It must always be borne in mind that in the North there are exceedingly few of the well-born, well-to-do priests, such as are to be found in London and the South. In the former district they are for the most part born of the working class; workers among the working class, and especially among the working class that does not work if it can avoid it. Born poor, often poorly educated, poorly paid, chiefly dependent on the poorest of the poor, holding office practically at the will of the bishop (subject to an appeal to Rome) and without prospect of any promotion except to the dignity of an honorary canonry, they seem to have less of the enviable in their lives than most of their flock. A drudgery with the halo of martyrdom. “Happily,” said a ’vert to me, “these Catholic-born priests are exempt from doubt;” and their absolute knowledge that the next world will bring them a recompense for their work here is sufficient consolation. Nothing could be farther from the truth than the popular conception of their character and habits. What priests in Ireland may be I know not; what they are in north-west England I know in part. As regards their character, I may say that I have known very many priests among the five million inhabitants of the two Counties Palatine in the last thirty years, and that I have heard of only two charges affecting their moral character (in the popular acceptation of the phrase); in one case the offender was a foreigner and he was expatriated with admirable speed; in the other case, there was only the gossip that no one heeds. They are priests of the church of a small minority: they are on their guard, and they keep guard well. I do not mean to say that they are impeccable. But their peccadilloes were not my concern, unless they took the form of an attempt on the public purse in school matters. And this chronicle is not a chronicle of other people’s failings. I turn to _Lorna Doone_: “That is said to be the angels’ business; and I doubt if they can attend to it without injury to themselves.” For the rest, their bitterest enemies--and they are very bitter in these parts--will allow that they work without ceasing and with entire self-devotion. In their parochial work I imagine--not from enquiry, but from casual observation--that the house-to-house visiting falls chiefly on the curates; the rector is more easily found at home. But the heavy work undoubtedly comes at night. The door bell seems to get no rest; sometimes it is a drunken woman, who comes to take the pledge, just as a wealthier drunkard might ask for a bottle of seltzer; sometimes a request for worldly advice or assistance; sometimes, and many times, an urgent demand for a speedy visit to Biddy, who is “dyin’ entirely,” but turns out to be dismally drunk. The whole force of the mission is sometimes called out, and then, even when the inspector was playing his annual rubber, it was with much difficulty that a quorum could be kept.