a grain of shot.

[Side note: The Causes of Sterility]

Why this sterility? Why this barrenness? Is it our native
lethargy or our native modesty? or the defective training of our
colleges in neglecting to foster literary tastes?

We will not pause to enquire. That there is one sad cause is
beyond all question--the bitterness of clerical criticism. The
Irish priest who takes to the cultivation of letters ought to
choose St. Sebastian for his patron saint; for he will have an
arrow planted in every square inch of his body.

While we have no word of condemnation for the writers who are
sucking the life-blood of Faith from our people, should one of
ourselves show style in his sermons, or attach his name to a
magazine article, the amount of mordant criticism he has to face
is sufficient to make the stoutest heart sink.

The average Irish skull in the hands of a phrenologist will show
a development of destructive bumps surpassed by none, but when he
searches for constructive ones, a glass of no small magnifying
power must come to his aid.

The habit of sneering criticism begins in the college and should
be killed in its birth-place. The man who drops an icy or an acid
word into the warm enthusiasm of a young heart commits a great
crime. He may paralyse the purpose of a noble life. Let us
reserve all our hard blows and hard words for Christ's enemies,
and a cheerful encouragement to His friends should not cost us a
drop of blood.

[Side note: The Task is Finished]

Here we pause, fully conscious of the incompleteness of our task.
The many possible and profitable fields of the young priest's
activities are no more than hinted at.

We are passing through a period of change: old landmarks are
disappearing, but if the future is to be made secure, the priest
of the present must cling to the people and teach them to cling
to him. In the revival of their industries or their language, in
the Feis or the hurling field, the priest should be the source of
their inspiration and their controlling director.

Woe to the parish where the priest sits idly or sinks into dreamy
lethargy while the people pass from him, away.

[Side note: Farewell]

The world is moving onward. Our world is willing just now that we
move with and direct it. But how long, O Lord, how long? Let us
remain stationary and it will move without us; and once lost,
lost for ever.

A glance at the Continent should fire us to desperate efforts.
You see the