priest is, the more trustful he will be. He believes others to be as himself; he hates dissimulation, and believes other men to be incapable of it. Therefore he answers simply and without suspicion, and where he can speak out he tells the questioner all he wants to know. In a little while a cloud of misunderstandings, misrepresentations, and misstatements come like gnats about the priest's head. Whence, why, and what about, who can tell? Friendships are broken, resentments are kindled, the parish is divided, dissensions separate families. At last the poor priest remembers the day and the man and the questions. It is a lesson for life; not the first, perhaps, nor the last. And yet people blame him for reserve and silence, as if it had not been burnt into him by cautery. False brethren are bad enough; but false sisters are worse, in the measure in which they are less accurate in hearing and more unwearied in retailing.
These things are vexatious; but there are worse still. There are false brethren who carp at every act of authority, and criticise every word. They are thoroughly out of harmony with those who are over them. The parish priest never does right, and can do nothing aright. And this murmuring infects others with discontent. These things, in themselves
