“Clearly,” said the man in black; “that’s what they ought to have done; but they were fools without a single resource.”  Here he took a sip at his glass.

“But they did not believe in the miracle?” said I.

“And what did their not believing avail them?” said the man in black.  “Austin remained master of the field, and they went away holding their heads down, and muttering to themselves.  What a fine subject for a painting would be Austin’s opening the eyes of the Saxon barbarian, and the discomfiture of the British clergy!  I wonder it has not been painted!—­he! he!”

“I suppose your church still pet forms miracles occasionally?” said I.

“It does,” said the man in black.  “The Rev. . . . has lately been performing miracles in Ireland, destroying devils that had got possession of people; he has been eminently successful.  In two instances he not only destroyed the devils, but the lives of the people possessed—­he! he!  Oh! there is so much energy in our system; we are always at work, whilst Protestantism is supine.”

“You must not imagine,” said I, “that all Protestants are supine; some of them appear to be filled with unbounded zeal.  They deal, it is true, not in lying miracles, but they propagate God’s Word.  I remember only a few months ago, having occasion for a Bible, going to an establishment, the object of which was to send Bibles all over the world.  The supporters of that establishment could have no self-interested views; for I was supplied by them with a noble-sized Bible at a price so small as to preclude the idea that it could bring any profit to the vendors.”

The countenance of the man in black slightly fell.  “I know the people to whom you allude,” said he; “indeed, unknown to them, I have frequently been to see them, and observed their ways.  I tell you frankly that there is not a set of people in this kingdom who have caused our church so much trouble and uneasiness.  I should rather say that they alone cause us any; for as for the rest, what with their drowsiness, their plethora, their folly, and their vanity, they are doing us anything but mischief.  These fellows are a pestilent set of heretics, whom we would gladly see burnt; they are, with the most untiring perseverance, and in spite of divers minatory declarations of the holy father, scattering their books abroad through all Europe, and have caused many people in Catholic countries to think that hitherto their priesthood have endeavoured, as much as possible, to keep them blinded.  There is one fellow amongst them for whom we entertain a particular aversion; a big, burly parson, with the face of a lion, the voice of a buffalo, and a fist like a sledge-hammer.  The last time I was there, I observed that his eye was upon me, and I did not like the glance he gave me at all; I observed him clench his fist, and I took my departure as fast as I conveniently could.  Whether he suspected who I was, I know not; but I did not like his look at all, and do not intend to go again.”