The first question the priest uniformly puts to the penitent is, “Can you repeat the Confiteor?” If the latter answers in the affirmative, he goes on until he comes to the words, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, when he stops, it being improper to repeat the remainder until after he has confessed; but, if he is ignorant of the “Confiteor,” the priest repeats it for him! and he commences the rehearsal of his offences, specifically as they occurred; and not only does he reveal his individual crimes, but his very thoughts and intentions.  By this regulation our readers may easily perceive, that the penitent is completely at the mercy of the priest—­that all family feuds, quarrels, and secrets are laid open to his eye—­that the ruling; passions of men’s lives are held up before him, the weaknesses and propensities of nature—­all the unguarded avenues of the human heart and character are brought within his positive knowledge, and that, too, as they exist in the young and the old, the married and the single, the male and the female.

It was curious to remark the ludicrous expression of temporary sanctity which was apparent on the countenances of many young men and maidens who were remarkable in the neighborhood for attending dances and wakes, but who, on the present occasion, were sobered down to a gravity which sat very awkwardly upon them; particularly in I the eyes of those who knew the lightness and drollery of their characters.  This, however, was observable only before confession; for, as soon as, “the priest’s blessed hand had been over them,” their gloom and anxiety passed away, and the thoughtless buoyancy of their natural disposition resumed its influence over their minds.  A good-humored nod, or a sly wink, from a young man to his female acquaintance, would now be indulged in; or, perhaps a small joke would escape, which seldom failed to produce a subdued laugh from such as had confessed, or an impatient rebuke from those who had not.

“Tim!” one would exclaim, “arn’t ye ashamed or afeared to get an that way, and his Reverence undher the wan roof wid ye?”

“Tim, you had better dhrop your joking,” a second would observe, “and not be putting us through other, (* confusing us) when we have our offenses to remimber; you have got your job over, and now you have nothing to trouble you.”

“Indeed, it’s fine behavior,” a third would say, “and you afther coming from the priest’s knee; and what more, didn’t resave (* Communicate) yet; but wait till Father Con appears, and, I’ll warrant, you’ll be as grave as another, for all you’re so stout now.”

The conversation would then pass to the merits of Father Philemy and Father Con, as Confessors.

“Well,” one would observe—­“for my part, I’d rather go to Father Philemy, fifty times over, than wanst to Father Con, bekase he never axes questions; but whatever you like to tell him, he hears it, and forgives you at wanst.”

“And so sign’s an it,” observed another; “he could confess more in a day that Father Con could in a week.”