“Very true, Captain, and we do see it in as many shapes as ever--Con, what do you call him?--put on him.” “Proteus,” subjoined Con, who was famous at the classics. Father Philemy nodded for the assistance, and continued--“but as for human nature, Captain, give it to me at a good rousing christening; or what is better again, at a jovial wedding between two of my own parishioners--say this pretty fair-haired daughter of Phaddhy Shemus Phaddhy's here, and long Ned Slevin, Parrah More's son there--eh Phaddhy, will it be a match?--what do you say, Parrah More? Upon my veracity I must bring that about.” “Why, then, yer Reverence,” replied Phaddhy, who was now a little softened, and forgot his enmity against Parrah More for the present, “unlikelier things might happen.” “It won't be my fault,” said Parrah More, “if my son Ned has no objection.” “He object!” replied Father Philemy, “if' I take it in hands, let me see who'll dare to object; doesn't the Scripture say it? and sure we can't go against the Scripture.” “By the by,” said Captain Wilson, who was a dry humorist, “I am happy to be able to infer from what you say, Father Philemy, that you are not, as the clergymen of your church are supposed to be, inimical to the Bible.” “Me an enemy to the Bible! no such thing, sir; but, Captain, begging your pardon we will have nothing more about the bible; you see we are met here, as friends and good fellows, to enjoy ourselves after the severity of our spiritual duties, and we must relax a little; we can't always carry long faces like Methodist parsons--come, Pairah More, let the Bible take a nap, and give us a song.” His Reverence was now seconded in his motion by the most of all present, and Parrah More accordingly gave them a song. After a few songs more, the conversation went on as before. “Now, Parrah More,” said Phaddhy, “you must try my wine; I hope it's as good as what you gave his Reverence yesterday.” The words, however, had scarcely passed his lips, when Father Philemy burst out into a fit of laughter, clapping and rubbing his hands in a manner the most irresistible. “Oh, Phaddhy, Phaddhy!” shouted his Reverence, laughing heartily, “I done you for once--I done you, my man, cute as you thought yourself: why, you nager you, did you think to put us off with punch, and you have a stocking of hard guineas hid in a hole in the wall?” “What does yer Rev'rence mane,” said Phaddhy; “for myself can make no understanding out of it, at all at all?” To this his Reverence only replied by another laugh. “I gave his Reverence no wine,” said Parrah More, in reply to Phaddhy's question. “What!” said Phaddhy, “none yesterday, at the station held with you?” “Not a bit of me ever thought of it.” “Nor no mutton?” “Why, then, devil a morsel of mutton, Phaddhy; but we had a rib of beef.”