Instead of the long oak table and the wassail bowl, there stood near the fire a small round table, covered with a snow--white cloth, upon which shone in unrivalled brightness a very handsome tea equipage--the hissing kettle on one hob was vis a vis'd by a gridiron with three newly taken trout, frying under the reverential care of Father Malachi himself--a heap of eggs ranged like shot in an ordnance yard, stood in the middled of the table, while a formidable pile of buttered toast browned before the grate--the morning papers were airing upon the hearth--every thing bespoke that attention to comfort and enjoyment one likes to discover in the house where chance may have domesticated him for a day or two.
"Good morning, Mr.Lorrequer.

I trust you have rested well," said Father Malachi as I entered.
"Never better; but where are our friends ?" "I have been visiting and comforting them in their affliction, and I may with truth assert it is not often my fortune to have three as sickly looking guests.

That was a most unlucky affair last night, and I must apologise." "Don't say a word, I entreat; I saw how it all occurred, and am quite sure if it had not been for poor Curzon's ill-timed melody--" "You are quite right," said the father interrupting me.

"Your friend's taste for music--bad luck to it--was the 'teterrima causa belli.'" "And the subscription," said I; "how did it succeed ?" "Oh, the money went in the commotion; and although I have got some seven pounds odd shillings of it, the war was a most expensive one to me.

I caught old Mahony very busy under the table during the fray; but let us say no more about it now--draw over your chair.