emporary anger, spoken of you before this
lad with disrespect. I hereby make restitution, and beg that you will
forgive me, and remember me by name in your prayers, as I shall also
name you in mine.

"I am, etc.,

"+ James M."

When Father Finnerty read this letter, his countenance gradually assumed
an expression of the most irresistible humor; nothing could be more
truly comic than the significant look he directed toward each individual
of the O'Shaughnessys, not omitting even the little boy who had basted
the goose, whom he patted on the head with that mechanical abstraction
resulting from the occurrence of something highly agreeable. The cast of
his features was now the more ludicrous, when contrasted with the rueful
visage he presented on hearing the manner in which his character had
been delineated by the Bishop. At length he laid himself back in his
chair, and putting his hands to his sides, fairly laughed out loudly for
near five minutes.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "Dionysius, Dionysius, but you are the simple and
unsophisticated youth! Oh, you _bocaun_ of the wide earth, to come home
with a long face upon you, telling us that you were rejected, and you
not rejected."

"Not rejected!--not rejecet!--not rejeckset!--not raxjaxet!" they all
exclaimed, attempting to pronounce the word as well as they could.

"For the sake of heaven above us, Docthor, don't keep us in doubt one
minute longer," said old Denis.

"Follow me," said the priest, becoming instantly grave, "follow me,
Dionysius; follow me Denis More, and Brian, all follow--follow me. I
have news for you! My friends, we'll be back instantly."

They accordingly passed into another room, where they remained in close
conference for about a quarter of an hour, after which they re-entered
in the highest spirits.

"Come," said Denis, "Pether, go over, _abouchal_, to Andy Bradagh's
for Larry Cassidy the piper--fly like a swallow, Pether, an' don't come
without him. Mave, achora, all's right. Susy, you darlin', dhry your
eyes, avourneen, all's right. Nabors, friends--fill, fill--I say all's
right still. My son's not disgraced, nor he won't be disgraced whilst
I have a house over my head, or a beast in my stable. Docthor, reverend
Docthor, drink; may I never sin, but you must get merry an' dance a
'cut-along' wid myself, when the music comes, and you must thrip the
priest in his boots wid Susy here afther. Excuse me, nabors--Docthor,
you won't blame me, there's