owe it, and not tomyself. "

"It is, "--said the father, "glory be to his name!"

"Don't be alarmed, or surprised, or angry, at anything Owen Connor maysay to you. I speak significantly. There are perplexities in all humanevents, and the cardinal hinge of fate is forever turning. Now I mustwithdraw; but in, the meantime I will be found taking a serenade behindthe garden, if I am wanted. "

"Brian, " said the father, "get the bottle; we can't on this night, anyway, talk to Owen Connor, or to anybody else, wid dhry lips. "

The bottle was accordingly got, and Owen, with no very agreeableanticipations, found himself compelled to introduce a very hazardoustopic. 

Denis, as he said, continued to walk to and fro behind the garden. Hethought over the incidents of the evening, but had no hope that OwenConnor's proposal would be accepted. He knew his father and family toowell for that. With respect to Susan's vow, he felt certain that anychange of opinion on her part was equally improbable. It was clear, then, that he had no pretext for avoiding Maynooth; and as the shame, affliction, and indignation of the family would, he knew, be terrible, he resolved to conform himself to his circumstances, trusting to absencefor that diminution of affection which it often produces. Having settledthese points in his mind, he began to grope that part of his head whichhad come in contact with Owen Connor's cudgel. He had strong surmisesthat a bump existed, and on examining, he found that a powerful organ ofself-esteem had been created. 

At this moment he saw Owen Connor running past him at full speed, pursued by his father and brothers, the father brandishing a cudgelin his hand. The son, who understood all, intercepted the pursuers, commanding them, in a loud voice to stop. With his brothers hesucceeded; but the father's wrath was not to be appeased so easily. Nothing now remained but to stand in his way, and arrest him by friendlyviolence; Denis, therefore, seized him, and, by assuming all hisauthority, at length prevailed upon him to give over the chase. 

"Only think of him, " exclaimed the father, breathless--"only thinkof him havin' the assurance to propose a match between you an' hisbaby-faced daughter! Ho! _Dher manhim_, Owen Connor, " he shouted, shaking the staff at Owen as he spoke--"_Dher manhim!_ if I was nearyou, I'd put your bones through other, for darin' to mintion sich athing!"

Owen Connor, on finding that he was na longer pursued, stood toreconnoitre the enemy:--

"Denis Oge, " he shouted back, "be on to Maynooth as fast as possible, except you wish to have my poor child left fatherless entirely. Go way, an' my blessin' be along wid you; but let there be never another wordabout that business while you live. "

"Father, " said Denis, "I'm scandalized at your conduct on this dignifiedoccasion. I am also angry with Brian and the rest of you. Did you notobserve that the decent man was advanced in liquor? I would have toldyou so at once, were it not that he was present while I spoke. Did I notgive you as strong a hint as possible? Did I not tell you that 'Ispoke significantly?' Now hear me. Take the first opportunity of beingreconciled to Owen Connor. Be civil to him; for I assure you he esteemsme very highly. Be also kind to his daughter, who is an excellent girl;but I repeat it, her father esteems me highly. "

"Does he think highly of you, Denis?"

"I have said so, " he replied. 

"Then, throth, we're sorry for what has happened, poor man. But thenever a one o' me, Denis, saw the laste sign of liquor about him. Throth, we will make it up wid him, thin. An' we'll be kind to hisdaughter, too, Denis. "

"Then as a proof that you will follow my advice, I lay it on you as aduty, to let me know how they are, whenever you write to me. "

"Throth, we will, Denis;--indeed will we. Come in now, dear; this isthe last night you're to be wid us, an' they're all missin! you in thehouse. "

On that night no person slept in Denis O'Shaughnessy's, except our hero, and his mother and sisters. As morning approached a heaviness of spiritsprevailed among the family, which of course was not felt by any excepthis immediate relations. The more distant friends, who remained withthem for the night, sang and plied the bottle with a steadiness whichprevented them from feeling the want of rest. About six o'clock, breakfast was ready, Denis dressed, and every arrangement made for hisimmediate departure. His parents--his brothers, and his sisters wereall in tears, and he himself could master his emotions with greatdifficulty. At length the hour to which the family of our candidate hadlong looked forward, arrived, and Denis rose to depart for Maynooth. Except by the sobs and weeping, the silence was unbroken when he stoodup to bid them farewell. 

The first he embraced was his eldest brother, Brian: "Brian, " said he, but he could not proceed--his voice failed him: he then extended hishand, but Brian clasped him in tis arms--kissed his beloved brother, andwept with strong grief; even then there was not a dry eye in the house. The parting with his other brothers was equally tender--they wept loudlyand bitterly, and Denis joined in their grief. Then came his sisters, who, one by one, hung upon him, and sobbed as if he had been dead. Thegrief of his youngest sister, Susan, was excessive. She threw her armsabout his neck, and said she would not let him go; Denis pressed herto his heart, and the grief which he felt, seemed to penetrate his verysoul. 

"Susan, " said he, "Susan, may the blessing of God rest upon you till Isee you again!"--and the affectionate girl was literally torn from hisarms. 

But how came the most affecting part of the ceremony. His parents hadstood apart--their hands locked in each other, both in tears, whilsthe took leave of the rest. He now approached his mother, and reverentlykneeling down, implored in words scarcely intelligible, her blessingand forgiveness; he extended both his hands--"Mother, " he added, "Iask--humbly and penitently, I ask your blessing; it will be sweet to mefrom your beloved lips, dear mother;--pardon me if I ever--as I feel Ioften did--caused you a pang of sorrow by my disobedience and folly. Oh, pardon me--pardon me for all now! Bless your son, kindest of mothers, with your best and tenderest blessing!"

She threw herself in his arms, and locking him in her embrace, imprintedevery part of his face with kisses. "Oh, Denis, " she exclaimed, "thereis but one more who will miss you more nor I will--Oh, my darlin'son--our pride--our pride--our heart's pride--our honor, and our credit!Sure, _anim machree_, I have nothin' to forgive you for, my heart'slife; but may the blessin' of God and of a happy mother light on you!And, Denis _asthore_, wasn't it you that made me happy, and that made usall happy. May my blessin' and the blessin' of God rest upon you--keepyou from every evil, and in every good, till my eyes will be made gladby lookin' on you agin!"

A grief more deep, and a happiness more full, than had yet been felt, were now to come forth. Denis turned to his father--his companionin many a pastime, and in many a walk about their native fields. Infair--in market--at mass--and at every rustic amusement within theirreach--had he been ever at the side of that indulgent father, whoseheart and soul were placed in him. Denis could not utter a word, butkept his streaming eyes fixed upon the old man, with that yearningexpression of the heart which is felt when it desires to be mingledwith the very existence of the object that it loves. Old Denis advanced, under powerful struggles, to suppress his grief; he knelt, and, as thetears ran in silence down his cheeks, thus addressed himself to God:--

"I kneel down before you, oh, my God a poor sinner! I kneel here in yourblessed presence, with a heart--with a happy heartens day, to return youthanks in the name of myself and the beloved partner you have given methrough the cares and thrials of this world, to give you our heart'sbest thanks for graciously permittin' us to see this day! It is to youwe owe it, good Father of Heaven! It is to you we owe this--an' him--myheart's own son, that kneels before me to be blessed by my lips!Yes--yes, he is--he is the pride of our lives!--He is the mornin' staramong us! he was ever a good son; and you know that from the day he wasborn to this minute, he never gave me a sore heart! Take him under yourown protection! Oh, bless him as we wish, if it be your holy will todo so!--Bless him and guard him, for my heart's in him: it is--he knowsit--everybody knows it;--and if anything was to happen him----"

He could proceed no further: the idea of losing his son, even inimagination, overpowered him;--he rose, locked him to his breast, andfor many minutes the grief of both was loud and vehement. 

Denis's uncle now interposed: "The horses, " said he, "are at the door, an' time's passin'. "

"Och, thrue for you, Barny, " said old Denis; "come, _acushla_, an'let me help you on your horse. We will go on quickly, as we're to meetFather Finnerty at the crass-roads. "

Denis then shook hands with them all, not forgetting honest PhadrickMurray, who exclaimed, as he bid him farewell, "Arrah! Misther Denis, aroon, won't you be thinkin' of me now an' thin in the College? Faix, if you always argue as bravely wid the Collegians as you did the day youproved me to be an ass you'll soon be at the head of them!"

"Denis, " said the uncle, "your father excuses me in regard of havin' toattend my cattle in the fair to-day. You won't be angry wid me, dear, for lavin' you now, as my road lies this other way. May the blessin'of God and his holy mother keep you till I see you agin! an', Denis, ifyou'd send me a scrape or two, lettin' me know what a good parish 'ud beworth; for I intend next spring to go wid little Barny to the Latin!"

This Denis promised to do; and after bidding him farewell, he andhis friends--some on horseback and numbers on foot--set out on theirjourney; and as they proceeded through their own neighborhood, manya crowd was collected to get a sight of Denis O'Shaughnessy going toMaynooth. 

*****

It was one day in autumn, after a lapse of about two years, that thefollowing conversation took place between a wealthy grazier from theneighboring parish, and one of our hero's most intimate, acquaintances. It is valuable only as it throws light upon Denis's ultimate situationin life, which, after all, was not what our readers might be inclined toexpect. 

"Why, then, honest man, " said Denis's friend, "that's a murdherin' finedhrove o' bullocks you're bringin' to the fair?"

"Ay!" replied the grazier, "you may say that. I'm thinkin' it wouldn'tbe asay to aquil them. "

"Faix, sure enough. Where wor they fed, wid simmission?"

"Up in Teernahusshogue. Arrah, will you tell me what weddin' was thatthat passed awhile agone?"

"A son of ould Denis O'Shaughnessy's, God be merciful to his sowl!"

"Denis O'Shaughnessy! Is it him they called the 'Pigeon-house?' An' isit possible he's dead?"

"He's dead, nabor, an' in throth, an honest man's dead!"

"As ever broke the world's bread. The Lord make his bed in heaven thisday! Hasn't he a son larnin' to be a priest in May-newth?"

"Ah! _Fahreer gairh!_ That's all over. "

"Why, is he dead, too?"

"Be Gorra, no--but the conthrairy to that. 'Twas his weddin' you seenpassin' a minute agone. "

"Is it the young sogarth's? Musha, bad end to you, man alive, an' spakeout. Tell us how that happened. Sowl it's a quare business, an' him wasin Maynewth!"

"Faith, he was so; an' they say there wasn't a man in Maynewth able totache him. But, passin' that over--you see, the father, ould Denis--an'be Gorra, he was very bright, too, till the son grewn up, an' drowndedhim wid the languidges--the father, you see, ould Denis himself, tucka faver whin the son was near a year in the college, an' it proved toomany for him. He died; an' whin young Dinny hard of it, the divil a oneof him would stay any longer in Maynewth. He came home like a scarecrow, said he lost his health in it, an' refused to go back. Faith, it wasa lucky thing that his father died beforehand, for it would brake hisheart. As it was, they had terrible work about it. But ould Denis isnever dead while young Denis is livin'. Faix, he was as stiff as theywor stout, an' wouldn't give in; so, afther ever so much' wranglin', he got the upper hand by tellin' them that he wasn't able to bear thecollege at all; an' that if he'd go back to it he'd soon folly hisfather. "

"An' what turned him against the college? Was that thrue?"

"Thrue!--thrue indeed! The same youth was never at a loss for a pieceof invintion whin it sarved him. No, the sarra word of thruth at allwas in it. He soodered an' palavered a daughther of Owen Connor's, Susy--all the daughther he has, indeed--before he wint to Maynewth atall, they say. She herself wasn't for marryin' him, in regard of a vowshe had; but there's no doubt but he made her fond of him, for he has atongue that 'ud make black white, or white black, for that matther. So, be Gorra, he got the vow taken off of her by the Bishop; she soonrecovered her health, for she was dyin' for love of him, an'--you seentheir weddin'. It 'ud be worth your while to go a day's journey to geta sight of her--she's allowed to be the purtiest girl that ever was inthis part o' the counthry. "

"Well! well! It's a quare world. An' is the family all agreeable to itnow?"

"Hut! where was the use of houldin' out aginst him? I tell you, he'dmake them agreeable to any thing, wanst he tuck it into his head. Indeed, it's he that has the great larnin' all out! Why, now, you'dhardly b'lieve me, when I tell you that he'd prove you to be an ass inthree minutes; make it as plain as the sun. He would; an' often made anass o' myself. "

"Why, now that I look at you--aren't you Dan Murray's nephew?"

"Phadrick Murray, an' divil a one else, sure enough. "

"How is your family, Phadrick? Why, man, you don't know your friends--myname's Cahill. "

"Is it Andy Cahill of Phuldhu? Why, thin, death alive, Andy, how isevery bit of you? Andy, I'm regulatin' everything at this weddin', an'you must turn over your horse till we have a dhrop for ould times. Blessmy sowl! sure, I'd know your brother round a corner; an' yourself, too, I ought to know, only that I didn't see you since you wor a slip of agorsoon. Come away, man, sure thim men o' yours can take care o' thecattle. You'll asily overtake thim. "

"Throth, I don't care if I have a glass wid an ould friend. But, I hopeyour whiskey won't overtake me, Phadrick?"

"The never a fear of it, your father's son has too good a head for that. Ough! man alive, if you could stay for the weddin'! Divil a sich a letout ever was seen in the county widin the mimory of the ouldest manin it, as it'll be. Denis is the boy that 'ud have the dacent thing ornothin'. "

The grazier and Phadrick Murray then bent their steps to Owen Connor'shouse, where the wedding was held. It is unnecessary to say thatPhadrick plied his new acquaintance to some purpose. Ere two hourspassed the latter had forgotten his bullocks as completely as if he hadnever seen them, and his drovers were left to their own discretion ineffecting their sale. As for Andy Cahill, like many another sapientIrishman, he preferred his pleasure to his business, got drunk, anddanced, and sung at Denis O'Shaughnessy's wedding, which we are bound tosay was the longest, the most hospitable, and most frolicsome that everhas been remembered in the parish from that day to the present.