“Thank goodness, he’s comin’ at last; I see somebody dressed in black ridin’ down the upper end of Tim Marly’s boreen, an’ I’m sure an’ certain it must be Denis, from his dress!”

“I’ll warrant it is, my colleen,” replied her father; “he said he’d be here before the dinner would be ready, an’ it’s widin a good hour of that.  I’ll thry myself.”

He and his daughter once more went out; but, alas! only to experience a fresh disappointment.  Instead of Denis, it was Father Finnerty; who, it appeared, felt as anxious to be in time for dinner, as the young candidate himself could have done.  He was advancing at a brisk trot, not upon the colt which had been presented to him, but upon his old nag, which seemed to feel as eager to get at Denis’s oats, as its owner did to taste his mutton.

“I see, Susy, we’ll have a day of it, plase goodness,” observed Denis to the girl; “here’s Father Finnerty, and I wouldn’t for more nor I’ll mention that he had staid away:  and I hope the coidjuther will come as well as himself.  Do you go in, aroon, and tell them he’s comin’, and I’ll go and meet him.”

Most of Denis’s friends were now assembled, dressed in their best apparel, and Raised to the highest pitch of good humor; no man who knows the relish with which Irishmen enter into convivial enjoyments, can be ignorant of the remarkable flow of spirits which the prospect of an abundant and hospitable dinner produces among them.

Father Finnerty was one of those priests who constitute a numerous species in Ireland; regular, but loose and careless in the observances of his church, he could not be taxed with any positive neglect of pastoral duty.  He held his stations at stated times and places, with great exactness, but when the severer duties annexed to them were performed, he relaxed into the boon companion, sang his song, told his story, laughed his laugh, and occasionally danced his dance, the very beau ideal of a rough, shrewd, humorous divine, who, amidst the hilarity of convivial mirth, kept an eye to his own interest, and sweetened the severity with which he exacted his “dues” by a manner at once jocose and familiar.  If a wealthy farmer had a child to christen, his reverence declined baptizing it in the chapel, but as a proof of his marked respect for its parents, he and his curate did them the honor of performing the ceremony at their own house.  If a marriage was to be solemnized, provided the parties were wealthy, he adopted the same course, and manifested the same flattering marks of his particular esteem for the parties, by attending at their residence; or if they preferred the pleasure of a journey to his own house, he and his curate accompanied them home from the same motives.  This condescension, whilst it raised the pride of the parties, secured a good dinner and a pleasant evening’s entertainment for the priests, enhanced their humility exceedingly, for the more they enjoyed themselves, the more highly