I cannot avoid mentioning here a practice peculiar to Roman Catholics, which consists in an exchange of one or more prayers, by a stipulation between two persons:  I offer up a pater and ave for you, and you again for me.  It is called swapping or exchanging prayers.  After I had received the sacrament, I observed a thin, sallow little man, with a pair of beads, as long as himself, moving from knot to knot, but never remaining long in the same place.  At last he glided up to me, and in a whisper asked me if I knew him.  I answered in the negative.  “Oh, then, a lanna, ye war never here before?” “Never.”  “Oh, I see that, acushla, you would a known me if you had:  well then, did ye never hear of Sol Donnel, the pilgrim?”

“I never did,” I replied, “but are we not all pilgrims while here?”

“To be sure, aroon, but I’m a pilgrim every place else, you see, as well as here, my darlin’ sweet young man.”

“Then you’re a pilgrim by profession?”

“That’s it, asthore machree; everybody that comes here the second time, sure, knows Sol Donnel, the blessed pilgrim.”

“In that case it was impossible for me to know you, as I was-never here before.”

“Acushla, I know that, but a good beginnin’ are ye makin’ of it—­an’ at your time of life too; but, avick, it must prosper wid ye, comin’ here I mane.”

“I hope it may.”  “Well yer parents isn’t both livin’ it’s likely?” “No.”  “Aye! but yell jist not forget that same, ye see; I b’lieve I sed so—­your father dead, I suppose?” “No, my mother.”  “Your mother; well, avick, I didn’t say that for a sartinty; but still, you see, avourneen, maybe somebody could a tould ye it was the mother, forhaps, afther all.”  “Did you know them?” I asked.  “You see, a lanna, I can’t say that, without first hearin’ their names.”  “My name is B------.”  “An’ a dacent bearable name it is, darlin’.  Is yer father of them da-cent people, the B------s of Newtownlimavady, ahagur!” “Not that I know of.”  “Oh, well, well, it makes no maxim between you an’ me, at all, at all; but the Lord mark you to grace, any how; it’s a dacent name sure enough, only if yer mother was livin’, it’s herself ‘ud be the proud woman, an’ well she might, to see such a clane, promisin’ son steppin’ home to her from Lough Derg.”  “Indeed I’m obliged to you,” said I; “I protest I’m obliged to you, for your good opinion of me.”  “It’s nothin’ but what ye desarve, avick! an’ more nor that—­yer the makin’s of a clargy I’m guessin’?” “I am,” said I, “surely designed for that.”  “Oh, I knew it, I knew it, it’s in your face; you’ve the sogarth in yer very face; an’ well will ye become the robes when ye get them on ye:  sure, an’ to tell you the truth (in a whisper, stretching up his mouth to my ear), I feel my heart warm towardst you, somehow.”  “I declare I feel much the same towards you,” I returned, for the fellow in spite of me was gaining upon my good opinion; “you are a decent, civil soul.”  “An’ for that raison,