the land, erected a fine church on it, and a house on top of the Church.
I met also a curious illustration of that theological ingenuity a few years ago in a Dominican who was practically selling relics—a grave sin in theology. His modus operandi was simple. He was commissioned to gather the sinews of war in England to conduct the process of canonisation of a certain French priest, who had tried to live on grass instead of ordinary diet; he had a large number of patches of black cloth, which were said to be portions of the soutane of the holy Abbé. He could not sell them, but he was prepared to give one to every Catholic who gave him ten shillings for the cause. It was pointed out, too, that the relics were so large and numerous that if they were collected all over the world they would make a fair number of soutanes—no doubt the original had miraculously grown, as the true Cross did in pre-Rationalistic days, so that it has furnished enough timber to build a ship. Besides, it was stated as a mark of the saint’s piety that he always wore an old and ragged soutane, whereas the relics were pieces of excellent stuff. All this criticism was passed at the time by priests, for it must not be supposed that the clergy are as credulous as they expect the laity to be; they know that the manufacture of relics is a lucrative ecclesiastical industry.
The Jesuits are the most flourishing body of regulars in England as in every other civilised or
