I was then compelled to apply to Father K——, a deep old file, at the parish chapel. On advancing to him he sung out for money due, as he said, to the Church. After such an opening, I had no relish, either for his advice or pardon. I was induced, however, to give him another trial a few weeks afterwards; but, if possible, I fared worse. In this instance the priest had chosen a public ale-house for his station. Some of the audience were adding to existing sin, by excessive drinking; others were confessing sins already committed; and a few were receiving absolution. I left this scene with unmingled disgust; and, as might have been expected, felt my mind depressed, as before. Just at this season I was taken seriously ill; and having been given over by the physician, spiritual consolation was judged needful. The old priest was accordingly introduced; but finding on his arrival that I had declined subscribing to the church, a solitary question was all he asked, and he retired. This priest soon after died. The Almighty was pleased, however, to restore me to health; but no peace of mind could I procure. Having met with another Catholic counsellor, he stated that about seven miles from my residence were six holy wells; and that, if after twelve months’ penance I went round those wells on my bare knees, devoutly saying an Ave Maria and a Pater Noster, I should find relief. To increase the number of pilgrimages to the spot, booths were erected in the vicinity, under which provisions of various sorts were sold, not forgetting a copious store of whisky. This intolerable abuse has, I understand, been suppressed; and the only wonder with me is, that it ever obtained, even among the most credulous.