Part 6

“It won't signify,” replied Denis, gently raising himself from his mother's arms, “I will sit up, mother; it's but a sudden stroke or two of _tremor cordis_, produced probably by having my mind too much upon one object.”

“I think,” said his father, “he will be the betther of a little drop of the poteen made into punch, an' for that matter we can all take a sup of it; as there's no one here but ourselves, we will have it snug an' comfortable.”

Nothing resembles an April day more than the general disposition of the Irish people. When old Denis's proposal for the punch was made, the gloom which hung over the family--originating, as it did, more in joy than in soitow--soon began to disappear. Their countenances gradually brightened, by and by mirth stole out, and ere the punch had accomplished its first round, laughter, and jest, and good-humor,--each, in consequence of the occasion, more buoyant and vivacious than usual, were in full play. Denis himself, when animated by the unexcised liquor, threw off his dejection, and' ere the night was half spent found himself in the highest region of pedantry.

“I would not,” said he, “turn my back upon any other candidate in the province, in point of preparatory excellence and ardency of imagination. I say, sitting here beside you, my worthy and logical father, I would not retrograde from any candidate for the honors of the Catholic Church in the province--in the kingdom--in Europe; and it is not improbable but I might progradiate another step, and say Christendom at large. And now, what's a candidate? Father, you have some apprehension in you, and are a passable second-hand controversialist--what's a candidate? Will you tell me?”

“I give it up, Denis; but you'll tell us.”

“Yes, I will tell you. Candidate signifies a man dressed in fustian; it comes from _candidus_, which is partly Greek, partly Latin, and partly Hebrew. It was the learned designation for Irish linen, too, which in the time of the Romans was in great request at Home; but it was changed to signify fustian, because it was found that everything a man promised on becoming a candidate for any office, turned out to be only fustian when he got it.”

“Denis, avourneen,” said his mother, “the greatest comfort myself has is to be thinkin' that when you're a priest, you can be sayin' masses for my poor sinful sowl.”

“Yes, there is undoubtedly comfort in, that reflection; and depend upon it, my dear mother, that I'll be sure to clinch your masses in the surest mode. I'll not fly over them like Camilla across a field of potato oats, without discommoding a single walk, as too many of my worthy brethren--I mane as! too many of those whose worthy brother I will soon be--do in this present year of grace. I'm no fool at the Latin, but, as I'm an unworthy candidate for Maynooth, I cannot even understand every fifteenth word they say when reading mass, independently of the utter scorn with which they treat; these two Scholastic old worthies, called! Syntax and Prosody.”

“Denis,” said the father, “nothing would give me greater delight than to be present at your first mass, an' your first sarmon; and next to that I would like to be stumpin' about wid a dacent staff in my hand, maybe wid a bit of silver on the head of it, takin' care of your place when you'd have a parish.”

“At all events, if you're not with me, father, I'll keep you comfortable wherever you'll be, whether in this world or the other; for, plase goodness, I'll have some influence in both.--When I get a parish, however, it is not improbable that I may have occasion to see company; the neighboring gentlemen will be apt to relish my society, particularly those who are addicted to conviviality; and our object will be to render ourselves as populous as possible; now, whether in that case it would be compatible--but never fear, father, whilst I have the means, you or one of the family shall never want.”

“Will you let the people be far behind in their dues, Denis?” inquired Brian.

“No, no--leave that point to my management. Depend upon it, I'll have them like mice before me--ready to run into the first augerhole they meet. I'll collect lots of oats, and get as much yarn every year as would clothe three regiments of militia, or, for that matther, of dragoons. I'll appoint my stations, too, in the snuggest farmers' houses in the parish, just as Father Finnerty, our worthy parochial priest, ingeniously contrives to do. And, to revert secondarily to the collection of the oats, I'll talk liberally to the Protestant boddaghs; give the Presbyterians a learned homily upon civil and religious freedom: make hard hits with them at that Incubus, the Established Church; and, never fear, but I shall fill bag after bag with good corn from many of both creeds.”

“That,” said Brian, “will be givin' them the bag to hould in airnest.”

“No, Brian, but it will be makin' them fill the bag when I hold it, which will be better still.”

“But,” said Susan, “who'll keep house for you? You know that a priest can't live widout a housekeeper.”

“That, Susy,” replied Denis, “is, and will be the most difficult point on which to accomplish anything like a satisfactory determination. I have nieces enough, however. There's Peter Finnegan's eldest daughter Mary, and Hugh Tracy's Ailsey--(to whom he added about a dozen and a half more)--together with several yet to be endowed with existence, all of whom will be brisk candidates for the situation.”

“I don't think,” replied Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, “that you'll ever get any one who'd be more comfortable about you nor your own ould mother. What do you think of takin' myself, Denis?”

“Ay, but consider the accomplishments in the culinary art--_in re vel in arte culinaria_--which will be necessary for my housekeeper to know. How would you, for instance, dress a dinner for the bishop if he happened to pay me a visit, as you may be certain he will? How would you make pies and puddings, and disport your fancy through all the varieties of roast and boil? How would you dress a fowl that it would stand upon a dish as if it was going to dance a hornpipe? How would you amalgamate the different genera of wine with boiling fluid and crystallized saccharine matter? How would you dispose of the various dishes upon the table according to high life and mathematics? Wouldn't you be too old to bathe my feet when I'd be unwell? Wouldn't you be too old to bring me my whey in the morning soon as I'd awake, perhaps with a severe headache, after the plenary indulgence of a clerical compotation? Wouldn't you be too old to sit up till the middle of the nocturnal hour, awaiting my arrival home? Wouldn't you be--”

“Hut, tut, that's enough, Denny, I'd never do at all. No, no, but I'll sit a clane, dacent ould woman in the corner upon a chair that you'll get made for me. There I'll be wid my pipe and tobacco, smokin' at my aise, chattin' to the sarvints, and sometimes discoorsin' the neighbors that'll come to inquire for you, when they'll be sittin' in the kitchen waitin' till you get through your office. Jist let me have that, Dinny achora, and I'll be as happy as the day's long.”

“And I on the other side,” said his father, naturally enough struck with the happy simplicity of the picture which his wife drew, “on the other side, Mave, a snug, dacent ould man, chattin' to you across the fire, proud to see the bishop an' the gintlemen about him. An' I wouldn't ax to be taken into the parlor at all, except, maybe, when there would be nobody there but yourself, Denis; an' that your mother an' I would go into the parlor to get a glass of punch, or, if it could be spared, a little taste of wine for novelty.”

“And so you shall, both of you--you, father, at one side of the hob, and my mother here at the other, the king and queen of my culinarian dominions. But practice taciturnity a little--I'm visited by the muse, and must indulge in a strain of vocal melody--hem--'tis a few lines of my own composure, the offspring of a moment of inspiration by the nine female Heliconians; but before I incipiate, here's to my own celebrity to-morrow, and afterwards all your healths!”

He then proceeded to sing in his best style a song composed, as he said, by himself, but which, as the composition was rather an eccentric one, we decline giving.

“Denis,” said his brother, “you'll have great sport at the Station's.”

“Yes, Brian, most inimitable specimen of fraternity, I do look into the futurity of a station with great complacency. Hem--in the morning I rise up in imagination, and after reading part of my office, I and my curate--_ego et coadjutor metis_--or, if I get a large parish, perhaps I and my two curates--_ego et coudjutores mei_--order our horses, and of a fine, calm summer morning we mount them as gracefully as three throopers. The sun is up, and of coorse the moon is down, and the glitter of the light, the sparkling of the dew, the canticles of the birds, and the _melodiotis_ cowing of the crows in Squire Grimshaw's rookery--”

“Why, Denis, is it this parish you'll have?”

“Silence, silence, till I complate my rural ideas--in some gentleman's rookery at all events; the thrush here, the blackbird there, the corn-craik chanting its varied note in another place, and so on. In the meantime we reverend sentimentalists advance, gazing with odoriferous admiration upon the prospect about us, and expatiating in the purest of Latin upon the beauties of unsophisticated nature. When we meet the peasants going out to their work, they put their hands to their hats for us; but as I am known to be the parochial priest, it is to me the salutation is directed, which I return with the air of a man who thinks nothing of such things; but, I on the contrary, knows them to be his due. The poor creatures of curates you must know, don't presume to speak of themselves, but simply answer whenever I condescend to propose conversation, for I'll keep them down, never fear. In this edifying style we proceed--I a few steps in advance, and they at a respectful distance behind me, the heads of their horses just to my saddle skirts--my clerical boots as brilliant as the countenance of Phoebus, when decked with rosy smiles, theirs more subordinately polished, for there should be gradations in all things, and humility is the first of virtues in a Christian curate. My bunch of gold sales stands out proudly from my anterior rotundity, for by this time, plase God, I'll be getting frolicsome and corpulent: they with only a poor bit of ribbon, and a single two-penny kay, stained with verdigrace. In the meantime, we come within sight of the wealthy farmer's house, wherein we are to hold the edifying solemnity of a station. There is a joyful appearance of study and bustle about the premises: the peasantry are flocking towards it, dressed in their best clothes; the proprietors of the mansion itself are running out to try if we are in appearance, and the very smoke disports itself hilariously in the air, and bounds up as if it was striving to catch the first glimpse of the clargy. When we approach, the good man--_pater-familias_--comes out to meet us, and the good woman--_mater-farmilias_--comes curtseying from the door to give the head _milliafailtha_. No sooner do we parsave ourselves noticed, then out comes the Breviary, and in a moment we are at our morning devotions. I being the rector, am particularly grave and dignified. I do not speak much, but am rather sharp, and order the curates, whom I treat, however, with great respect before the people, instantly to work. This impresses those who are present with awe and reverence for us all, especially for Father O'Shaughnessy himself--(that's me).--I then take a short turn or two across the floor, silently perusing my office, after which I lay it aside, and relax into a little conversation with the people of the house, to show that I can conciliate by love as readily as I can impress them with fear; for, you see _divide et impera_ is as aptly applied to the passions as to maxims of state policy--ehem. I then go to my tribunal, and first hear the man and woman and family of the house, and afther them the other penitents according as they can come to me.

“Thus we go on absolving in great style, till it is time for the _matutinal_ meal--vulgarly called breakfast; when the whiskey, eggs, toast, and tea as strong as Hercules, with ham, fowl, beef-steaks, or mutton-chops, all pour in upon us in the full tide of hospitality. Helter-skelter, cut and thrust, right and left, we work away, till the appetite reposes itself upon the cushion of repletion: and off we go once more, full an' warm, to the delicate employment of adjudicating upon sin and transgression, until dinner comes, when, having despatched as many as possible--for the quicker we get through them the better--we set about despatching what is always worth a ship-load of such riff-raff--_videlicet_, a good and extensive dinner. Oh, ye pagan gods of eating and drinking, Bacchus and--let me see who the presiding deity of good feeding was in the Olympian synod--as I'm an unworthy candidate I forget that topic of learning; but no matter, _non constat_. Oh, ye pagan professors of ating and drinking, Bacchus, and Epicurus, and St. Heliogabalus, Anthony of Padua, and Paul the Hermit, who poached for his own venison, St. Tuck, and St. Takem, St. Drinkem, and St. Eatem, with all the other reverend worthies, who bore the blushing honors of the table thick upon your noses, come and inspire your unworthy candidate, while he essays to chant the praises of a Station dinner!

“Then, then, does the priest appropriate to himself his due share of enjoyment Then does he, like Elias, throw his garment of inspiration upon his coadjutors. Then is the goose cut up, and the farmer's distilled Latin is found to be purer and more edifying than the distillation of Maynooth.

'Drink deep, or taste not that Pierian spring, A little learning here's a dangerous thing.'

And so it is, as far as this inspiring language is concerned. A station dinner is the very pinnacle of a priest's happiness. There is the fun and frolic; then does the lemon-juice of mirth and humor come out of their reverences, like secret writing, as soon as they get properly warm. The song and the joke, the laugh and the leer, the shaking of hands, the making of matches, and the projection of weddings,--och, I must conclude, or my brisk fancy will dissolve in the deluding vision! Here's to my celebrity to-morrow, and may the Bishop catch a Tartar in your son, my excellent and logical father!--as I tell you among ourselves he will do. Mark me, I say it, but it's _inter nos_, it won't go further; but should he trouble me with profundity, may be I'll make a _ludibrium_ of him.”

“But you forget the weddings and christenings, Denis; you'll have great sport at them too.”

“I can't remember three things at a time, Brian; but you are mistaken, however, I had them snug in one corner of my cranium. The weddings and the christenings! do you think I'll have nothing to do in them, you! _stultus_ you?”

“But, Denis, is there any harm in the priests enjoying themselves, and they so holy as we know they are?” inquired his mother.

“Not the least in life; considering what severe fasting, and great praying they have; besides it's necessary for them to take something to put the sins of the people out of their heads, and that's one reason why they are often jolly at Stations.”

“My goodness, what light Denis can throw upon anything!”

“Not without deep study, mother; but let us have another portion of punch each, afther which I'll read a Latin De Profundis, and we'll go to bed, I must be up early tomorrow; and, Brian, you'll please to have the black mare saddled and my spur brightened as jinteely as you can, for I must go in as much state and grandeur as possible.” Accordingly, in due time, after hearing the De Profundis, which Denis read in as sonorous a tone, and as pompous a manner, as he could assume, they went to bed for the night, to dream of future dignities for their relative.

When Denis appeared the next morning, it was evident that the spirit of prophecy in which he had contemplated the enjoyments annexed to his ideal station on the preceding night, had departed from him. He was pale and anxious, as in the early part of the,previous evening. At breakfast, his very appetite treacherously abandoned him, despite the buttered toast and eggs which his mother forced upon him with such tender assiduity, in order, she said, to make him stout against the Bishop. Her solicitations, however, were vain; after attempting to eat to no purpose, he arose and began to prepare himself for his journey. This, indeed, was a work of considerable importance, for, as they had no looking-glass, he was obliged to dress himself over a tub of water, in which, since truth must be told, he saw a very cowardly visage. In due time, however, he was ready to proceed upon his journey, apparelled in a new suit of black that sat stiffly and awkwardly upon him, crumpled in a manner that enabled any person, at a glance, to perceive that it was worn for the first time. When he was setting out, his father approached him with a small jug of holy water in his hand. “Denis,” said he, “I think you won't be the worse for a sprinkle of this;” and he accordingly was about to shake it with a little brush over his person, when Denis arrested his hand.

“Easy, father,” he replied, “you don't remember that my new clothes are on. I'll just take a little with, my fingers, for you know one drop is as good as a thousand.”

“I know that,” said the father, “but on the other hand you know it's not lucky to refuse it.”

“I didn't refuse it,” rejoined Denis, “I surely took a quantum suff. of it with my own hand.”

“It was very near a refusal,” said the father, in a disappointed and somewhat sorrowful tone; “but it can't be helped now. I'm only sorry you put it and quantum suff. in connection at all. Quantum suff. is what Father Finnerty says, when he will take no more punch; and it doesn't argue respect in you to make as little of a jug of holy wather as he does of a jug of punch.”

“I'm sarry for it too,” replied Denis, who was every whit as superstitious as his father; “and to atone for my error, I desire you will sprinkle me all over with it--clothes and all.”

The father complied with this, and Denis was setting out, when his mother exclaimed, “Blessed be them above us, Denis More! Look at the boy's legs! There's luck! Why one of his stockin's has the wrong side out, and it's upon the right leg too! Well, this will be a fortunate day for you, Denis, any way; the same thing never happened myself, but something good followed it.”

This produced a slight conflict between Denis's personal vanity and superstition; but on this occasion superstition prevailed: he even felt his spirits considerably elevated by the incident, mounted the mare, and after jerking himself once or twice in the saddle, to be certain that all was right, he touched her with the spur, and set out to be examined by the Bishop, exclaiming as he went, “Let his lordship take care that I don't make a _ludibrium_ of him.”

The family at that moment all came to the door, where they stood looking after, and admiring him, until he turned a corner of the road, and left their sight.

Many were the speculations entered into during his absence, as to the fact, whether or not he would put down the bishop in the course of the examination; some of them holding that he could do so if he wished; but others of them denying that it was possible for him, inasmuch as he had never received holy orders.

The day passed, but not in the usual way, in Denis More O'Shaughnessy's. The females of the family were busily engaged in preparing for the dinner, to which Father Finnerty, his curate, and several of their nearest and wealthiest friends had been invited; and the men in clearing out the stables and other offices for the horses of the guests. Pride and satisfaction were visible on every face, and that disposition to cordiality and to the oblivion of everything unpleasant to the mind, marked, in a prominent manner, their conduct and conversation. Old Denis went, and voluntarily spoke to a neighbor, with whom he had not exchanged a word, except in anger, for some time. He found him at work in the field, and, advancing with open hand and heart, he begged his pardon for any offence he might have given him.

“My son,” said he, “is goin' to Maynooth; and as he is a boy that we have a good right to be proud of, and as our friends are comin' to ate their dinner wid us to-day, and as--as my heart is to full to bear ill-will against any livin' sowl, let alone a man that I know to be sound at the heart, in spite of all that has come between us--I say, Darby, I forgive you, and I expect pardon for my share of the offence. There's the hand of an honest man--let us be as neighbors ought to be, and not divided into parties and factions against one another, as we have been too long. Take your dinner wid us to-day, and let us hear no more about ill-will and unkindness.”

“Denis,” said his friend, “it ill becomes you to spake first. 'Tis I that ought to do that, and to do it long ago too; but you see, somehow, so long as it was to be decided by blows between the families, I'd never give in. Not but that I might do so, but my sons, Denis, wouldn't hear of it. Throth, I'm glad of this, and so will they too; for only for the honor and glory of houldin' out, we might be all friends through other long ago. And I'll tell you what, we couldn't do better, the two factions of us, nor join and thrash them Haigneys that always put between us.”

“No, Darby, I tell you, I bear no ill-will, no bad thoughts agin any born Christian this day, and I won't hear of that. Come to us about five o'clock: we're to have Father Finnerty, and Father Molony, his curate: all friends, man, all friends; and Denny, God guard him this day, will be home, afther passin' the Bishop, about four o'clock.”

“I always thought that gorsoon would come to somethin'. Why it was wondherful how he used to discoorse upon the chapel-green, yourself and himself: but he soon left you behind. And how he sealed up poor ould Dixon, the parish dark's mouth, at Barny Boccagh's wake. God rest his soul! It was talkin' about the Protestant church they wor. 'Why,' said Misther Denis, 'you ould termagent, can you tell me who first discovered your church?' The dotin' ould crathur began of hummin', and hawin', and advisin' the boy to have more sense. 'Come,' said he, 'you ould canticle, can you answer? But for fear you can't, I'll answer for you. It was the divil discovered it, one fine mornin' that he went out to get an appetite, bein' in delicate health.' Why, Denis, you'd tie all that wor present wid a rotten sthraw.”

“Darby, I ax your pardon over agin for what came between us; and I see now betther than I did, that the fault of it was more mine nor yours. You'll be down surely about five o'clock?”

“I must go and take this beard off o' me, and clane myself; and I may as well do that now: but I'll be down, never fear.”

“In throth the boy was always bright!--ha, ha, ha!--and he sobered Dixon?”

“Had him like a judge in no time.”

“Oh, he would do it--he could do that, at all times. God be wid you, Darby, till I see you in the evenin'.

“_Bannaght lhath_, Denis, an' I'm proud we're as we ought to be.”