whether you have heard
of them. I see you have. I need not tell you that even a miracle may
do more harm than good to the Church in this country, unless it can be
proved so thoroughly that her powerful and jealous enemies are
silenced by the testimony of followers of their heresy. Therefore,
when I saw in a Wexford newspaper last week a description of a strange
manifestation of the Divine Power which was said to have taken place
at Four Mile Water, I was troubled in my mind about it. So I wrote to
Father Hickey, bidding him give me an account of the matter if it were
true, and, if it were not, to denounce from the altar the author of
the report, and contradict it in the paper at once. This is his reply.
He says, well, the first part is about Church matters: I need not
trouble you with it. He goes on to say----"

"One moment. Is this his own hand-writing? It does not look like a
man's."

"He suffers from rheumatism in the fingers of his right hand; and his
niece, who is an orphan, and lives with him, acts as his amanuensis.
Well----"

"Stay. What is her name?"

"Her name? Kate Hickey."

"How old is she?"

"Tush, man, she is only a little girl. If she were old enough to
concern you, I should not send you into her way. Have you any more
questions to ask about her?"

"I fancy her in a white veil at the rite of confirmation, a type of
innocence. Enough of her. What says Reverend Hickey of the
apparitions?"

"They are not apparitions. I will read you what he says. Ahem! 'In
reply to your inquiries concerning the late miraculous event in this
parish, I have to inform you that I can vouch for its truth, and that
I can be confirmed not only by the inhabitants of the place, who are
all Catholics, but by every persons acquainted with the former
situation of the graveyard referred to, including the Protestant
Archdeacon of Baltinglas, who spends six weeks annually in the
neighborhood. The newspaper account is incomplete and inaccurate. The
following are the facts: About four years ago, a man named Wolfe Tone
Fitzgerald settled in this village as a farrier. His antecedents did
not transpire, and he had no family. He lived by himself; was very
careless of his person; and when in his cups as he often was, regarded
the honor neither of God nor man in his conversation. Indeed if it
were not speaking ill of the dead, one might say that he was a dirty,
drunken, blasphemous blackguard. Worse again, he was, I fear, an
atheist;