Chapter 9

“Yes,” replied the Bishop, “I am just beginning to make a collection of shrubs and flowers upon a small scale. I believe you are aware that tending and rearing flowers, Mr. Finnerty, is a favorite amusement with me.”

“I believe I have a good right to know as much, Dr. M------,” replied Mr. Finnerty.

“If I don't mistake, I sent you some specimens for your garden that were not contemptible. And if I don't mistake again, I shall be able to send your lordship a shrub that would take the pearl off a man's eye only to look at it. And what's more, it's quite a new-comer; not two years in the country.”

“Pray how is it called, Mr. Finnerty.”

“Upon my credit, Doctor, with great respect, I will tell you nothing more about it at present. If you wish to see it, or to know its name, or to get a slip of it, you must first come and eat a dinner with me. And, Counsellor, if you, too, could appear on your own behalf, so much the better.”

“I fear I cannot, Mr. Finnerty, but I dare say my brother will do himself the pleasure of dining with you.”

“It cannot be for at least six weeks, Mr. Finnerty,” said the Bishop. “You forget that the confirmations begin in ten days; but I shall have the pleasure of dining with you when I come to confirm in your parish.”

“Phoo! Why, Doctor, that's a matter of course. Couldn't your lordship make it convenient to come during the week, and bring the Counsellor here with you? Don't say no, Counsellor; I'll have no demurring.”

“Mr. Finnerty,” said the Bishop, “it is impossible at present. My brother goes to Dublin to-morrow, and I must go on the following day to attend the consecration of a chapel in the metropolis.”

“Then upon my credit, your lordship will get neither the name nor description of my Facia, until you earn it by eating a dinner, and drinking a glass of claret with the Rev. Father Finnerty. Are those hard terms, Counsellor?--Ha! ha! ha! I'm not the man to put off a thing, I assure you.”

“Mr. Finnerty,” said the Bishop, smiling at, but not noticing the worthy priest's blunder about the Fucia, “if possible, I shall dine with you soon; but at present it is out of my power to appoint a day.”

“Well, well, Doctor, make your own time of it; and now for the purport of our journey. Denis O'Shaughnessy here, my lord, is a warm, respectable parishioner of mine--a man indeed for whom I have a great regard. He is reported to have inherited from his worthy father, two horns filled with guineas. His grandmother, as he could well inform your lordship, was born with a lucky caul upon her, which caul is still in the family. Isn't it so, Denis?”

“My lord, in dignity, it's truth,” replied Denis, “and from the time it came into the family they always thruv, thanks be to goodness!”

The lawyer sat eyeing the priest and Denis alternately, evidently puzzled to comprehend what such a remarkable introduction could lead to.

The Bishop seemed not to be surprised, for his features betrayed no change whatsoever.

“Having, therefore, had the necessary means of educating a son for the church, he has accordingly prepared this young man with much anxiety and expense for Maynooth.”

“Plase your lordship,” said Denis, “Docthor Finnerty is clothin' it betther than I could do. My heart is fixed upon seein' him what we all expect him to be, your lordship.”

“Mr. Finnerty,” observed the Bishop, “you seem to be intimately acquainted with O'Shaughnessy's circumstances; you appear to take a warm interest in the family, particularly in the success of his son.”

“Undoubtedly my lord; I am particularly anxious for his success.”

“You received my letter yesterday?”

“I am here to-day, my lord, in consequence of having received it. But, by the by, there was, under favor, a slight misconception on the part of your--”

“What misconception, sir!”

“Why, my lord--Counsellor, this is a--a--kind of charge his lordship is bringing against me, under a slight misconception. My lord, the fact is, that I didn't see what ecclesiastical right I had to prevent Denis here from disposing of his own property to--”

“I expect an apology from you, Mr. Finnerty, but neither a defence nor a justification. An attempt at either will not advance the interests of your young friend, believe me.”

“Then I have only to say that the wish expressed in your lordship's letter has been complied with. But wait awhile, my lord,” continued the priest, good-humoredly, “I shall soon turn the tables on yourself.”

“How is that, pray?”

“Why, my lord, the horse is in your stable, and Denis declares he will not take him out of it.”

“I have not the slightest objection to that,” replied the Bishop, “upon the express condition that his son shall never enter Maynooth.”

“For my part,” observed Mr. Finnerty, “I leave the matter now between your lordship and O'Shaughnessy himself. You may act as you please, Doctor, and so may he.”

“Mr. Finnerty, if I could suppose for a moment that the suggestion of thus influencing me originated with you, I would instantly deprive you of your parish, and make you assistant to your excellent curate, for whom I entertain a sincere regard. I have already expressed my opinion of the transaction alluded to in my letter. You have frequently offended me, Mr. Finnerty, by presuming too far upon my good temper, and by relying probably upon your own jocular disposition. Take care, sir, that you don't break down in some of your best jokes. I fear that under the guise of humor, you frequently avail yourself of the weakness, or ignorance, or simplicity of your parishioners. I hope, Mr. Finnerty, that while you laugh at the jest, they don't pay for it.”

The priest here caught the Counsellor's eye, and gave him a dry wink, not unperceived, however, by the Bishop, who could scarcely repress a smile.

“You should have known me better, Mr. Finnerty, than to suppose that any motive could influence me in deciding upon the claims of candidates for Maynooth, besides their own moral character and literary acquirements. So long as I live, this, and this alone, shall be the rule of my conduct, touching persons in the circumstances of young O'Shaughnessy.”

“My gracious lord,” said Denis, “don't be angry wid Mr. Finnerty. I'll bear it all, for it was my fau't. The horse is mine, and say what you will, out of your stable I'll never bring him. I think, wid great sibmission a man may do what he pleases wid his own.”

“Certainly,” said the Bishop; “my consent to permit your son to goto Maynooth is my own. Now this consent I will not give if you press that mode of argument upon me.”

“My Reverend Lord, as heaven's above me, I'd give all I'm worth to see the boy in Maynooth. If he doesn't go afther all our hopes, I'd break my heart.” He was so deeply affected that the large tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke.

“Will your Lordship buy the horse?” he added; “I don't want him, and you, maybe, do?”

“I do not want him,” said the Bishop, “and if I did, I would not, under the present circumstances, purchase him from you.”

“Then my boy won't get in, your lordship. And you'll neither buy the horse, nor take him as a present. My curse upon him for a horse! The first thing I'll do when I get home will be to put a bullet through him, for he has been an unlucky thief to us. Is my son aquil to the others, that came to pass your lordship?” asked Denis.

“There is none of them properly qualified,” said the Bishop. “If there be any superiority among them your son has it. He is not without natural talent, Mr. Finnerty; his translations are strong and fluent, but ridiculously pedantic. That, however, is perhaps less his fault than the fault of those who instructed him.”

“Are you anxious to dispose of the horse?” said the Counsellor.

“A single day, sir, he'll never pass in my stable,” said Denis; “he has been an unlucky baste to me an' mine, an' to all that had anything to do wid him.”

“Pray what age is he?”

“Risin' four, sir; 'deed I believe he's four all out, an' a purty devil's clip he is, as you'd wish to see.”

“Come,” said the Counsellor, rising, “let us have a look at him. Mr. Finnerty, you're an excellent judge; will you favor me with your opinion?”

The priest and he, accompanied by the two O'Shaughnessys, passed out to the stable yard, where their horses stood. As they went, Father Finnerty whispered to O'Shaughnessy:--

“Now, Denis, is your time. Strike while the iron is hot. Don't take a penny!--don't take a fraction! Get into a passion, and swear you'll shoot him unless he accepts him as a present. If he does, all's right; he can twine the Bishop round his finger.”

“I see, sir,” said Denis; “I see! Let me alone for managin' him.”

The barrister was already engaged in examining the horse's mouth, as is usual, when the priest accosted him with--

“You are transgressing etiquette in this instance, Counsellor. You know the proverb--never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“How, Mr. Finnerty?--a gift horse!”

“His Reverence is right!” exclaimed Denis: “the sorra penny ever will cross my pocket for the same horse. You must take him as he stands, sir, barrin' the bridle an' saddle, that's not my own.”

“He will take no money,” said the priest.

“Nonsense, my dear sir! Why not take a fair price for him?”

“Divil the penny will cross my pocket for him, the unlucky thief!” replied the shrewd farmer.

“Then in that case the negotiation is ended,” replied the barrister. “I certainly will not accept him as a present. Why should I? What claim have I on Mr. O'Shaughnessy?”

“I don't want you to take him,” said Denis; “I want nobody to take him: but I know the dogs of the parish 'll be pickin' his bones afore night. You may as well have him, sir, as not.”

“Is the man serious, Mr. Finnerty?”

“I never saw a man in my life having a more serious appearance, I assure you,” said the priest.

“By Jove, it's a queer business,” replied the other: “a most extraordinary affair as I ever witnessed! Why, it would be madness to destroy such a fine animal as that! The horse is an excellent one! However, I shall certainly not accept him, until I ascertain whether I can prevail upon the bishop to elect his son to this vacancy. If I can make the man no return for him, I shall let him go to the dogs.”

“Go up and set to work,” said the priest; “but remember that _tace_ is Latin for a candle. Keep his lordship in the dark, otherwise this scion is ousted.”

“True,” said the other. “In the meantime bring them into the parlor until I try what can be done.”

“Take the Bishop upon the father's affection for him,” said the priest.

“You are right. I am glad you mentioned it.”

“The poor man will break his heart,” said the priest.

“He will,” responded the Counsellor smiling.

“So will the mother, too,” said the priest, with an arch look.

“And the whole family,” replied the Counsellor.

“Go up instantly,” said the priest; “you have often got a worse fee.”

“And, perhaps, with less prospect of success,” said the other. “Gentlemen, have the goodness to walk into the parlor for a few minutes, while I endeavor to soften my brother a little, if I can, upon this untoward business.”

When the priest and his two friends entered the parlor, which was elegantly furnished, they stood for a moment to survey it.

Old Denis, however, was too much engaged in the subject which lay nearest his heart to take pleasure in anything else; at least until he should hear the priest's opinion upon the posture of affairs.

“What does your reverence think?” said Denis.

“Behave yourself,” replied the pastor. “None of your nonsense! You know what I think as well as I do myself.”

“But will Dionnisis pass?--Will he go to Maynooth?”

“Will you go to your dinner to-day, or to your bed to-night?”

“God be praised! Well, Docthor, wait till we see him off, then I'll be spakin' to you!”

“No,” said the priest; “but wait till you tike a toss upon this sofa, and then you will get a taste of ecclesiastical luxury.”

“Ay,” said Denis, “but would it be right o' me to sit in it? Maybe it's consecrated.”

“Faith, you may swear that; but it is to the ease and comfort of his lordship! Come, man, sit down, till you see how you'll sink in it.”

“Oh, murdher!” exclaimed Denis, “where am I at all? Docthor dear, am I in sight? Do you see the crown o' my head, good or bad? Oh, may I never sin, but that's great state!--Well, to be sure!”

“Ay,” said the priest, “see what it is to be a bishop in any church! The moment a man becomes a bishop, he fastens tooth and nail upon luxury, as if a mitre was a dispensation for enjoying the world that they have sworn to renounce. Dionysius, look about you! Isn't this worth studying for?”

“Yes,” replied the hitherto silent candidate, “if it was perusal on the part of his lordship that got it.”

“Upon my credit, a shrewd observation! Ah, Dionysius, merit is overlooked in every church, and in every profession; or perhaps--hem!--ehem!--perhaps some of your reverend friends might be higher up! I mean nobody; but if sound learning, and wit, and humor, together with several other virtues which I decline enumerating, could secure a mitre, why mitres might be on other brows.”

“This is surely great state,” observed the candidate; “and if it be a thing that I matriculate--”

“And yet,” said the priest, interrupting him, “this same bishop--who is, no doubt, a worthy man, but who has no natural ear for a jest--was once upon a time the priest of an indifferent good parish, like myself; ay, and a poor, cowardly, culprit-looking candidate, ready to sink into the earth, before his bishop, like you.”

“Me cowardly!” said the candidate: “I decline the insinuation altogether. It was nothing but veneration and respect, which you know we should entertain for all our spiritual superiors.”

“That's truth decidedly; though, at the same time, your nerves were certainly rather entangled, like a ravelled hank. But no matter, man; we have all felt the same in our time. Did you observe how I managed the bishop?”

“I can't say I did,” replied the candidate, who felt hurt at the imputation of cowardice before his father; “but I saw, sir, that the bishop managed you.”

“Pray for a longer vision, Dionysius. I tell you that no other priest in the diocese could have got both you and me out of the dilemma in which we stood but myself. He has taken to the study of weeds and plants in his old days; and I, who have a natural taste for botany, know it is his weak side. I tell you, he would give the right of filling a vacancy in Maynooth, any day in the year, for a rare plant or flower. So much for your knowledge of human nature. You'll grant I managed the Counsellor?”

“Between my father and you, sir, things look well. We have not, however, got a certificate of success yet.”

“_Patientia fit levior ferendo!_--Have patience, man. Wait till we see the Counsellor!”

He had scarcely uttered the last words when that gentleman entered.

“Well, Counsellor,” said the priest, “is it a hit?”

“Pray what is your Christian name, Mr. O'Shaughnessy?” inquired the lawyer o! young Denis.

“My Christian name, sir,” replied Denis, “is Di-o-ny-si-us O'Shaughnessy. That, sir, is the name by which I am always appellated.”

“That's quite sufficient,” said the other, “I shall be with you again in a few minutes.”

“But won't you give us a hint, my good sir, as to how the land lies?” said the priest, as the lawyer left the room.

“Presently, Mr. Finnerty, presently.”

“Intelligisme, Dionisi?”

“Vix, Domine. Quid sentis?”

“Quid sentis! No, but it was good fortune sent us. Don't you persave, Dionysius, and you, Denis--don't you know, I say, that this letter of admission couldn't be written except the bishop knew his name in full? Unlucky! Faith if ever a horse was lucky this is he.”

“I declare, Docthor,” said the father, “I can neither sit nor stand, nor think of any one thing for a minute, I'm so much on the fidgets to know what the Bishop 'ill say.”

“I also,” said Dionysius, “am in state of evaporation and uncertainty touching the same point. However, this I can affirm with veracity, that if I am rejected, my mind is made up to pursue an antithetical course of life altogether. If he rejects me now, he will never reject me again.”

“Musha, how--Denny--Dionysis, avick? What do you mane?” said the father.

“I will give,” said the son, “what is designated a loose translation of my meaning to Mr. Finnerty here, if I find that I am excluded on this occasion.”

“And if you do succeed,” said the priest, “I would advise you to hire a loose translator during the remainder of your residence among us; for upon my veracity, Dionysius, the King's English will perform hard duty until you enter Maynooth. Not a word under six feet will be brought into the ranks--grenadiers every one of them, not to mention the thumpers you will coin.”

“Come, Docthor Finnerty,” said our candidate, pulling up a little, “if the base Latin which you put into circulation were compared with my English thumpers, it would be found that of the two, I am more legitimate and etymological.”

“I shall be happy to dispute that point with you another time,” said the priest, “when we can--Silence, here comes the Counsellor.”

“Mr. O'Shaughnessy,” said the lawyer, addressing the candidate, “allow me to congratulate you on your success! Your business is accomplished. The Bishop is just finishing a letter for you to the President of Maynooth. I assure you, I feel great pleasure at your success.”

“Accept my thanks, sir,” said Denis, whose eye was instantly lit up with delight--“accept my most obsequious thanks to the very furthest extent of my gratitude.”

The Barrister then shook hands with old Denis. “O'Shaughnessy,” said he, “I am very happy that I have had it in my power to serve you and your son.”

“Counsellor,” said Denis, seizing his hand in both of his--“Counsellor, _ahagur machree_ Counsellor, oh, what--what--can I say!--Is he--is it possible--is it thruth that my boy is to go to Maynewth this time? Oh, if you knew, but knew, the heavy, dead weight you tuck off o' my heart! Our son not cast aside--not disgraced!--for what else would the people think it? The horse!--a poor bit of a coult--a poor unsignified animal! To the devil wid him. What is he compared to the joy an' delight of this minute? Take him, sir; take him--an' if he was worth his weight in goold, I vow to Heaven above me, I'd not think him too good. Too good!--no, nor half good enough for you. God remimber this to you! an' he will, too. Little you know the happiness you have given us, Counsellor! Little you know it. But no matther! An' you, too, Father Finnerty, helped to bring this about. But sure you were ever an' always our friend! Well, no matther--no matther! God will reward you both.”

“My brother wishes me to see Mr. Finnerty and your son,” said the barrister; “I think they had better go up to him. He is anxious to get a slip of your shrub, Mr. Finnerty.”

“Ah, I thought so,” said the priest--“I thought as much.”

The Bishop, on their reappearance, presented Denis with the long wished-for letter. He then gave him a suitable exhortation with reference to the serious and responsible duties for which he was about to prejjare himself. After concluding his admonition, he addressed Father Finnerty as follows:

“Now Mr. Finnerty, this matter has ended in a manner satisfactory, not only to your young friend, but to yourself. You must promise me that there shall be no more horse-dealing. I do not think jockeying of that description either creditable or just. I am unwilling to use harsher language, but I could not conscientiously let it pass without reproof. In the next place, will you let me have a slip of that flowering shrub you boast of?”

“Doctor,” said the priest, “is it possible you ask it of me? Why, I think your lordship ought to know that it's your own, as is every plant and flower in my garden that you fancy. Do you dine at home to-morrow, my lord?”

“I do,” said the Bishop. “Well, then, I shall come up with a slip or two of it, and dine with you. I know the situation in which it grows best; and knowing this, I will put it down with my own hands. But I protest, my lord, against you allowing me to be traced in the business of the shrub at all, otherwise I shall have the whole county on my back.”

“Be under no apprehension of that, Mr. Finnerty. I shall be happy if you dine with me; but bring it with you. How did you come to get it so early after its appearance in this country?”

“I got it from headquarters, Doctor---from one of the best botanists in the three kingdoms; certainly from the best Irish botanist living--my friend, Mr Mackay, of the College Botanic Gardens. My lord, I wish you good morning; but before I go, accept my thanks for your kindness to my young friend. I assure you he will be a useful man; for he is even now no indifferent casuist.”

“And I, my lord,” said Denis, “return you my most grateful--hem--my most grateful--and--most supercilious thanks for the favor--the stupendous favor you have conferred upon me.”

“God bless you, my dear child,” returned the bishop; “but if you be advised by me, speak more intelligibly. Use plain words, and discard all difficult and pedantic expressions. God bless you! Farewell!”

On coming down, they found old Denis in the stable-yard in rather a ridiculous kind of harness. The saddle that had been on the colt was strapped about him with the bridle, for both had been borrowed from a neighbor.

“Dionnisis an' I must both ride the same horse,” said he, “an' as we have two saddles, I must carry one of them.”

An altercation then ensued as to which should ride foremost. The son, now in high glee, insisted on the father's taking the seat of honor; but the father would not hear of this. The lad was, in his opinion, at least semi-clerical, and to ride behind would be a degradation to so learned a youth. They mounted at length, the son foremost, and the father on the crupper, the saddle strapped about him, with the stirrups dangling by the horse's flanks. Father Finnerty, who accompanied them, could not, however, on turning from the bishop's grounds into the highway, get a word out of them. The truth is, both their hearts were full; both were, therefore, silent, and thought every minute an hour until they reached home.

This was but natural. A man may conceal calamity or distress even from his dearest friends; for who is there who wishes to be thrust back from his acknowledged position in life? Or who, when he is thrust back, will not veil his misfortunes or his errors with the guise of indifference or simulation? In good fortune we act differently. It is a step advanced; an elevation gained; there is nothing to fear, or to be ashamed of, and we are strongly prompted by vanity to proclaim it to the world, as we are by pride to ascribe its occurrence to our own talents or virtues. There are other and purer motives for this. The affections will not be still; they seek the hearts to which they tend; and having found them, the mutual interchange of good takes place. Father Finnerty--whose heart, though a kind one, had, probably, been too long out of practice to remember the influence and working of the domestic affections--could not comprehend the singular conduct of the two O'Shaughnessys.

“What the devil is the matter with you?” he inquired. “Have you lost the use of your speech?”

“Push an' avourneen,” said the father to Denis--“push an; lay the spur to him. Isn't your spur on the right foot?”

“Most certainly,” said Denis, now as pedantic as ever--“most certainly it is. You are not to be informed that our family spur is a right-foot spur.”

“Well, then, Peter Gallagher's spur that I have an is a left-foot spur, for it's an my left foot.”

“You are a bright pair,” said the priest, somewhat nettled at their neglect of him--“you are a bright pair, and deeply learned in spurs. Can't you ride asier?”