in the good city where each man may ride his own hobby
to death, and hoot at his neighbors as much as he will. You seem to
keep your piety shut up all the week in your bare, white churches, and
only let it out on Sundays, just a trifle musty with disuse. You set
your rich, warm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor shivering at
the door. You give your people bare walls to look upon, common-place
music to listen to, dull sermons to put them asleep, and then wonder
why they stay away, or take no interest when they come.

"We leave our doors open day and night; our lamps are always burning,
and we may come into our Father's house at any hour. We let rich and
poor kneel together, all being equal there. With us abroad you'll see
prince and peasant side by side, school-boy and bishop, market-woman
and noble lady, saint and sinner, praying to the Holy Mary, whose
motherly arms are open to high and low. We make our churches inviting
with immortal music, pictures by the world's great masters, and rites
that are splendid symbols of the faith we hold. Call it mummery if
ye like, but let me ask you why so many of your sheep stray into our
fold? It's because they miss the warmth, the hearty, the maternal
tenderness which all souls love and long for, and fail to find in your
stern. Puritanical belief. By Saint Peter! I've seen many a lukewarm
worshipper, who for years has nodded in your cushioned pews, wake and
glow with something akin to genuine piety while kneeling on the stone
pavement of one of our cathedrals, with Raphael's angels before his
eyes, with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all about
him, in shapes of power or beauty, the saints and martyrs who have
saved the world, and whose presence inspires him to follow their
divine example. It's not complaining of ye I am, but just reminding ye
that men are but children after all, and need more tempting to virtue
than they do to vice, which last comes easy to 'em since the Fall. Do
your best in your own ways to get the poor souls into bliss, and good
luck to ye. But remember, there's room in the Holy Mother Church for
all, and when your own priests send ye to the divil, come straight to
us and we'll take ye in."

"A truly Catholic welcome, bull and all," said the sixth spirit, who,
in spite of his old-fashioned garments, had a youthful face, earnest,
fearless eyes, and an energetic voice that woke the echoes with its
vigorous tones. "I've a hopeful report, broth