exhibiting. For some time before he got absolutely and finally into black, even his father gave up his accustomed argument in despair. The son had become an adept in all the intricacies and obscurities of Latin, and literally overwhelmed the old man with small inundations of that language, which though, like all inundations, rather muddy, yet were they quite sufficient to sweep the worthy veteran before them. Young Denis O'Shaughnessy was now pretty nearly finished at school, that is to say, almost fit for Maynooth; his studies, though higher, were less assiduous; his leisure was consequently greater; and it is well known, that a person of his character is never asked to work, except it be his own pleasure to labor a day or two, by way of amusement. He might now be seen walking of a warm day along the shady sides of the hedges, with a book in his hand, or stretched listlessly upon the grass, at study; or sauntering about among the neighboring workmen, with his forefinger between the leaves of his book, a monument of learning and industry. It is not to be supposed, however, that Denis, who was an Irishman of eighteen, handsome and well made, could be altogether insensible to female beauty, and seductive charms of the sex. During his easy saunterings--or, as the Scotch say, “daunerings”--along the roads and about the green hedges, it often happened that he met a neighbor's daughter; and Denis, who, as a young gentleman of breeding, was bound to be courteous, could not do less than accost her with becoming urbanity. “Good-mornin', Miss Norah,” we will suppose him to say, when meeting a good-looking arch girl of his acquaintance. “Good-morrow, Mr. O'Shaughnessy. I hope you're well, sir.” “Indeed I am, at present, in superlatively ecclesiastical health, Miss Norah. I hope all your family are well?” “All very well, I thank you, sir, barrin' myself.” “An' pray what's the matther wid you, Miss Norah? I hope” (with an exceeding grave but complacent smile) “you're not affected wid the amorous passion of love?” “Oh, that 'ud be tellin', Mr. O'Shaughnessy! But supposin' I am, what ought I to do?” “That's really a profound question, Miss Norah. But though I cannot tell you what to do, I can tell you what I think.” “An' what is that, sir?” “Why, Miss Norah, that he who is so beatified as to secure you in the matrimonial paction--_compactum_ it is in the larned languages--in other words--to condescend to your capacity--he who is married to you will be a happy man. There is a juvenility about your eyes, and an efflorescence of amaranthine odoriferousness about your cheeks and breath that are enough to communicate the centrifugal motion to any brain adorned with the slightest modicum of sentiment.”