Part 7 (1/2)

”Uncle,” said one of the nephews, ”this gentleman is speaking to you.”

”And why not?” continued his Eeverence, who was so closely engaged with Phaddhy, that he did not even hear the nephew's appeal--”a bishop--and why not? Has he not as good a chance of being a bishop as any of them?

though, G.o.d knows, it is not always merit that gets a bishopric in any church, or I myself might--But let that pa.s.s.” said he, fixing his eyes on the bottle. ”Father Philemy,” said Father Con, ”Captain Wilson was addressing himself to you in a most especial manner.”

”Oh! Captain, I beg ten thousand pardons, I was engaged talking with Phaddhy here about his son, who is a young shaving of our cloth, sir, he is intended for the Mission*--Phaddhy, I will either examine him myself, or make Father Con examine him by-and-by.--Well, Captain?” The Captain now repeated what he had said.

* The Church of Rome existing in any heretical country-- that is, where she herself is not the State church--is considered a missionary establishment; and taking orders in her is termed ”Going upon the Mission.” Even Ireland is looked upon as _in partibus infidelium_, because Protestantism is established by law--hence the phrase above.

”Very true, Captain, and we do see it in as many shapes as ever--Con, what do you call him?--put on him.”

”Proteus,” subjoined Con, who was famous at the cla.s.sics.

Father Philemy nodded for the a.s.sistance, and continued--”but as for human nature, Captain, give it to me at a good rousing christening; or what is better again, at a jovial wedding between two of my own paris.h.i.+oners--say this pretty fair-haired daughter of Phaddhy Shemus Phaddhy's here, and long Ned Slevin, Parrah More's son there--eh Phaddhy, will it be a match?--what do you say, Parrah More? Upon my veracity I must bring that about.”

”Why, then, yer Reverence,” replied Phaddhy, who was now a little softened, and forgot his enmity against Parrah More for the present, ”unlikelier things might happen.”

”It won't be my fault,” said Parrah More, ”if my son Ned has no objection.”

”He object!” replied Father Philemy, ”if' I take it in hands, let me see who'll dare to object; doesn't the Scripture say it? and sure we can't go against the Scripture.”

”By the by,” said Captain Wilson, who was a dry humorist, ”I am happy to be able to infer from what you say, Father Philemy, that you are not, as the clergymen of your church are supposed to be, inimical to the Bible.”

”Me an enemy to the Bible! no such thing, sir; but, Captain, begging your pardon we will have nothing more about the bible; you see we are met here, as friends and good fellows, to enjoy ourselves after the severity of our spiritual duties, and we must relax a little; we can't always carry long faces like Methodist parsons--come, Pairah More, let the Bible take a nap, and give us a song.”

His Reverence was now seconded in his motion by the most of all present, and Parrah More accordingly gave them a song. After a few songs more, the conversation went on as before.

”Now, Parrah More,” said Phaddhy, ”you must try my wine; I hope it's as good as what you gave his Reverence yesterday.” The words, however, had scarcely pa.s.sed his lips, when Father Philemy burst out into a fit of laughter, clapping and rubbing his hands in a manner the most irresistible. ”Oh, Phaddhy, Phaddhy!” shouted his Reverence, laughing heartily, ”I done you for once--I done you, my man, cute as you thought yourself: why, you nager you, did you think to put us off with punch, and you have a stocking of hard guineas hid in a hole in the wall?”

”What does yer Rev'rence mane,” said Phaddhy; ”for myself can make no understanding out of it, at all at all?”

To this his Reverence only replied by another laugh.

”I gave his Reverence no wine,” said Parrah More, in reply to Phaddhy's question.

”What!” said Phaddhy, ”none yesterday, at the station held with you?”

”Not a bit of me ever thought of it.”

”Nor no mutton?”

”Why, then, devil a morsel of mutton, Phaddhy; but we had a rib of beef.”

Phaddhy now looked over to his Reverence rather sheepishly, with the smile of a man on his face who felt himself foiled. ”Well, yer Reverence has done me, sure enough,” he replied, rubbing his head--”I give it up to you, Father Philemy; but any how, I'm glad I got it, and you're all welcome from the core of my heart. I'm only sorry I haven't as much more now to thrate you all like gintlemen; but there's some yet, and as much punch as will make all our heads come round.”

Our readers must a.s.sist us with their own imaginations, and suppose the conversation to have pa.s.sed very pleasantly, and the night, as well as the guests, to be somewhat far gone. The princ.i.p.al part of the conversation was borne by the three clergymen, Captain Wilson, and Phaddy; that of the two nephews and Peter Malone ran in an under current of its own; and in the preceding part of the night, those who occupied the bottom of the table, spoke to each other rather in whispers, being too much restrained by that rustic bashfulness which ties up the tongues of those who feel that their consequence is overlooked among their superiors. According as the punch circulated, however, their diffidence began to wear off; and occasionally an odd laugh or so might be heard to break the monotony of their silence. The youngsters, too, though at first almost in a state of terror, soon commenced plucking each other; and a t.i.tter, or a suppressed burst of laughter, would break forth from one of the more waggish, who was put to a severe task in afterwards composing his countenance into sufficient gravity to escape detection, and a competent portion of chastis.e.m.e.nt the next day, for not being able to ”behave himself with betther manners.”

During these juvenile breaches of decorum, Katty would raise her arm in a threatening att.i.tude, shake her head at them, and look up at the clergy, intimating more by her earnestness of gesticulation than met the ear. Several songs again went round, of which, truth to tell, Father Philomy's were by far the best; for he possessed a rich, comic expression of eye, which, added to suitable ludicrousness of gesture, and a good voice, rendered him highly amusing to the company. Father Con declined singing, as being decidedly serious, though he was often solicited.

”He!” said Father Philemy, ”he has no more voice than a woolpack; but Con's a cunning fellow. What do you think, Captain Wilson, but he pretends to be too pious to sing, and gets credit for piety,--not because he is devout, but because he has a bad voice; now, Con, you can't deny it, for there's not a man in the three kingdoms knows it better than myself; you sit there with a face upon you that might go before the Lamentations of Jeremiah the Prophet, when you ought to be as jovial as another.”