“I see you never heard it, and, as the lawyers say, the rule will apply. I 'll tell it to you. When Peter was dying, he sent for old Rush of the Priory to give him absolution; he would not have the parish priest, for he was a 'hard man,' as Peter said, with little compassion for human weakness, never loved pork nor 'poteen,' but seemed to have a relish for fasts and vigils. 'Rush will do,' said he to all the family applications in favor of the other,--'I 'll have Father Rush;' and so he had, and Rush came, and they were four hours at it, for Peter had a long score of reminiscences to bring up, and it was not without considerable difficulty, it is said, that Rush could apply the remedies of the Church to the various infractions of the old sinner. At last, however, it was arranged, and Peter lay back in bed very tired and fatigued; for, I assure you, Gleeson, whatever you may think of it, confessing one's iniquities is excessively wearying to the spirits. 'Is it all right, Father?' said he, as the good priest counted over the roll of ragged bank-notes that were to be devoted to the purchase of different masses and offerings. 'It will do well,' said Rush; 'make your mind easy, your peace is made now.' 'And are you sure it's quite safe?' said Peter; 'a pound more or less is nothing now compared to--what you know,'--for Peter was polite, and followed the poet's counsel. ''Tis safe and sure both,' said Rush; 'I have the whole of the sins under my thumb now, and don't fret yourself.' 'Take another thirty shillings then, Father,' said he, pushing the note over to him, 'and let Whaley have the two barrels of seed oats--the smut is in them, and they 're not worth sixpence; but, when we are at it, Father, dear, let us do the thing complete: what signifies a trifle like that among the rest?' Such was Peter's philosophy, Gleeson, and, if not very laudable as he applied it, it would seem to suit our present emergency remarkably well.” Gleeson vouchsafed but a very sickly smile as the Knight finished, and, taking up a bundle of papers from the table, proceeded to search for something amongst them. “This loss was most inopportune, sir--” “No doubt of it, Gleeson; it were far better had I won my wager,” said the Knight, half testily; but the agent, scarce noticing the interruption, went on:-- “Mr. Lionel has drawn on me for seven hundred, and so late as Wednesday last I was obliged to meet a bill of his amounting to twelve hundred and eighty pounds. Thus, you will perceive that he has this year overdrawn his allowance considerably. He seems to have been as unlucky as yourself, sir.” Soft and silky as the accents were, there was a tincture of sarcasm in the way these words were uttered that did not escape Darcy's notice; but he made no reply, and appeared to listen attentively as the other resumed:--