is at least not Irish; whatever my education may have been, I was
not bred at the Irish seminary--on those accounts I am thankful--
yes, per dio! I am thankful. After some years at college--but why
should I tell you my history? you know it already perfectly well,
probably much better than myself. I am now a missionary priest,
labouring in heretic England, like Parsons and Garnet of old, save
and except that, unlike them, I run no danger, for the times are
changed. As I told you before, I shall cleave to Rome--I must; no
hay remedio, as they say at Madrid, and I will do my best to
further her holy plans--he! he!--but I confess I begin to doubt of
their being successful here--you put me out; old Fraser, of Lovat!
I have heard my father talk of him; he had a gold-headed cane, with
which he once knocked my grandfather down--he was an astute one,
but, as you say, mistaken, particularly in himself. I have read
his life by Arbuthnot, it is in the library of our college.
Farewell! I shall come no more to this dingle--to come would be of
no utility; I shall go and labour elsewhere, though--how you came
to know my name, is a fact quite inexplicable--farewell! to you
both."

He then arose; and without further salutation departed from the
dingle, in which I never saw him again. "How, in the name of
wonder, came you to know that man's name?" said Belle, after he had
been gone some time.

"I, Belle? I knew nothing of the fellow's name, I assure you."

"But you mentioned his name."

"If I did, it was merely casually, by way of illustration. I was