ate, such woe-begone shades of distress flitting occasionally
across his feature, as rendered his countenance inscrutably enigmatical.

When the usual interchange of preliminary conversation had passed,
Denis took his seat beside her on the grassy bench; and after looking
in several directions, and giving half a dozen hems, he thus accosted
her:--

"Susan, cream of my affections, I may venture to conjecture that the
fact, or _factum_, of my being the subject of _fama clamosa_ today, has
not yet reached your ears?"

"Now, Denis, you are at your deep larning from the books again. Can't
you keep your reading for them that undherstands it, an' not be spakin'
so Englified to a simple girl like me?"

"There is logic in that same, however. Do you know, Susan, I have often
thought that, provided always you had resaved proper instruction, you
would have made a first-rate classical scholar."

"So you tould me, Denis, the Sunday we exchanged the promise. But sure
when you get me, I can larn it. Won't you tache me, Denis?"

She turned her laughing eyes archly at him as she spoke, with a look of
joy and affection: it was a look, indeed, that staggered for the moment
every ecclesiastical resolution within him. He returned her glance, and
ran over the features of her pure and beautiful countenance for some
minutes; then, placing his open hand upon his eyes, he seemed buried in
reflection. At length he addressed her:--

"Susan, I am thinking of that same Sunday evening on which we exchanged
the hand-promise. I say, Susan,--_dimidium animae meae_--I am in the
act of meditating upon it; and sorry am I to be compel--to be under the
neces--to be reduced, I say--that is redact as in the larned langua--:
in other words--or terms, indeed, is more elegant--in other terms,
then, Susan, I fear that what I just now alluded to, touching the _fama
clamosa_ which is current about me this day, will render that promise a
rather premature one on both our parts. Some bachelors in my situation
might be disposed to call it foolish, but I entertain a reverence--a
veneration for the feelings of the feminine sex, that inclines me to use
the mildest and most classical language in divulging the change that has
taken place in my fortunes since I saw you last."

"What do you mane, Denis?" inquired Susan, suddenly ceasing to knit, and
fixing her eyes upon him with a glance of alarm.

"To be plain, Susy, I find that Maynooth is my destination. It has been