When he returned home, his housekeeper was anxious to hear about James
Murdoch, but the priest sat possessed by the thought of Ireland
becoming a Protestant country; and he had not moved out of his chair
when the servant came in with his tea. He drank his tea mechanically,
and walked up and down the room, and it was a long time before he took
up his knitting. But that evening he could not knit, and he laid the
stocking aside so that he might think.

Of what good would his letter be? A letter from a poor parish priest
asking that one of the most ancient decrees should be revoked! The
Pope's secretary would pitch his letter into the waste paper basket.
The Pope would be only told of its contents! The cardinals are men
whose thoughts move up and down certain narrow ways, clever men no
doubt, but clever men are often the dupes of conventions. All men who
live in the world accept the conventions as truths. And the idea of
this change in ecclesiastical law had come to him because he lived in a
waste bog.

But was he going to write the letter? He could not answer the question!
Yes, he knew that sooner or later he must write this letter.
"Instinct," he said, "is a surer guide than logic. My letter to Rome
was a sudden revelation." The idea had fallen as it were out of the
air, and now as he sat knitting by his own fireside it seemed to come
out of the corners of the room.

"When you were at Rathowen," his idea said, "you heard the clergy
lament that the people were leaving the country. You heard the Bishop
and many eloquent men speak on the subject, but their words meant
little, but on the bog road the remedy was revealed to you.

"The remedy lies with the priesthood. If each priest were to take a
wife about four thousand children would be born within the year, forty
thousand children would be added to the birth-rate in ten years.
Ireland would be saved by her priesthood!"

The truth of this estimate seemed beyond question, nevertheless, Father
MacTurnan found it difficult to reconcile himself to the idea of a
married clergy. One is always the dupe of prejudice. He knew that and
went on thinking. The priests live in the best houses, eat the best
food, wear the best clothes; they are indeed the flower of the nation,
and would produce magnificent sons and daughters. And who could bring
up their children according to the teaching of our holy church as well
as priests?

So did his idea speak to him, unfolding itself in rich