organ may say that the comparative perfection attained in the
orchestra is through the very consummate manner in which he "raises
the wind"; the gentleman who manipulates upon its keys may think he
is the primum mobile in the matter; the soprano may fancy she is the
life of the whole concern; the heavy bass or the chief tenor may
respectively lay claim to the honour; but the fact is, its amongst
the lot, so that there may be a general rubbing on the question of
service, and a reciprocal scratching on the point of ability.

There are several priests at St. Wilfrid's; they are all Jesuits to
the marrow; and the chief of them is the Rev. Father Cobb. Each of
them is clever--far cleverer than many of the half-feathered curates
and full-fledged incumbents who are constantly bringing railing
accusations against them; and they work harder--get up sooner, go to
bed later--than the whole of them. They jump at midnight if their
services are required by either a wild Irishman in Canal-street or a
gentleman of the first water in any of our mansions. It is not a
question of cloth but of souls with them. They are afraid of neither
plague, pestilence, nor famine; they administer spiritual
consolation under silken hangings, as well as upon straw lairs; in
the fever stricken garret as well as in the gilded chamber. Neither
the nature of a man's position nor the character of his disease
enters into their considerations. Duty is the star of their
programme; action the object of their lives. They receive no
salaries; their simple necessaries are alone provided for. Some of
them perhaps get half-a-crown a month as pocket money; but that will
neither kill nor cure a man. Sevenpence halfpenny per week is a big
sum--isn't it?--big enough for a Jesuit priest, but calculated to
disturb the Christian balance of any other class of clergymen. If it
isn't, try them.