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.”