"I am a bit of one," replied Woodward, "but shall be very happy to put
myself into your hand, notwithstanding."

"If I don't lengthen your face I shall raise your heart," proceeded, the
divine. "If I don't make a sportsman of you--"

"Ay," added the priest, "you will find yourself in excellent hands, Mr.
Woodward."

"If I don't make a sportsman of you:--confound your grinning, Father
Tom, what are you at?--I'll make a far better thing of you, that is, a
good fellow, always, of course, provided that you have the materials in
you."

"Not a doubt of it," added Father Tom; "you'll polish the same youth
until he shines like yourself or his worthy father here. He'll give you
a complexion, my boy--a commodity that you sadly want at present."

The evening was now too far advanced to think of having coffee--a
beverage, by the way, to which scarcely a single soul of them was
addicted. They accordingly got to their legs, and as darkness was
setting in they set out for the village to witness the rejoicings. Young
Woodward, however, followed his brother to the drawing-room, whither he
had betaken himself at an early hour after dinner. Under their escort,
their mother and sister accompanied them to the bonfire. The whole town
was literally alive with animation and delight. The news of the intended
bonfire had gone rapidly abroad, and the country people crowded into
the town in hundreds. Nothing can at any time exceed the enthusiasm with
which the Irish enter into and enjoy scenes like that to which they