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Among the favourite guests from the college, two were peculiarly held in estimation "the Professor of the Humanities," Father Luke Mooney; and the Abbe D'Array, "the Lecturer on Moral Philosophy, and Belles Lettres;" and certain it is, pleasanter fellows, or more gifted with the "convivial bump," there never existed.
Father Luke's drollest stories, his very quaintest humour shone forth, and the Abbe sang a new "Chanson a Boire," that Beranger might hav envied. "What are you about, my dear Father D'Array?" said the Colonel; "you are surely not rising yet; here's a fresh cooper of port just come in; sit down, I entreat."
"Father Luke Mooney, and the Abbe D'Array," said the former, in his most bland and insinuating tone of voice, a quality he most eminently possessed. "Stand and give the countersign." "We are coming from the mess, and going home to the college," said Father Mooney, evading the question, and gradually advancing as he spoke. "Stand, or I'll shot ye," said the North Corkian.
Among the favourite guests from the college, two were peculiarly held in estimation "the Professor of the Humanities," Father Luke Mooney; and the Abbe D'Array, "the Lecturer on Moral Philosophy, and Belles Lettres;" and certain it is, pleasanter fellows, or more gifted with the "convivial bump," there never existed.
Father Luke's drollest stories, his very quaintest humour shone forth, and the Abbe sang a new "Chanson a Boire," that Beranger might hav envied. "What are you about, my dear Father D'Array?" said the Colonel; "you are surely not rising yet; here's a fresh cooper of port just come in; sit down, I entreat."
Father Luke halted, while a muttered "Blessed Virgin" announced his state of fear and trepidation. "D'Array, I say, what are we to do." "The countersign," said the sentry, whose figure they could perceive in the dim distance of about thirty yards.
At last, subdued by grief, and probably his spirit having chafed itself smooth by such constant attrition, he became, to all seeming, calmer; but it was only the calm of a broken and weary heart. Such was Major Jones at the time, when, "suadente diabolo," it seemed meet to Fathers Mooney and D'Array to make him the butt of their raillery.
"Father Luke Mooney, and the Abbe D'Array," said the former, in his most bland and insinuating tone of voice, a quality he most eminently possessed. "Stand and give the countersign." "We are coming from the mess, and going home to the college," said Father Mooney, evading the question, and gradually advancing as he spoke. "Stand, or I'll shot ye," said the North Corkian.
Father Luke halted, while a muttered "Blessed Virgin" announced his state of fear and trepidation. "D'Array, I say, what are we to do." "The countersign," said the sentry, whose figure they could perceive in the dim distance of about thirty yards.
At last, subdued by grief, and probably his spirit having chafed itself smooth by such constant attrition, he became, to all seeming, calmer; but it was only the calm of a broken and weary heart. Such was Major Jones at the time, when, "suadente diabolo," it seemed meet to Fathers Mooney and D'Array to make him the butt of their raillery.
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