Did he find peace? Yes, when vailing his eyes from the atrocities done in the name of the church, turning himself away from the scarlet-clad atheists, who too often mount her seats of power, he retreated within himself, opened the gospels, and from their pages saw kindle into life and love, the face of Him, whom priests may misinterpret or defame, but whose name forever to suffering humanity, is "CONSOLATION." As he passed thus along Broadway, buried in his thoughts, and utterly unconscious of the scene around him, he felt a hand press his own. He awoke from his thoughts, stopped and looked around him. The crowd was hurrying by, but the person who pressed his hand had disappeared. Was that pressure of the hand a mere freak of the imagination? No; for the hand of the unknown had left within the hand of the Priest a neatly-folded letter, upon which, in a fair and delicate hand, was written his own name. Stepping aside from the crowd, he opened and read the letter. It was very brief, but its contents called a glow to the pale cheek of the Priest. He at once retraced his steps, and passed down Broadway, with a rapid and eager step. Hurrying through the gay crowd, he turned, in a few moments, into a street leading to the North River. The sun was setting, and cast the shadow of his slender form long and black over the pavement, as he paused in front of a stately mansion. He once more examined the letter, and then surveyed the mansion. "It is the same," he said, and ascended the lofty steps and rang the bell. "Truly, the office of a Priest is a painful one," the thought crossed his mind; "he sees so much misery that he has not the power to relieve. Misery, under the rags of the hovel, and despair under the velvet of the palace." A male servant, in livery, answered the bell, and glanced somewhat superciliously at the faded attire of the Priest. But he inclined his head in involuntary respect, as the Priest said, simply-- "I am Father Luke,--" "This way, sir. You are expected," answered the servant; and he led Father Luke along a lofty hall, and into a parlor, over whose rich furniture shone dimly the light of the setting sun. "Remain here, sir, and I will announce your coming."