on, ample, but not obese, gave him great
weight, especially with his female pupils. If he was not quite so much
reverenced by the men, yet he was both respected and liked; in fact, he
had qualities that make men welcome in every situation,--good humor,
good sense, and tact. A good son of his Church, and early trained to let
no occasion slip of advancing her interests.

I wish my readers could have seen the meeting between Catharine Peyton
and this burly ecclesiastic. She came into the drawing-room with that
imperious air and carriage which had made her so unpopular with her own
sex; and at the bare sight of Father Francis, drooped and bent in a
moment as she walked; and her whole body indicated a submissiveness,
graceful, but rather abject: it was as if a young poplar should turn to
a weeping willow in half a moment. Thus metamorphosed, the Beauty of
Cumberland glided up to Francis, and sank slowly on her knees before
him, crossed her hands on her bosom, lowered her lovely head, and
awaited his benediction.

The father laid two big, coarse hands, with enormous fingers, on that
thorough-bred head and golden hair, and blessed her business-like.

"The hand of less employment hath the daintier sense."--_Shakspeare_.

Father Francis blessed so many of these pretty creatures every week,
that he had long outgrown your fine, romantic way of blessing a body.
(We manage these things better in the theatre.) Then he lent her his
hand to rise, and asked her in what she required his direction at
present.

"In that which shall decide my whole life," said she.

Francis responded by a look of paternal interest.

"But first," murmured she, "let me confess to you, and obtain
absolution, if I may. Ah, Father, my sins have been many since last
confession!"

"Be it so," said Father Francis, resignedly. "Confession is the best
preface to Direction." And he seated himself with a certain change of
manner, an easy assumption of authority.

"Nay, Father," suggested the lady, "we shall be more private in my
room."

"As you will, Mistress Catharine Peyton," said the priest, returning to
his usual manner.

So then the fair penitent led her spiritual judge captive up another
flight of stairs, and into her little boudoir. A cheerful wood fire
crackled and flamed up the chimney, and a cloth had been laid on a side
table: cold turkey and chine graced the board, and a huge glass magnum
of purple Burgundy glowed and shone in the rays of