subdue it just as well whilst he remains in the world, perhaps better, than when he has given up the outward and visible sign of participation in it. One of Frederick’s first duties, naturally, lay amongst the poor of his parish, and, in this department, he received a severe rebuke before long, from his superior, Father Henniker, for not adopting a more distinctly clerical form of speech when speaking with them of their various ailments and troubles. In this dilemma, Frederick had recourse to the counsel of his other priestly companion, Father Grogan. Dennis Grogan was an Irishman, a man several years younger than Frederick Walcheren, but who had entered the ministry some time before. He was a genial, good-hearted young fellow, though somewhat unrefined, as Irish priests are apt to be, and Walcheren felt less difficulty in talking to him than to his superior. ‘Brother Grogan,’ he said one day when they found themselves, for a few rare minutes, alone and at liberty, ‘how did you feel when you first became a priest? Was it not all very strange to you?’ ‘Strange!’ echoed Grogan, without raising his eyes from his missal, ‘how could that be, when my thoughts had been fixed on nothing else for years beforehand?’ ‘But it is so difficult all at once to shake off the habits and customs of the world. For instance, I have been used all my life to plunge into a bath as soon as I get out of bed, but Brother Henniker has given me a long string of reasons, with none of which I agree, why it is desirable that I should relinquish the habit.’ ‘If he thinks so, you are bound to obey him! Why give another thought to such a trifle?’ ‘A trifle!’ cried Frederick, indignantly, ‘do you call cleanliness a trifle? Why, it has been part of my religion! When I lost my wife--when I had to give up all that made life endurable to me, I said there was only one thing that might not go after it, and that was cold water! And what harm can there be in it? I feel unfit for anything if I am not clean.’ ‘Perhaps the undue longing you have for this particular form of luxury is the very reason you are now called upon to give it up, brother,’ replied Grogan. ‘Remember! there have been men so holy as to give up washing altogether, for the love of God.’ ‘Dirty beasts!’ cried Frederick, involuntarily, and then recalled to the indiscretion of which he had been guilty, by the horror depicted in his companion’s eyes, he added, ‘But you don’t really suppose that we can please the Almighty by not washing our flesh, do you?’ ‘I know that we cannot please Him, unless we pay the strictest obedience to the commands of our superiors. You have not forgotten the vows you have taken so lately already, surely, Brother Walcheren!’ ‘Of course not, but I confess I was not prepared to find they included the surveillance of my toilet. However, it will be all one a hundred year hence. When I lost my wife, I lost everything!’