freely-spoken preachers to nobility, dead or living. In the early part of the last century, Father Chatenier, preaching in presence of the French court, administered smarting instruction to his hearers by feigning to be at the gates of Paradise, where he saw several persons present themselves for admission. "A duchess," he exclaimed, "knocks at the gate. St. Peter asks 'who is there?' and she replies, 'Madame the Duchess of Soand-so.' 'What!' cries St. Peter, 'Madame the Duchess who goes to balls? Madame the Duchess who goes to the opera? Madame the Duchess whom the gallants follow? Madame the Duchess who paints her face? No, no! to the devil with you, Madame the Duchess and St. Peter slammed the gate in her face!" What a fluttering there must have been among the ducal and other lofty beauties! What a heaving of lace and satin, and a shaking of plumes, and unnecessary outlay of wholesome indignation at the uncultivated, rude, and cowardly Dominican.

The most fashionable churches in France have always been, not where the best preacher, but where the monarch himself was to be found. That of Versailles was invariably crowded in Louis the Fourteenth's time. On one of these occasions, as the gay and glittering congregation waited for the sound of the huissier's voice, announcing le Roi, a courtier appeared in the royal tribune, and informed the audience that his majesty was too indisposed to attend. In five minutes, the pious but disappointed people

God and the Sovereign.

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streamed out of the edifice, and aired their noble vexation in the gardens. Five minutes more, and Louis the Fourteenth entered the chapel; and as he looked round the building, in which there were few save the chaplains and priests at the altar, the king said, with a sad smile, "Yes; I see who it is they worship."

They-that especial "they "-worship, I think, the same sort of deity still, over the water. The chapel

of the Tuileries has more divinities than one. The priests who enter, and the fine people who gather there, bow with a cold formality to the Real Presence; but when the folding doors at the back are flung open, and the splendid messenger there proclaims "l'Empereur !" all, priests and people, turn from the altar towards the imperial tribune, and bow so low before the other presence which is seen there, as to convey an impression to the mind more painful than pleasant. This sort of irreverent acknowledgment is not a matter for us to sneer at. There are country churches in England where the local nobleman or squire is invested with such exclusive quality that no person thinks of going up to the communion table till my lord and family have first "partaken." And at this custom the Presbyterian can vent no sarcasm. In old days at least, the officiating minister of the kirk, at the close of his sermon, used to bow to the patron of the church (as our clergy always did to the royal pew). On appearance of the patron after an

absence of any duration from worship, the minister not only saluted him, but gave the great man thanks for coming to service again.

From the domain of fashionable Christianity, let us go abroad in the meadows, and take country clergymen by the arm.

COUNTRY CLERGYMEN.

HE two extremes of country clerical life may be

THE

represented by White of Selborne, quietly noting down the habits of birds that sung and the age of trees that grew in his neighbourhood, which is as removed from the world now as it was when he

was incumbent. The contrasting illustrations are to be found in parishes among the mountains, where the zealous clergy have sometimes perished amid the snow; or in coast livings, including off-lying islands, where the seas are stormy, and a clergyman making a visitation in his boat cannot steer it through the hissing foam, as St. Cuthbert did his with his pastoral staff.

Whether the Welsh clergy were worse than their brethren elsewhere, or whether those of Caernarvonshire outstript their brethren in iniquity, or whether all there were somewhat slandered, it would be difficult now to determine. One thing is certain, namely, that in the first year of the reign of Henry the Seventh, the gentlemen and farmers of the shire just named, urgently prayed the government for protection against their own clergy. The boisterous gallantry of

these reverend roués towards the wives and daughters of the petitioners was a source of awful terror to some of the ladies in question, and an exceedingly dear delight to others. Taken altogether, the homes, bowers, boudoirs, and confessionals of Caernarvonshire were in as unsatisfactory a condition in the marital and paternal view of things as can well be imagined. Paterfamilias could hardly catch sight of the robe of a Welsh priest without a desire to stone him!

But it is clear that the rule of priestly life had gone from good to bad, from bad to worse, and from the latter to a condition that could not be fouler. This is speaking generally. But the general action was so serious that a papal decree authorized prelates to deal with priests severely, for crimes unutterable, but committing which had not formerly exposed the offenders to episcopal censure. The prelates might keep a layman in prison for ever for heresy; but for the grossest outrage against God and nature, they could not touch a hair on the unshaven part of the head of a priest. The new decree, however, authorized bishops and archbishops to seize all priests, clerks, and religious men for offences of the nastiest and most nameless character, and to keep them in durance as long "as shall be thought convenient for the quality of their trespasses." From such trespassers, ladies had been accustomed to refuse to take the sacrament; and the trespassers hitherto had been wont to wipe out mortal sin by paying a small money fine, and standing up in