Last Thursday was a week since Bar tlemy fair, and I wint down to buy a horse, for this is a large parish, an' mortification, an' frettin' have puffed me up, so that, God help me, its little able I am to answer all the sick-calls, to say nothing o' statiuiis, weddin'sand christenin'a. Well I bought the horse an' it coat me more than I ex pected, so that I stood without a penny in my pocket after I had paid the dealer. It rained cats and dogs, an' as ye know 1 can't afford a great coat, an' got wet to the skin in less than no time. There ye were, scores o' ye, atein' an' drinkin' in the public house, wi' the win dees up, an' there wasn't one o' ye had the grace to ask " Father Prout have ye got a mouth on yer face ?" An' there I might have stood in the rain until this blissed hour (that is supposin' it had continued rainin' until now), if I hadn't been picked up by Mun Roche o' Kildinan — a honest gintleman an' a hospitable man I must say, though he is a safe Protestant. He took me home with him, an' there to yer etarnal disgrace, ye villains, i got as full as a tick — an' Mun Roche had to send me home in his own carriage, which is an everlastin' shame to all o' ye who belong to the true Church. 