nt of character was known, the mischief-loving girls uniformly
ended with a threat of exposing him to the priest, to his friends, or to
the neighbors, as the whim directed them. This brought him back to his
morality again; he immediately commenced an exhortation touching their
religious duties, thus hoping to cover, by a trait more becoming
his future destination, the little harmless badinage in which he had
indulged.

The girls themselves frequently made him the topic of conversation, a
proof that he was not altogether indifferent to them. In these little
conclaves he came very well off. Among them all it was admitted "that
there was a rogue in his coat;" but this was by no means uttered in a
tone of voice that betrayed any disrelish to him. On the contrary, they
often said--and many of them with an involuntary sigh--that "he was too
purty to be made a priest of;" others, that "it was a pity to make a
priest of so fine a young man;" others, again, that "if he must be a
priest, the colleens would be all flockin' to hear his sarmons." There
was one, however, among them who never mentioned him either in praise or
censure; but the rapid changes of her expressive countenance gave
strong indications to an observing eye that his name, person, and future
prospects were capable of exciting a deep and intense interest in her
heart.

At length he began to appear on horseback; and as he had hitherto been
in the habit of taking that exercise bare-backed, now he was resolved
to get into a saddle, and ride like a gentleman. Henceforth he might be
seen mounted upon one of his father's horses, quite erect, and with but
one spur, which was, in fact, the only spur, except the whiskey bottle,
that had been in the family for three generations. This was used, he
declared, for no other purpose in life than that of "stimulating the
animal to the true clerical trot."

From the moment he became a mounted man he assumed an air of less
equivocal command in the family; and not only to his own relations was
this authority manifested, but to his more distant acquaintances, and,
in short, to the whole parish. The people now began to touch their hats
to him, which act of respect he returned as much in imitation of the
parish priest as possible. They also began to ask him what o'clock
it was, and Denis, with a peculiar condescension, balanced still with
becoming dignity, stopped, pulled out his watch, and told the hour,
after which he held it for a