impeded considerably by hiccups, and an odd _Deo Gratias_, or _Laus
Deo_, uttered in that indecisive manner which indicates the position of
a man who debates within himself whether he ought to rest satisfied or
not.
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 whether
it was the young candidate. Loud and clamorous was their joy on finding
that they were not mistaken; he was alone, and, on arriving at the door,
dismounted slowly, and received their welcomes and congratulations with
a philosophy which perplexed them not a little. The scene of confusion
which followed his entrance into the house could scarcely be conceived:
every hand was thrust out to welcome him, and every tongue loud in
wishing him joy and happiness. The chairs and stools were overturned as
they stood in the way of those who wished to approach him; plates fell
in the bustle, and wooden trenchers trundled along the ground; the dogs,
on mingling with the crowd that surrounded him, were kicked angrily from
among them by those who had not yet got shaking hands with Denis. Father
Finnerty, during this commotion, kept his seat in the most dignified
manner; but the moment it had subsided he stretched out his hand to
Denis, exclaiming:
“Mr. O'Shaughnessy, I congratulate you upon the event of this auspicious
day! I wish you joy and happiness!”
“So do we all, over and over agin!” they exclaimed; “a proud gintleman
he 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're
done 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 I
have already dined, just take another slice;” and as he spoke he helped
himself. “Anything to honor a friend,” he continued; “but, by the by,
before I commence, I will try your own prescription, Denis--a whetter of
this poteen at intervals. Hoch, that's glorious stuff--pure as any one
of the cardinal virtues, and strong as fortitude, which is the champion
of them all.”
Denis, during these pleasant observations of the priest, sat silent,
with a countenance pale and apparently dejected. When his mother had
filled his plate, he gently put it away from him; but poured out a
little spirits and water, which he drank.
“I cannot eat a morsel,” said he; “mother, don't press me, it's
impossible. We are all assembled here--friends, neighbors, and
relations--I'll not disguise the fact--but the truth is, I have been
badly treated this day; I have been, in the most barefaced manner,
rejected by the Bishop, and a nephew of Father Molony's elected in my
place.”
The effect which this disclosure produced upon the company present,
especially upon his own family, utterly defies description. His father
hastily laid down his glass, and his eyes opened to the utmost stretch
of their lids; his mother let a plate fall which she was in the act of
handing to one of her daughters, who was about to help a poor beggar at
the door; all convivial enjoyment was suspended; the priest laid down
his knife and fork, and fixed his large eyes upon Denis, with his
mouth full; his young sister, Susan, flew over to his side, and looked
intensely into his countenance for an explanation of what he meant, for
she had not properly understood him.
“Rejected!” exclaimed the priest--“rejected! Young man, I am your
spiritual superior, and I command you, on this occasion, to practise
no jocularity whatsoever--I lay it upon you as a religious duty to be
serious and candid, to speak truth, and inform us at once whether what
you have advanced be true or not?”
“I wish,” said Denis, “that it was only jocularity on my part; but
I solemnly assure you all that it is not. The Bishop told me that I
suffered 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 to
matriculate with a good grace. I told him that your Reverence examined
me, and said I was well prepared; and he said to me, in reply, that your
Reverence was very little of a judge as to my fitness.”
“Very well,” said the priest, “I thank his lordship; 'tis true, I
deserved 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 the
first place, an extremely stultified and indiscreet young man; and,
in the next place, as badly treated and as oppressed a candidate for
Maynooth as entered it. I pronounce you, in the face of the world, right
well 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 his
lordship 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 grief
of his sister Susan was absolutely hysterical. Old Denis's brow became
pale and sorrowful, his eye sunk, and his hand trembled. His friends
all partook of this serious disappointment, and sat in silence and
embarrassment around the table. Young Denis's distress was truly
intense: he could not eat a morsel; his voice was tremulous with
vexation; and, indeed, altogether the aspect of those present betokened
the occurrence of some grievous affliction.
“Well,” said Brian, Denis's elder brother, “I only say this, that it's
a good story for him to tell that he is a Bishop, otherwise I'd think no
more of puttin' a bullet through him from behind a hedge, than I would
of shootin' a cur dog.”
“Don't say that, Brian,” said his mother; “bad as it is, he's one of our
clargy, so don't spake disrespectful of him; sure a year is not much to
wait, an' the next time you go before him it won't be in his power to
keep you back. As for Father Molony, we wish, him well, but undher the
roof 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, that
I wouldn't bring evil upon my substance by refusin' him.”
“And that was his lordship's character of me?” inquired the priest once
more with chagrin.
“If that was not, perhaps you will find it in this letter,” replied
Denis, handing him a written communication from the Bishop. Father
Finnerty 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 this
day by the bearer, touching your negotiation with him and his family,
concerning a horse, as the value paid by them to you for procuring the
use of my influence in his favor; and I cannot sufficiently reprobate
such a transaction, nor find terms strong enough in which to condemn the
parties concerned in it. Sir, I repeat it, that such juggling is
more reprehensible on your part than on theirs, and that it is doubly
disrespectful to me, to suppose that I could be influenced by anything
but 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 as
will raise you once more to the estimation in which I have always held
you. There are three other candidates, one of whom is a relation of
your excellent curate's; but I have as yet made no decision, so that the
appointment is still open. In the meantime, I command you to send back
the horse to his proper owner, as soon after the receipt of this
as possible, for O'Shaughnessy must not be shackled by any such
stipulations. I have now to ask your Christian forgiveness, for having,
under the influence of temporary anger, spoken of you before this
lad with disrespect. I hereby make restitution, and beg that you will
forgive me, and remember me by name in your prayers, as I shall also
name you in mine.
“I am, etc.,
“+ James M.”
When Father Finnerty read this letter, his countenance gradually assumed
an expression of the most irresistible humor; nothing could be more
truly comic than the significant look he directed toward each individual
of the O'Shaughnessys, not omitting even the little boy who had basted
the goose, whom he patted on the head with that mechanical abstraction
resulting from the occurrence of something highly agreeable. The cast of
his features was now the more ludicrous, when contrasted with the rueful
visage he presented on hearing the manner in which his character had
been delineated by the Bishop. At length he laid himself back in his
chair, and putting his hands to his sides, fairly laughed out loudly for
near five minutes.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, “Dionysius, Dionysius, but you are the simple and
unsophisticated youth! Oh, you _bocaun_ of the wide earth, to come home
with a long face upon you, telling us that you were rejected, and you
not rejected.”
“Not rejected!--not rejecet!--not rejeckset!--not raxjaxet!” they all
exclaimed, attempting to pronounce the word as well as they could.
“For the sake of heaven above us, Docthor, don't keep us in doubt one
minute 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. I
have news for you! My friends, we'll be back instantly.”
They accordingly passed into another room, where they remained in close
conference for about a quarter of an hour, after which they re-entered
in the highest spirits.
“Come,” said Denis, “Pether, go over, _abouchal_, to Andy Bradagh's
for Larry Cassidy the piper--fly like a swallow, Pether, an' don't come
without him. Mave, achora, all's right. Susy, you darlin', dhry your
eyes, avourneen, all's right. Nabors, friends--fill, fill--I say all's
right still. My son's not disgraced, nor he won't be disgraced whilst
I have a house over my head, or a beast in my stable. Docthor, reverend
Docthor, 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 the
priest 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 have
had 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 the
locks are gray that wor once as black as a raven: yet, Mave, I seen the
day, an' there's many livin' to prove it--ay, Mave, I seen the day
when 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 hands
I 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 never
see that day. Afther seein' Denis here, what we all hope him to be, the
next thing I wish is, that I may never live to see my husband taken away
from me, acushla; no, I hope God will take me to himself before that
comes.”
There is something touching in the burst of pathetic affection which
springs strongly from the heart of a worthy couple, when, seated among
their own family, the feelings of the husband and father, the wife and
mother, overpower them. In this case, the feeling is always deep in
proportion to the strength and purity of domestic affection; still it is
checked by the melancholy satisfaction that our place is to be filled by
those who are dear to us.
“But now,” said the priest, “that the scent lies still warm, let me ask
you, Dionysius, how the Bishop came to understand the compactum?”
“I really cannot undertake to say,” replied Denis; “but if any man has
an eye like a _basileus_ he has. On finding, sir, that there was some
defect in my responsive powers, he looked keenly at me, closing his
piercing-eyes a little, and inquired upon what ground I had presented
myself as a candidate. I would have sunk the compactum altogether, but
for the eye. I suspended and hesitated a little, and at length told him
that there was an understanding--a--a--kind of--in short, he squeezed
the 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 of
us you wor all the time? Throth, myself's not the betther of the fright
you put me into.”
“No,” replied Denis, “the Bishop treated me harshly, I thought: he said
I was not properly fit. 'You might pass,' said he, 'upon a particular
occasion, or under peculiar circumstances; but it will take at least a
year and a half's study to enable you to enter Maynooth as I would wish
you. You may go home again,' said he; 'at present I have dismissed the
subject.'
“After this, on meeting Father Molony, he told me that his cousin had
passed, and that he would be soon sent up to Maynooth: so I concluded
all hope was over with me; but I didn't then know what the letter to
Father 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, let
that pass, and now for harmony, conviviality, and friendship. Gentlemen,
fill your glasses--I mean your respective vessels. Come, Denis More, let
that 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. Dionysius
O'Shaughnessy, jun.! May he soon be on the Retreat in the vivacious
walls of that learned and sprightly seminary, Maynooth! * On the
Retreat, I say, getting fat upon half a meal a day for the first week,
fasting tightly against the grain, praying sincerely for a settin' at
the 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 return
thanks 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 always
elaborate a distinction between strength of head and strength of
intellect. I now thank you all for having in so liberal a manner drunk
my health; and in grateful return, I request you will once more fill
your utensils, and learnedly drink--long life and a mitre to the
Reverend Father Finnerty, of the Society of St. Dominick, Doctor of
Divinity and Parochial Priest of this excellent parish!--_Propino tibi
salutem, Doctor doctissime, reverendissime, et sanctissime; nec non
omnibus amicis hic congregatis!_”
The priest's eye, during this speech, twinkled with humor; he saw
clearly that Denis thoroughly understood the raillery of his toast, and
that the compliment was well repaid. On this subject he did not wish,
however, to proceed further, and his object now was, that the evening
should pass off as agreeably as possible.
Next morning Father Finnerty paid Denis a timely visit, having first, as
he had been directed, sent home the colt a little after day-break. They
then took an early breakfast, and after about half an hour's further
deliberation, the priest, old Denis, and his son--the last mounted upon
the redoubtable colt--proceeded to the Bishop's residence. His lordship
had nearly finished breakfast, which he took in his study; but as he
was engaged with his brother, the barrister, who slept at his house the
night before, in order to attend a public meeting on that day, he
could not be seen for some time after they arrived. At length they were
admitted. The Right Reverend Doctor was still seated at the breakfast
table, dressed in a morning-gown of fine black stuff, such as the
brothers of the Franciscan order of monks usually wear, to which order
he belonged. He wore black silk stockings, gold knee-buckles to his
small-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. He
sat, or rather lolled back in a stuffed easy chair, one leg thrown
indolently over the other. Though not an old man, he wore powder, which
gave him an air of greater reverence; and as his features were sharp
and intelligent, his eye small but keen, and his manner altogether
impressive and gentlemanly, if not dignified, it was not surprising that
Father Finnerty's two companions felt awed and embarrassed before him.
Nor was the priest himself wholly free from that humbling sensation
which one naturally feels when in the presence of a superior mind in a
superior station of life.
“Good morning to your lordship!” said the priest, “I am exceedingly
happy 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 of
mine, Denis O'Shaughnessy; and this is his son who has the honor to be
already 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 chair
as he spoke, and laying his hat beside him on the carpet. The son, who
trembled 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't
you sit, when his lordship-bids you.” He then took a seat, but appeared
scarcely to know whether he sat or stood.
“By the by, Doctor, you have improved this place mightily,” continued
Father Finnerty, “since I had the pleasure of being here last. I thought
I saw a green-house peeping over the garden-wall.”
“Yes,” replied the Bishop, “I am just beginning to make a collection
of shrubs and flowers upon a small scale. I believe you are aware that
tending and rearing flowers, Mr. Finnerty, is a favorite amusement with
me.”
“I believe I have a good right to know as much, Dr. M------,” replied
Mr. Finnerty.
“If I don't mistake, I sent you some specimens for your garden that were
not contemptible. And if I don't mistake again, I shall be able to send
your lordship a shrub that would take the pearl off a man's eye only to
look at it. And what's more, it's quite a new-comer; not two years in
the country.”
“Pray how is it called, Mr. Finnerty.”
“Upon my credit, Doctor, with great respect, I will tell you nothing
more about it at present. If you wish to see it, or to know its name, or
to 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 the
better.”
“I fear I cannot, Mr. Finnerty, but I dare say my brother will do
himself 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 have
the 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 lordship
make it convenient to come during the week, and bring the Counsellor
here with you? Don't say no, Counsellor; I'll have no demurring.”
“Mr. Finnerty,” said the Bishop, “it is impossible at present. My
brother goes to Dublin to-morrow, and I must go on the following day to
attend the consecration of a chapel in the metropolis.”
“Then upon my credit, your lordship will get neither the name nor
description of my Facia, until you earn it by eating a dinner, and
drinking a glass of claret with the Rev. Father Finnerty. Are those hard
terms, Counsellor?--Ha! ha! ha! I'm not the man to put off a thing, I
assure you.”
“Mr. Finnerty,” said the Bishop, smiling at, but not noticing the worthy
priest's blunder about the Fucia, “if possible, I shall dine with you
soon; 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 the
purport of our journey. Denis O'Shaughnessy here, my lord, is a warm,
respectable parishioner of mine--a man indeed for whom I have a great
regard. He is reported to have inherited from his worthy father, two
horns filled with guineas. His grandmother, as he could well inform your
lordship, was born with a lucky caul upon her, which caul is still in
the family. Isn't it so, Denis?”
“My lord, in dignity, it's truth,” replied Denis, “and from the time it
came into the family they always thruv, thanks be to goodness!”
The lawyer sat eyeing the priest and Denis alternately, evidently
puzzled to comprehend what such a remarkable introduction could lead to.
The Bishop seemed not to be surprised, for his features betrayed no
change whatsoever.
“Having, therefore, had the necessary means of educating a son for the
church, he has accordingly prepared this young man with much anxiety and
expense for Maynooth.”
“Plase your lordship,” said Denis, “Docthor Finnerty is clothin' it
betther than I could do. My heart is fixed upon seein' him what we all
expect him to be, your lordship.”
“Mr. Finnerty,” observed the Bishop, “you seem to be intimately
acquainted with O'Shaughnessy's circumstances; you appear to take a warm
interest 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 of
your--”
“What misconception, sir!”
“Why, my lord--Counsellor, this is a--a--kind of charge his lordship is
bringing against me, under a slight misconception. My lord, the fact is,
that I didn't see what ecclesiastical right I had to prevent Denis here
from disposing of his own property to--”
“I expect an apology from you, Mr. Finnerty, but neither a defence nor
a justification. An attempt at either will not advance the interests of
your young friend, believe me.”
“Then I have only to say that the wish expressed in your lordship's
letter has been complied with. But wait awhile, my lord,” continued the
priest, 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 will
not take him out of it.”
“I have not the slightest objection to that,” replied the Bishop, “upon
the express condition that his son shall never enter Maynooth.”
“For my part,” observed Mr. Finnerty, “I leave the matter now between
your lordship and O'Shaughnessy himself. You may act as you please,
Doctor, and so may he.”