When Solomon said, that all was vanity and vexation of spirit, we hope he did not mean that the two terms were at all synonymous; because, if he did, we unquestionably stand prepared to contest his knowledge of human nature, despite both his wisdom and experience.  Darby’s reply was not a long one, but its effect was powerful.  The very notion that Val M’Clutchy could, should, might, or ought to have such influence over the Grand Jury of the county was irresistible with the father; and that he should live to be actually called squire, nay to hear the word with his own ears, was equally so with the son.

Vanity!  What sensation can the hearts of thousands—­millions feel, that ought for a moment be compared, in an ecstatic sense of enjoyment, with those which arise from gratified vanity?

“Come, you sneaking scoundrel, take a glass of spirits—­the night’s severe,” said Val.

“Yes, you sneaking scoundrel, take a glass of spirits, and we’ll see what can be done about the bridge before next winter,” added Phil.

“All I can say is, gintlemen,” said Darby, “that if you both take it up, it will be done.  In the mane time, here’s both your healths, your honors; an’ may you both be spared on the property, as a pair of blessins to the estate!” Then, running over to Phil, he whispered in a playhouse voice—­“Square Phil, I daren’t let his honor hear me now, but—­here’s black confusion to Hickman, the desaver!”

“What is he saying, Phil?  What is the cursed sneaking scoundrel saying?”

“Why your honor,” interposed Darby, “I was axin’ permission jist to add a thrifle to what I’m goin’ to drink.”

“What do you mean?” said Val.

“Just, your honor, to drink the glorious, pious, and immoral mimory! hip, hip, hurra!”

“And how can you drink it, you rascal, and you a papist?” asked Phil, still highly delighted with Darby’s loyalty.  “What would your priest say if he knew it?”

“Why,” said Darby, quite unconscious of the testimony he was bearing to his own duplicity, “sure they can forgive me that, along with my other sins.  But, any how, I have a great notion to leave them and their ralligion altogether.”

“How is that, you scoundrel?” asked Val.

“Yes, you scoundrel; how is that?” added Phil.

“Why, troth,” replied Darby, “I can’t well account for it myself, barrin’ it comes from an enlightened conscience.  Mr. M’Slime gave me a tract, some time ago, called Spiritual Food for Babes of Grace, and I thought in my own conscience, afther readin’ it carefully over, that it applied very much to my condition.”

“Ah!” said Phil, “what a babe you are! but no matter; I’m glad you have notions of becoming a good sound Protestant; take my word there’s nothing like it.  A man that’s a good sound Protestant is always a loyal fellow, and when he’s drunk, drinks—­to hell with the Pope.”

“Phil, don’t be a fool,” said his father, who inherited many, if not all of old Deaker’s opinions.  “If you are about to become a Protestant, Darby, that’s a very different thing from changing your religion—­inasmuch as you must have one to change first.  However, as you say, M’Slime’s your man, and be guided by him.”