"As well, ay, almost better. My return to it is like the meeting of
long-parted friends--the joy of the moment is pure and unalloyed--all
minor faults are forgotten--all former goodness rushes with double force
from the recollection to the heart, and the renewal of old fellowship
grafts new virtues (the sweet fruits of regretted absence) upon him who
has been the chosen tenant of our 'heart of hearts.'"

"His reverence's health--three times three (empty them heeltaps, Jack, and
fill out of the fresh jug)--now, boys, give tongue. That's the raal thing;
them cheers would wake the seven sleepers after a dose of laudanum. Bless
you, and long life to you! That's the worst wish you'll find here."

"I know that right well, uncle. I know it, feel it, and most heartily
thank you all."

"Enough said, parson. By dad, Dick, its mighty droll to be calling you,
that was but yesterday a small curly-pated gossoon, by that clerical
mouthful of a handle to your name. But do you find us altered much?"

"There is no change but Time's--that has fallen lightly. To be sure,
yesterday I was looking for the heads of my strapping cousins at the
bottom button of their well-filled waistcoats, and, before Jack's arrival,
meant to do a paternal and patriarchal 'pat' on his, at somewhere about
that altitude; a ceremony he must excuse, as the little lad of my mind has
thought proper to expand into a young Enniskillen of six feet three."

"He's a mighty fine boy--the lady-killing vagabone!" said the father, with
a kind look of gratified pride; and then added, as if to stop the
infection of the vanity, "and there's no denying he's big enough to be
better." Here a slight scrimmage at the door of the dining-room attracted