heavy in his intellect and easy in his temper, except when powerfully provoked, or when a point was to be gained. Molshy was also of a placid disposition, unless upon rare occasions, and both, as I have said before, were admirably adapted to each other. In this way they lived a pattern of conjugal attachment to their neighbours, whilst in fairs and markets they were equally conspicuous for a social spirit. No two, standing in the same relation towards each other, ever took their naggin or half pint with greater comfort, or set the world more decidedly at defiance after they had taken it. The period for Molshy's confinement however, was now drawing near, and Bosthoon was literally on the tiptoe of expectation. His manner and disposition were now considerably changed. Instead of crooning over the old lachrymose airs which he was accustomed to dole out with such a dismal drawl, he confined himself altogether to brisk and lively tunes, such as Drops of Brandy," "The Black Joke," "Deed an' you Sha'nt," "Harvest Home," and others that were of a cheerful and appropriate character; for Bosthoon, in something of a prophetic spirit and a grateful heart, considered it as a time very proper for rejoicing.

"Out wid it-out wid it."

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Why, ha, ha, ha-throth I can't help laughin' myself. I dhramed thin that I was brought to bed of a blackthorn staff, wid a priest's surplus on the one end of it, an' the sorra purtier blackthorn ever my eyes beheld.”

Now, whenever Bosthoon was sorely puzzled, his countenance assumed an expression of most significant vacancy. On this occasion the earnest stare remained, but all the other features of his face became lapsed or entangled into each other, in a manner so ludicrously grave and perplexed, that nothing but great command of muscle could prevent a stranger on looking at them from indulging in excessive mirth. “Oyeh Molsh! brought to bed of a Blackthorn!"

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Only in my dhrame, sure."

Derrydages !-be the shamrock, there's something in that, Molsh! How will we get the sinse out of it?"

"I'm not out o' the notion of goin' to the priest about it. Father M'Flewsther, they say, knows everything."

"He that knows every thing, may know a thing or two too much, Molsh; besides, he'd only call you a fool, for runnin' to throuble him about a Blackthorn you never saw only in a dhrame." "But what's to be done?" said the I'm not at all aisy in my mind since I dremt it-nor wont, till I hear the manin' of it."

"Bosthoon, dear."

"Well, Molsh, my Tiuckey?" "I'm not asy in my mind this mornin', the Lord be praised!" "Why, Molsh ?"

"Why, in regard of a dhrame I had last night the Lord guard me an' what I'm carryin'.

"Amin, I pray Jasus this day, responded Bosthoon," turning his grey eyes upon her with the stare of a man who had seen a ghost. "What was the dhrame, Molsheen? Let us hear it any how."

"Why-och throth, I donna what to make of it; it was a quare one-the Derra one but I'm ashamed, so I am.

"Is it wid me-wid your own Bosthoon, you'd be ashamed?"

"Why, it's so quare; but sure any how, it's only a dhrame, an' they say that dhrames go by conthraries."

"Well, now for it."

"Why-but Bosthoon, you mus❜nt laugh; the sorra one if you do, but I'll stop short, and won't tell it."

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Desperately was the husband perplexed at a mystery so completely out of the range of his thought as this was. Women, however, possess a readier talent for solving small difficulties than men; a fact, of which Molsh, after a few minutes' close attention, gave ample proof.

"I'd hould goold to silver," she exclaimed, "I have it."

o' something for that, and must get it, too. Come, hand out the bottle-by the three blessed laves, we'll drink success to young Father Blackthorn in spite o' the world, an' long life to him." No man could see a dark or difficult point, when duly and satisfactorily explained, better than Bosthoon. He, therefore, clung to his wife's interpretation of the dream with a pertinacity worthy of his character. In point of fact, he was nearly as proud of young Blackthorn before he entered upon the stage of life at all, as ever he was afterwards. A more literal individual could not possibly exist. If he might be said to calculate at all upon a mere speculative point, which is a matter not easily settled, it is certain, that he never for a moment took such a thing as a contingency into consideration. It entered not once into his head, for instance, that his wife might present him with a daughter, instead of a son; and when she pointed out to him the probability of such an event, he treated it with great scorn, and stuck to the dream as an oracle. From that dialogue until Molshy's confinement, whenever he happened to get a glass or two in, he sadly puzzled his friends and neighbours by his huge winks, grotesque grimmaces, and nods so ominous, that they might very well precede the birth of a prodigy. Often and often he insisted that they should drink the health of young Father Blackthorn ; but who young Father Blackthorn was, from whence he came, or where he might be found, no human ingenuity could get out of him. Even Molshy herself was rather annoyed with him, for scarcely a day passed in which he did not give her a dismal leer, whilst, at the same time he enquired in an astounding whisper, with one eyebrow raised, probably half way up his forehead, and the other unmoved,

"Well, my thracle, how is Father Blackthorn? Eh, Molsh? Faith he'll be a credit to the M'Flails,-an' I'm as proud as a paycock out of him already. As for you, I'll dhrame you against any woman in the barony."

Much mirth, indeed, was occasioned by his perpetual allusions to Father Blackthorn; and many persons, overrating their own powers of penetration, undertook to extract the secret out of him, as to who his reverence might be. All they could get, however, was a portentous dislocation of the features, designed for a right know ing wink, or a grin of defiance, that

would not have disgraced Frankenstein.

Molshy's female relatives, however, having come to a knowledge of the mysterious Father Blackthorn, his reverence in a short time became a wellknown character in the parish, and had his health drank many's the good time and often, at the convivial meetings of Bosthoon and his friends, even before he had the good fortune of being endowed with visible existence.

The reader sees from what I have already written, that Father Blackthorn was much more fortunate than other men. I believe he stands the only solitary instance, from among all those who have been illustrious since the world began, of any man, (setting aside scriptural and prophetic characters,) who was ever celebrated before his birth. No wonder for him to say, as he often solemnly did, that he was never created to be a nonentity;-and surely the man whom Fame claimed to herself before his entrance into life, she will not now abandon, after he has departed out of it. She met him halfway in the beginning, and now let her give him a decent convoy at the end. To neglect him, however, is out of her power. Father M'Flail

was not doomed to be remembered only to be forgotten. No: for as the poet said upon an occasion not dissimilar to that which renders the quotation so applicable :—

Vocalem breviant alia subeunte Latini.

At length the important crisis and the midwife both arrived, and Bosthoon saw the latter personage enter with a chuckle, that seemed to be a cross between a laugh and a groan. He immediately betook himself to the barn, where he lay down on a couch of straw, and with his face to the roof tried to manage the right merry jig of "Harvest-Home." Every now and then, however, he arose, and putting in his face, which was more than ordinarily disjointed by the contending effects of hope and anxiety, he asked, in a voice which defies description,

"Has Father Blackthorn arrived yet?"

barn, resumed his horizontal position on the straw, and commenced the cross I have just alluded to.

But in truth I must say a word or two more about Bosthoon's character, before his reverence himself makes his debut upon that stage where he is destined to play so conspicuous a part. Bosthoon in fact was the representative of a class of men who have not yet, at least as far as I remember, been described by any writer upon Irish character. In the common affairs of life he was, notwithstanding his ponderous stupidity, as little of a fool as ever drove a bargain. Instead of that, in matters where he felt a direct or personal interest, no human being could outwit him. There was a dogged ingenuity about him which, whilst it lulled suspicion, seldom left the keenest rogue of his acquaintance any thing but discomfiture to boast of. Yet what was strange enough, he had the character of being a fool with all those who only met him in conversation; whilst, on the other hand, if you asked the opinion of those who dealt with him, and who themselves stood high as keen and cautions men of business, you would hear something to this effect:

"Bosthoon M'Flail a fool!-Ay, ay! Well, go and buy him for one, and then see if you can boast of your bargain. To look in his face you wouldn't turn him out of a cabbage garden; but, if you want to know Bosthoon, go and dale wid him. A fool!-be me sowl he'd buy and sell half the parish, for all so simple as he looks."

What contributed very much to the depreciation of Bosthoon's character was the blank, unsymmetrical expression of his great features, and the fumbling sheepishness of his manners, -to which I may add the possession of a head so utterly foreign to any thing like pure intellect, that it was indeed no wonder he bore the character of being deficient in sense. Indeed, like most men of his class, it might be truly affirmed of him, that he possessed a large share of cunning and shrewdness, with a slender develop ment of the moral and intellectual

fully impatient struggle among the straw, occasioned by his hurry to get up-for it is but just to say, that the huge fellow was by no means insensible to the better domestic feelings. The history of his own iniquity, for instance, given to Father M'Flewsther, was occasioned nearly as much by a kind of unshaped hallucinative affection for my aunt Molshy's person, as by a powerful hankering after her wealth.

"Tundher-an'-whiskey, is he come at last! Hurroo, boys There's fire on the mountains-run, boys, run!'" saying which, he started from the barn at a sling-trot, with one shoulder far in advance of his body, and, entering the kitchen, shouted as if he were announcing the final conflagration-" Where's the priest ?-haugh-agh, agh-ogh-o! where's the clargy ?-show forth his tundher-an-whiskey, how

reverence

does he look?"

"I'm striving”—said the midwife, coming out of another room-" I'm striving to give him a little sugar an' wather-it acts upon the crathurs―an's aisy taken; but sorra spudh of it he'll taste, of all the childher ever I brought to the world, whatever's the rason of it."

"No-nor the dioual saize the drop o' your sugar and wather he'll let cross his lips-the same clargy"—said Bosthoon-" faith he knows a thrick worth two o' that-but, I'll tell you what, my ould fingersmith, put the whiskey to it -put the stiff drop to it, an' thin see how how he'll act-hagh-agh-agh, oghhogh. Ax his mother, Norry-ax her for that. Darrydages ! the shaver to be cute so soon-wee, ho! ho!"

And he uttered a neigh of indescribable exultation.

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Well, avourneen," replied Norry, you might give a worse advice, sure enough-an' indeed I often do the same thing. The sorra better furshat* ever crossed a child's lips, any how."

"Saints in Paredies !" exclaimed the midwife, "how he takes it in!" That I may never if he's not following the spoon! Wurrah! look at the little mouth of him searching about for it! Faith it'll come nathral to you when you get up, avourneen, or I'm not here; but any how, faith here's another thrial duck-you tuck the first so manly." Norry had scarcely concluded, when the youngster feeling himself probably refreshed by what he had first gotten, gave a crow of satisfaction that was heard through the whole house. "Whagh-agh!" shouted Bosthoon ; "Be me sowl, the game drop's in you, my cock-you'll do yet."

Saying which, he forced the midwife to place her charge in his arms; and having then secured his reverence, he strided up and down the kitchen, hugging and eating him, and uttering noises of delight so singular, that I can find in the range of natural sounds none at all with which to compare them. Indeed, he appeared not unlike a white bear carrying the young one in its paws, and tastefully licking it into shapes.

As Bosthoon's determination to make the first forthcoming issue of his inarriage a priest had taken wind through the agency of his wife's female relations, the appearance of a son was, of course, hailed by them all with great delight and satisfaction. It would, indeed, be hard to guess how he might have acted had their firstborn been of a different sex. Whether in the dogged fatuity of a mind like his he would have put her into inexpressibles, in order to bear out his predeterminate intention, and sent her to Maynooth as a candidate for the mission. As it happened the chubby face of "a beautiful boy" saved him much doleful anxiety, and the ceaseless currying of a huge frizzled head upon the subject. One determination, however, he came to, and that was, to give the "young clargy" such a christening as had never been seen in that part of the parish during time immemorial. As soon, therefore, as Molshy was able to stir abroad, Bosthoon pressed upon her the necessity of making immediate preparations for that festive ceremony. 'Tis true she demurred heavily to the scale on which he had fixed his heart to conduct it. All that deprecation, entreaty and point-blank resistance could do was attempted on her part. She had not, however, to grapple with a man, but a bear, and although his hugs were

not hugs of destructiveness, still there was a loving ferocity about them which no mere woman could resist with safety to her bones. The fact is, that Bosthoon either actually got into a fresh fit of fondness, or as he had a design in it, probably feigned the fit. Be this as it may, such an eternal grappling did he keep with her, that out of mere self-defence, she consented to let him have his own way as to the christening, and, indeed, as to everything else connected with young Blackthorn and his prospects.

Bosthoon, having now gained this important point, spared neither time, labour, nor expense in marking the bold outline of this grand festivity.The fellow was not only big_himself, but had a heart worthy of a Colossus. Though keen at a bargain, he was no niggard, and never had the same heart in a penny, for a right good reason, because his Majesty never issued a coin large enough in circumference to contain it. No, no, faith. Poor Bosthoon with all his sheepishness could never see a friend in distress without relieving him, and in this did his son Father Blackthorn resemble him, as the reader will find if he have patience to peruse the events of his life to its close. The same reader may infer from what I have already written, and from what he supposes I may write, that Father Blackthorn was a drunkard, but with great respect to his sagacity, I beg to inform him that though fond of his glass, he was never drunk in his life, which is more than every sober man can say.

When his father, Bosthoon, or big Bosthoon, as he was in general called, had hugged Molshy into compliance with his extensive notion of what young Blackthorn's christening ought to be, he immediately invited to the remotest branch, his wife's connexions and his own. First in importance was Father Roger M'Flewsther, the parish priest, and his curate, Father Bartle O'Fag; after whom came a large and varied assortment of the M'Flails, M Funs, M'Flummerys, M'Fuds, their cousins, the M'Scutts, and the O'Slee veens, all of whom assembled to celebrate the baptismal festivity of our hero.

But as this is a matter of too much importance to be brought in at the end of a chapter, I must defer it until next month.

Kind reader, thine for the present.
PHEDLIM M FUN.