perceive, my son, that having got all the information from
Mrs O'Rourke, it's back I went to Ballyhinch, till I heard it whispered
that there were doings down at the old house at Ballycleuch. Off I set,
and went to the house itself, as priests always ought to be welcomed at
births and marriages, and deaths, being, as you know, of great use on
such occasions--when who should open the door but Father O'Toole, the
biggest rapparee of a priest in the whole of Ireland. Didn't he steal a
horse, and only save his neck by benefit of clergy? and did he ever give
absolution to any young woman without making her sin over again? `What
may be your pleasure here, Father McGrath?' says he, holding the door
with his hand.

"`Only just to call and hear what's going on.'

"`For the matter of that,' says he, `I'll just tell you that we're all
going on very well; but ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, Father McGrath,
to come here and interfere with my flock, knowing that I confess the
house altogether?'

"`That's as may be,' says I, `but I only wanted to know what the lady
had brought into the world.'

"`It's a _child_,' says he.

"`Indeed!' says I; `many thanks for the information, and pray what is it
that Mary Sullivan has brought into the world?'

"`That's a _child_, too,' says he; `and now that you know all about it,
good evening to you, Father McGrath.' And the ugly brute slarnmed the
door right in my face.

"`Who stole a horse?' cries I; but he didn't hear me--more's the pity.

"So you'll perceive, my dear boy, that I have found out something, at
all events, but not so much as I intended; for I'll prove to Father
O'Toole, that he's no match for Father McGrath. But what I find out
must be reserved for another letter, seeing that it's not possible to
tell it to you in this same. Praties look well, but somehow or another
_clothes_ don't grow upon trees in ould Ireland; and one of your half
quarterly bills, or a little prize-money, if it found its way here,
would add not a little to the respectability of the family appearance.
Even my cassock is becoming too _holy_ for a parish priest; not that I
care about it so much, only Father O'Toole, the baste! had on a bran new
one--not that I believe that he ever came honestly by it, as I have by
mine--but, get it how you may, a new gown always looks better than an
ould one, that's certain. So no more at present from your loving friend
and confessor,

"Urtagh McGrath."

"Now, yo