rank of life, I would not press her; but I know there is not, and for that reason she loses nothing, and gains the privilege--the power--of extorting homage from the proud, the insolent, and the worthless. This is the triumph she shall and must enjoy.” Gibson then entered, and the baronet, on hearing his foot, threw himself into a languid and invalid attitude. “Gibson,” said he, “I am very unwell; I apprehend a serious attack of illness.” “I trust not, sir.” “If any person should call, I am ill, observe, and not in a condition to see them.” “Very well, sir.” “Unless you should suspect, or ascertain, that it is some person on behalf of Miss Gourlay; and even then, mark, I am very ill indeed, and you do not think me able to speak to any one; but will come in and see.” “Yes, sir; certainly sir.” “There, then, that will do.” The priest, on leaving the baronet's residence, was turning his steps toward the hotel in which the stranger had put up, when his messenger to Constitution Hill approaching put his hand to his hat, and respectfully saluted him. “I beg your pardon, sir,” said he, “and I am sorry, now that I know who you are, for the trouble you got into.” “Thank you, my friend,” said the priest; “I felt it wouldn't signify, knowing in my conscience that I was no robber. In the meantime, I got one glimpse of your metropolitan life, as they call it, and the Lord knows I never wish to get another. Troth, I was once or twice so confounded with the noise and racket, that I thought I had got into purgatory by mistake.” “Tut, sir, that's nothing,” replied Skipton; “we were very calm and peaceable this morning; but with respect to that baronet, he's a niggardly fellow. Only think of him, never once offering us the slightest compensation for bringing him home his property! There's not another man in Ireland would send us off empty-handed as he did. The thing's always usual on recovering property.” “Speak for yourself, in the singular number, if you plaise; you don't imagine that I wanted compensation.” “No, sir, certainly not; but I'm just thinking,” he added, after curiously examining Father M'Mahon's face for some time, “that you and I met before somewhere.” “Is that the memory you have?” said the priest, “when you ought to recollect that we met this morning, much against my will, I must say.” “I don't mean that,” said the man; “but I think I saw you once in a lunatic asylum.” “Me, in a lunatic asylum?” exclaimed the good priest, somewhat indignantly. “The thing's a bounce, my good man, before you go farther. The little sense I've had has been sufficient, thank goodness, to keep me free from such establishments.” “I don't mean that, sir,” replied the other, smiling, “but if I don't mistake, you once brought a clergyman of our persuasion to the lunatic asylum in ------.”