wn,
the stops are closed.' 'Yes,' he said, 'but where goes the performer?'
By Jove, I was stranded. I tell you what it is, Father Dan, though
you'll call it treason, I'll pitch AEschylus to the mischief, and study
what is of human and vital interest to us priests."

"That little objection needn't alarm you," I said, "you'll find the
answer in every handbook of Catholic philosophy."

"What manual of Catholic philosophy in English could I get for Ormsby?"
asked my curate.

"Alas! my dear young friend, I don't know. There is the great hiatus.
You cannot put a folio calf-bound volume of Suarez in his hands,--he may
not understand Latin. I know absolutely no book that you can put into
the hands of an educated non-Catholic except Balmez's 'Letters to a
Sceptic.'"

"_He has read it_," said my curate.

We were both silent.

"Now, you know," he continued, after a long pause, "I don't attach the
least importance to these objections and arguments. I lived long enough
in England to know that faith is a pure, absolutely pure gift of the
Almighty, not to be acquired by learning or study, but possibly by
prayer. I see, therefore, only one hope, and that is, in our Lord and
His Blessed Mother."

"A profound and true remark," I replied, as he rose up to depart. "Get
these mites of children to pray, and to say the Rosary for that
particular purpose. I can't understand how God can refuse them
anything."

"By the way," he said, as he put on his great coat, "it is a curious
fact that, with all his incredulity, he is exceedingly superstitious.
You can hardly believe how troubled he is about some gibberish of that
old hag that sets charms for lame horses, etc. I'm not at all sure but
that she set charms in the other way for my little mare."

"Well, what has she told Ormsby?"

"Her language was slightly oracular. Out of a joke, he crossed her palm
with a sixpence. She looked him all over, though she knew well what he
had in his mind, examined the lines of his hand minutely, and then
delivered three Sibylline sentences:--

'Set a stout heart to a steep brae.'

That did not disconcert him. Then she said:--

'He that tholes, overcomes.'

He quite agreed with her. It was a naval simile, and it pleased him.

'But a white cloth and a stain never agree.'

He was struck as if by a blow. 'Mind you,' he said,'I am very candid. I
have had my own faults and human weaknesses; but I never did anything
immoral or dishonor