It is to be regretted that this letter, which was no doubt a circular to his proselytes, with necessary blanks to be filled up _pro re nata_, as the doctors have it, was not drawn out in better French. Howbeit, on the appointed day, asserts Dr. Baddely (the lady's unsuccessful medical attendant), Miss O'Connor went through the religious process prescribed by her princely physician. Mass being said, Miss O. not finding the immediate relief she expected from her faith, or faithfully expected, exclaimed somewhat impatiently, not having the fear of Job before her eyes, "Thy will be done, O Lord, since thou hast not thought me worthy of this cure;" when behold! _immediately_ after she felt an extraordinary sensation throughout the whole arm to the end of the fingers. The pain _instantly_ left her, the swelling gradually subsided, and Dr. B., who no doubt was the pet physician of the nuns, declares that the hand shortly resumed its natural size and shape. Now, Miss O'Connor was most likely a young lady from Ireland, where this miraculous cure was re-echoed in every chapel. The protestants were naturally offended by a report which seemed to impugn the sanctity of the reformed religion, and they thought it incumbent on them, for the welfare of church and state, to get up a miracle of their own which would cast Prince H., Nun O., and Dr. B. in the shade. The following statement was therefore published and certified upon oath by sundry most respectable and most worthy Orangemen: "I pledge you the word and honour of an Orangeman that the following facts, sworn to by all present, occurred yesterday evening. A party of gentlemen dined with me, and after dinner a vase, containing some orange lilies, was placed upon the table by my directions. We drank several toasts; but on the glorious and immortal memory being given, an _unblown lily_, which the party had remarked, _expanded its leaves and bloomed before us_ in all its splendour!" How appropriate are the lines of Otway when applied to the propagators of such absurdities, who dare to call upon our faith to give credence to their impostures. You want to lead My reason blindfold like a hamper'd lion Check'd of its noble vigour; then, when baited Down to obedient tameness, make it crouch And show strange tricks, which you call signs of faith: So silly souls are gull'd, and you get money.