“Mad!--Three men up--and you can’t enter, Harry. Well, what is he mad about?” “Because of the presentation to the living,” replied the priest, “which government wouldn’t make him a compliment of, as he expected.” “He is always expecting compliments from government,” said Corny, “and always getting disappointments. Such throws as you have, Harry--Sixes! again--Well, what luck!--all over with me--It is only a hit at any rate! But what kind of man,” continued he, “is this new clergyman?” “Oh! them parsons is all one kind,” said Father Jos. “All one kind! No, no more than our own priests,” said Corny. “There’s good and bad, and all the difference in life.” “I don’t know any thing at all about it,” said Father Jos, sullenly; “but this I know, that no doubt he’ll soon be over here, or his proctor, looking for the tithes.” “I hope we will have no quarrels,” said Corny. “They ought to be abolished,” said Father Jos, “the tithes, that is, I mean.” “And the quarrels, too, I hope,” said Ormond. “Oh! It’s not our fault if there’s quarrels,” said Father Jos. “Faults on both sides generally in all quarrels,” said Corny. “In lay quarrels, like enough,” said Father Jos. “In church quarrels, it don’t become a good Catholic to say that.” “What?” said Corny. “_That_,” said the priest. “Which?” said Corny. “That which you said, that there’s faults on both sides; sure there’s but one side, and that’s our own side, can be in the right there can’t be two _right sides_, can there? and consequently there won’t be two wrong sides, will there?--Ergo, there cannot, by a parity of rasoning, be two sides in the wrong.” “Well, Harry, I’ll take the black men now, and gammon you,” said Corny. “Play away, man--what are you thinking of? is it of what Father Jos said? ‘tis beyond the limits of the human understanding.” Father Jos puffed away at his pipe for some time. “I was tired and ashamed of all the wrangling for two-pence with the last man,” said King Corny, “and I believe I was sometimes too hard and too hot myself; but if this man’s a gentleman, I think we shall agree. Did you hear his name, or any thing at all about him, Father?” “He is one of them refugee families, the Huguenots, banished France by the adict of Nantz, they say, and his name’s Cambray.” “Cambray!” exclaimed Ormond. “A very good name,” said O’Shane; “but what do you know of it, Harry?” “Only, sir, I happened to meet with a Dr. Cambray the winter I was in Dublin, whom I thought a very agreeable, respectable, amiable man--and I wonder whether this is the same person.” “There is something more now, Harry Ormond, I know by your face,” said Corny: “there’s some story of or belonging to Dr. Cambray--what is it?” “No story, only a slight circumstance--which, if you please, I’d rather not tell you, sir,” said Ormond. “That is something very extraordinary, and looks mysterious,” said Father Jos.