When Phaddhy, on the Sunday in question, heard the public notice given of the Station about to be held in his house, notwithstanding his correct knowledge of Father Philemy’s character, on which he looked with a competent portion of contempt, he felt a warmth of pride about his heart, that arose from the honor of having a station, and of entertaining the clergy, in their official capacity, under his own roof, and at his own expense—­that gave him, he thought, a personal consequence, which even the “stockin’ of guineas” and the Linaskey farm were unable, of themselves, to confer upon him.  He did enjoy, ’tis true, a very fair portion of happiness on succeeding to his brother’s property; but this would be a triumph over the envious and ill-natured remarks which several of his neighbors and distant relations had taken the liberty of indulging in against him, on the occasion of his good fortune.  He left the chapel, therefore, in good spirits, whilst Briney, on the contrary, hung a lip of more melancholy pendency than usual, in dread apprehension of the examination that he expected to be inflicted on him by his Reverence at the station.

Before I introduce the conversation which took place between Phaddhy and Briney, as they went home, on the subject of this literary ordeal, I must observe, that there is a custom, hereditary in some Irish families, of calling fathers by their Christian names, instead of by the usual appellation of “father.”  This usage was observed, not only by Phaddhy and his son, but by all the Phaddys of that family, generally.  Their surname was Doran, but in consequence of the great numbers in that part of the country who bore the same name, it was necessary as of old, to distinguish the several branches of it by the Christian names of their fathers and grandfathers, and sometimes this distinction went as far back as the great-grandfather.  For instance—­Phaddhy Sheemus Phaddhy, meant Phaddhy, the son of Sheemus, the son of Phaddhy; and his son, Briney, was called, Brian Phaddy Sheemus Phaddy, or, anglice, Bernard the son of Patrick, the son of James, the son of Patrick.  But the custom of children calling fathers, in a viva voce manner, by their Christian names, was independent of the other more general usage of the patronymic.

“Well, Briney,” said Phaddy, as the father and son returned home, cheek by jowl from the chapel, “I suppose Father Philemy will go very deep in the Latin wid ye on Thursday; do ye think ye’ll be able to answer him?”

“Why, Phaddhy,” replied Briney, “how could I be able to answer a clargy?—­doesn’t he know all the languages, and I’m only in the Fibulae AEsiopii yet.”

“Is that Latin or Greek, Briney?”

“It’s Latin, Phaddhy.”

“And what’s the translation of that?”

“It signifies the Fables of AEsiopius.”

“Bliss my sowl! and Briney, did ye consther that out of yer own head?”

“Hogh! that’s little of it.  If ye war to hear me consther Gallus Gallinaceus, a dunghill cock?”