veiled by an assumed expression of an opposite I nature, that although the general inference was true, the hypocrisy of the whole face made it individually false.  Let us suppose, by way of illustration, that a man whose heart is full of joy successfully puts on a look of grief, and vice versa.  Of course, the physiognomist will be mistaken in the conclusions he draws from each individual expression, although correct in perceiving that there are before him the emotions of joy and grief; the only difference being, that dissimulation has put wrong labels upon each emotion.

“Anthony,” said his reverence, after having taken a seat, “I am sorry to see such a change upon you for the worse.  You are very much broken down since I saw you last; and although I don’t wish to become a messenger of bad news, I feel, that as a clergyman, it is my duty to tell you so.”

“Troth, your reverence,” replied the other, “I’m sorry that so far as bad looks go I must return the compliment.  It grieves me:  to see you look so ill, sir.”

“I know I look ill,” replied the other; “and I know too that these hints are sent to us in mercy, with a fatherly design on the part of our Creator, that we may make the necessary preparations for the change, the awful change that is before us.”

“Oh, indeed, sir, it’s true enough,” replied Corbet, whose visage had become much blanker at this serious intimation, notwithstanding his hypocrisy; “it’s true enough, sir; too true, indeed, if we could only remember it as we ought.  Have you been unwell, sir?”

“Not in my bodily health, thank God, but I’ve got into trouble; and what is more, I’m coming to you, Anthony, with a firm I hope that you will bring me out of it.”

“The trouble can’t be very great then,” replied the apprehensive old knave, “or I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“Anthony,” said the priest, “I have known you a long time, now forty years at least, and you need not be told that I’ve stood by some of your friends when they wanted it.  When your daughter ran away with that M’Bride, I got him to marry her, a thing he was very unwilling to do; and which I believe, only for me, he would not have done.  On that occasion you know I advanced twenty guineas to enable them to begin the world, and to keep the fellow with her; and I did this all for the best, and not without the hope either that you would see me reimbursed for what you ought, as her father, to have given them yourself.  I spoke to you once or twice about it, but you lent me the deaf ear, as they call it, and from that day to this you never had either the manliness or the honesty to repay me.”

“Ay,” replied Corbet, with one of his usual grins, “you volunteered to be generous to a profligate, who drank it, and took to the army.”

“Do you then volunteer to be generous to an honest man; I will neither drink It nor take to the army.  If he took to the army, he didn’t do so without taking your daughter along with him.  I spoke to Sir Edward Gourlay, who threatened to write to his colonel; and through the interference of the same humane gentleman I got permission for him to bring his wife along with him.  These are circumstances that you ought not to forget, Anthony.”