I witnessed this day, immediately before my departure from this gloomy and truly purgatorial settlement, a scene of some interest. A priest was standing before the door of the dwelling-house, giving tickets to such as were about to confess, this being a necessary point. When he had despatched them all, I saw an old man and his son approach him, the man seemingly sixty, the boy about fourteen. They had a look of peculiar decency, but were thin and emaciated, even beyond what the rigor of their penance here could produce. The youth tottered with weakness, and the old man supported him with much difficulty. It is right to mention here, that this pilgrimage was performed in a season when sickness and famine prevailed fearfully in this kingdom. They advanced up to the priest to pay their money on receiving the tickets; he extended his palm from habit, but did not speak. The old man had some silver in his hand; and as he was about to give it to the priest, I saw the child look up beseechingly in his father's face, whilst an additional paleness came over his own, and his eyes filled with tears. The father saw and felt the appeal of the child, and hesitated; the priest's arm was still extended, his hand open:--“Would you, sir,” said the old man, addressing the priest, “be good enough to hear a word from me?” “For what?” replied the priest, in a sharp tone. “Why, sir,” answered the old man, “I am very much distressed.” “Ay--it is the common story! Come, pay the money; don't you see I've no time to lose?” “I won't detain you a minute, sir,” said the man; “this child”----“You want to keep the money, then? that's your object; down with it on the instant, and begone.”