“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.”