fellow, who loved his glass, his dog, his gun, and, if fame did not belie him, paid more devotion to his own enjoyments than he did to his Bible.  He dressed in the extreme of fashion, and was a regular dandy parson of that day.  There also was!  Father Magauran, the parish priest, a rosy-faced, jovial little man, with a humorous! twinkle in his blue eye, and an anterior rotundity of person that betokened a moderate relish for the convivialities.  Altogether it was a merry meeting; and of the host himself it might be said that he held as conspicuous a place in the mirth as he did in the hospitality.

“Come, gentleman,” said he, after the ladies had retired to the withdrawing-room, “come, gentlemen, fill high; fill your glasses.”

“Troth,” said the priest, “we’d put a heap on them, if we could.”

“Right, Father Magauran; do put a heap on them, if you can; but, at all events, let them be brimmers; I’m going to propose a toast.”

“Let it be a lady, Lindsay, if you love me,” said the parson, filling his glass.

“Sorra hair I care if it is,” said the priest, “provided she’s dacent and attends her duty; go on, squire; give us her name at once, and don’t keep the parson’s teeth watering.”

“Be quiet, reverend gentlemen,” said Lindsay, laughing; “how can a man speak when you take the words out of his mouth?”

“The Lord forbid we’d swallow them, though,” subjoined the parson; “if we did, we’d not be long in a state of decent sobriety.”

“Talk about something you understand, my worthy friends, and, allow me to proceed,” replied the host; “don’t you know that every interruption keeps you from your glass?  Gentlemen, I have great pleasure in proposing the health of my excellent and worthy step-son, who has, after a long absence, made me and all my family happy by his return amongst us.  I am sure you will all like him when you come to know him, and that the longer you know him, the better you will like him.  Come now, let me see the bottom of every man’s glass uppermost.  I do not address myself directly to the parson or the priest, because that, I know, would be, as the latter must admit, a want of confidence in their kindness.

“Parson,” said the priest, in a whisper, “that last observation is gratifying from Lindsay.”

“Lindsay is a gentleman,” replied the other, in the same voice; “and the most popular magistrate in the barony.  Come, then.”

Here the worthy gentleman’s health was drank with great enthusiasm, after which he thanked them in very grateful and courteous terms, paying at the same time, some rather handsome compliments to the two clergymen with respect to the appropriate gravity and exquisite polish of their manners.  He saw the rapidity with which they had gulped down the wine, and felt their rudeness in interrupting Mr. Lindsay, when about to propose his health, as offensive, and he retorted it upon them with peculiar irony, that being one of the talents, which, among others, he had inherited from his mother.