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priests of ages past, but of worldliness as it may infect us still in the nineteenth century. The ambitious rivalries and contentions of other days, when priests were courtiers, and the Church was rich and in honour, are indeed passed away. But the world has other snares for priests—popularity, flattery, pleasure, corrupt and ruin many. They make many a priest to be fond of society, of ease, of dissipation, of comfort, of indulgence in food, in conversation, in refined pleasures of literature and music, and the arts and fashions of luxury. The effect of all this is to make the life of a presbytery dull and monotonous, the long hours of the confessional irksome, the visiting of the sick and the poor repulsive, the study of sacred books tasteless, the society of priests tame and uninteresting. The world has stolen away the heart of such a priest. It is no longer in his silent room, nor in the fellowship of his brethren, nor in the sanctuary, nor in his priesthood. It is somewhere abroad, in some house, or in some friendship, or in some intimacy. And when such a priest comes to die he cannot choose but cast up his reckoning, and make a horarium of his life. How many hours have I spent at the altar, and how many in the world? how many in the homes of the poor, and how many in the homes of the rich? how many in