minds of the submissive peasantry, immeasurably
surpass the more legitimate influence which any Protestant dignitary
could exercise over those who stand, with respect to him, in a more
rational and independent position.

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

"Denis," said the father, "the time will come when we won't have you at
all 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 be
sorry to see him pulled down to anatomy, like some of the scarecrows
that 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 son
perceived that his eyes were fixed upon him with an expression of
affectionate sorrow and