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once said to me wearily that he knew confession to be a divinely ordained ordinance, for no mere man would have put upon his fellow-men anything so hard.
Knowing all this, it did not trouble me at all, but was only gratifying, when I used to hear often, on Sunday noon, the click of the billiard-balls through Father--'s open window after his two wearisome masses; nor do I believe that he heard that click recurring, as a record against him, before the Recording Angel, in that heaven where he now deservedly dwells.
I have not heard it on earth since he went; but it is delightful to see his successors refreshing themselves some Saturday, after a hard week's work, with a game of hand-ball in the high brick court which they have built for that purpose behind the stable.
His Reverence, the senior priest, can outplay either of his young assistants, to say nothing of their stout hired man, who occasionally takes a hand with them; and when the game is over, and the small boys of the parish take their turn in the court, it is pleasant to see his Reverence linger and advise them where to stand and how to await the ball.
It is always agreeable to see dignity so intrenched and sure in its position that it can be familiar
New York, Harper and Brothers, 1897.
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