“Well,” said Father Peter, “I think that dog was nothing more or less than a downright cur, that deserved the lash nine times a day, if it was only for his want of respect to the clergy; if he had given me such insolence, I solemnly declare I would have bate the devil out of him with a hazel cudgel, if I failed to exorcise him with a prayer.” Father Ned looked at the simple and credulous curate with an expression of humor and astonishment. “Paddy,” said he to the servant, “will you let us know what the night's doing?” Paddy looked out. “Why, your Rev'rence, it's a fine night, all out, and cleared up it is bravely.” At this moment the stranger awoke. “Sir,” said Father Ned, “you missed an amusing story, in consequence of your somnolency.” “Though I missed the story,” replied the stranger, “I was happy enough to hear your friend's critique upon the dog.” Father Ned seemed embarrassed; the curate, on the contrary, exclaimed with triumph--“but wasn't I right, sir?” “Perfectly,” said the stranger; “the moral you applied was excellent.” “Good-night, boys,” said Father Ned--“good-night, Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandrinus!” “Good-night, boys,” said Father Peter, imitating Father Ned, whom he looked upon as a perfect model of courtesy--“Good-night, boys--good night, Mr. Longinus Polysyllabus Alexandrinus.” “Good-night,” replied the stranger--“good-night, Doctor Edward Deleery; and good-night, Doctor Peter M'Clatchaghan--good-night.” When the clergymen were gone, the circle about the fire, excepting the members of Ned's family and the stranger, dispersed to their respective homes; and thus ended the amusement of that evening. After they had separated, Ned, whose curiosity respecting the stranger was by no means satisfied, began to sift him in his own peculiar manner, as they both sat at the fire. “Well, sir,” said Ned, “barring the long play-acther that tumbles upon the big stage in the street of our market-town, here below, I haven't seen so long a man this many a day; and, barring your big whiskers, the sorra one of your honor's unlike him. A fine portly vagabone he is, indeed--a big man, and a bigger rogue, they say, for he pays nobody.” “Have you got such a company in your neighborhood?” inquired the stranger, with indifference. “We have, sir,” said Ned, “but, plase goodness, they'll soon be lashed like hounds from the place--the town boys are preparing to give them a chivey some fine morning out of the country.” “Indeed!--he--hem! that will be very spirited of the town boys,” said the stranger dryly. “That's a smart looking horse your honor rides,” observed Ned; “did he carry you far to-day, with submission?”