A few years ago the American newspapers echoed with the name of a priest who had been particularly bold in certain innovations. He was summoned to Rome, and this was the way he was treated as told me with his own lips, and he further informed me that he ascertained it was the usual procedure: The offender arrives in Rome full of the feeling that his enemies have wrongfully accused him. He knows charges have been filed against him, but what these charges are he is not aware. He is very much disturbed and very much in a fog. His reputation and character, aye! his future is at stake. Before the dust of travel is off his clothes, before he shaves, washes his face or eats, he appears at the Vatican and asks for a copy of the charges that have been brought against him. One of the Pope's numerous secretaries, a Cardinal possibly, receives him graciously, almost affectionately, and welcomes him to Rome in the name of the Pope. As for any matter of business, why, it can wait: the man who has it in charge is out of the city for a day or so--rest and enjoy the splendor of the Eternal City. "Where is the traveler's lodging?" "What? not that--here!"--a bell is rung, a messenger is called, the pilgrim's luggage is sent for, and he is given a room in the Vatican itself, or in one of the nearby "Colleges." A Brother is called in, introduced and duly instructed to attend personally on His Grace the Pilgrim. Show him the wonders of Rome--the churches, art-galleries, the Pantheon, the Appian Way, the Capitol, the Castle--he is one of the Church's most valued servants, he has come from afar--see that he has the attention accorded him that is his due. The Pilgrim is surprised, a trifle relieved, but not happy. He remembers that those condemned to die are given the best of food; but he tries to be patient, and so he accepts the Brother's guidance to see Rome--and then die, if he must. The days are crowded full--visitors come and go. He attends this congregation and that--fetes, receptions, pilgrimages follow fast. The cloud is still upon him--he may forget it for an hour, but each day begins in gloom--uncertainty is the only hell. At last he boldly importunes and asks that a day shall be set to try his case. Nobody knows anything about his case! Charges--what charges? However, a Committee of Cardinals wish to see him--why, yes, Thursday at ten o'clock! He passes a sleepless night, and appears at the time appointed, haggard, yet firm, armed with documents. He is ushered into the presence of the Cardinals. They receive him as an equal. A little speech is made, complimenting him on his good work, upon his uprightness, and ends with a gentle caution concerning the wisdom of making haste slowly. Charges? There are no charges against the Pilgrim--why should there be? And moreover, what if there are? Good men are always maligned. He has been summoned to Rome that the Cardinals might have his advice.