y 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 morse