ylum at the very
foot, in juxta with the engaging Mister Donovan. A propinquity, if I
might judge from their countenances, uncoveted by either party.

While this was performing, Doctor Finucane was making his recognitions
with several of the company, to whom he had been long known during his
visits to the neighbourhood. I now resumed my place on the right of the
Father, abandoning for the present all intention of disclaiming my rank,
and the campaign was opened. The priest now exerted himself to the
utmost to recall conversation with the original channels, and if possible
to draw off attention from me, which he still feared, might, perhaps,
elicit some unlucky announcement on my part. Failing in his endeavours
to bring matters to their former footing, he turned the whole brunt of
his attentions to the worthy doctor, who sat on his left.

"How goes on the law," said he, "Fin? Any new proofs, as they call them,
forthcoming?"

What Fin replied, I could not hear, but the allusion to the "suit" was
explained by Father Malachi informing us that the only impediment between
his cousin and the title of Kinsale lay in the unfortunate fact, that his
grandmother, "rest her sowl," was not a man.

Doctor Finucane winced a little under the manner in which this was
spoken: but returned the fire by asking if the bishop was down lately in
that quarter? The evasive way in which "the Father" replied having
stimulated my curiosity as to the reason, little entreaty was necessary
to persuade the doctor to relate the following anecdote, which was not
relished the less by his superior, that it told somewhat heavily on Mr.
Donovan.

"It is about four years ago," said the doctor, "since the Bishop, Dr.
Plunkett, took it into his head that he'd make a general inspection, 'a
reconnoisance," as we'd call it, Mr. Lor--that is, my lord! Through the
whole diocese, and leave no part far nor near without poking his nose in
it and seeing how matters were doing. He heard very queer stories about
his reverence here, and so down he came one morning in the month of July,
riding upon an old grey hack, looking just for all the world like any
other elderly gentleman in very rusty black. When he got near the
village he picked up a little boy to show him the short cut across the
fields to the house here; and as his lordship was a 'sharp man and a
shrewd,' he kept his eye on every thing as he went along, remarking this,
and noting down that.

"'Are