cation of fraternal charity, in little things almost habitually, and occasionally in bigger things as well, fails to square with the precepts of the Gospel and the resultant theories of the saints. We violate charity in a number of ways, and most frequently perhaps by detraction and by resenting injuries. Let a word or two be said of each such transgression of the law of love.

If, in the lengthy catalogue of social vices, there is one that God threatens with dire punishments, one that is repeatedly anathematized in Holy Writ, one that theologians and spiritual writers never tire of denouncing, one that the moralists of all ages and all countries, pagan and Christian, have united in branding as an enormous evil, that vice is detraction, or the defamation of our neighbor. This vigorous and continuous denunciation is of course due to the gravity of the vice in itself and the deplorable consequences that almost invariably flow therefrom. And yet, notwithstanding this universal condemnation, there is probably no sin so common, no vice so prevalent in all classes of society, not excepting the priesthood, as this same detraction. The prevalence is doubtless due to the extreme facility with which we commit the evil and to a certain impression as widespread (among the laity at least) as it is erroneous, that detraction is not a sin, or, anyway, is but a very light one. The specious argument that what every one does cannot be so very wrong is brought into requisition to plead the cause of our vitiated inclinations, and the sanction of a corrupt world is employed as a gag to stifle the cries of our protesting conscience.

No priest needs telling that detraction is, in its nature, a grievous sin, a "sin unto death." St. Paul classes it with those crimes whose perpetrators are excluded from the kingdom of Heaven: he ranks detractors with adulterers, idolaters, and thieves. And his classification is borne out by many a text of Holy Writ. "Detractors are odious in the sight of God. The slanderer is an abomination to men and an enemy to God.

The evil

whisperer and the double-tongued is accursed for he hath troubled many that were at peace. The calumniator shall never see God. detesteth the evil speaker in His soul.”

God

To say that these texts apply only to such detractors as, with malice prepense, utter calumnies and slanders calculated to do grievous injury to their neighbor, and are quite irrelevant so far as the ordinary uncharitable talk of the clergy is concerned, is to enunciate, if not an outand-out sophism, at least a near-fallacy. No theologian will deny that the sin admits of levity of matter; but most men of experience will agree that it is not always easy to determine, when there is question of evil speaking, just where is the boundary-line dividing the light from the grievous; and there is little if any exaggeration in saying that the line is frequently overstepped by many who, far from imagining that they have entered the region of mortal sin, scarcely fancy that they have traveled outside the territory of imperfections. It is proverbial that no man is a fair judge in his own cause, and it is accordingly quite possible that a priest, arraigning himself at the bar of conscience

for the sin of uncharitable talk, may show himself notably more lenient than he appears to penitents accusing themselves of the same sin in the confessional.

Our present discussion of the subject recalls an incident which, occurring as it did a good many years ago, impressed us in our salad days with the distorted views of not a few men concerning the comparative gravity of different vices. During a desultory conversation among several clerics gathered in the writer's room one day, somebody broached this topic of the fraternal charity of priests. "A non-existent virtue," said the wag of the party. "Seriously, though," said Father B., a thoroughly exemplary pastor whose only failing was a naïve and harmless egotism, really inherited rather than acquired, "seriously, though, is it not strange that so many priests should be uncharitable? Now, look at me. You never hear me making unkind remarks about my brother priests.' "For a darn good reason," exclaimed the wag aforesaid; "you're always talking about yourself." This sally was greeted with a general laugh, and Father B. was rather put out of countenance; and yet, as between him and a detracting cleric, Father B.'s status was clearly preferable. Vanity, displayed in a love of praise and a fondness for speaking of ourselves, is doubtless sinful, but assuredly not so grievously so as slander or calumny. The vain man may be ridiculous, but "detractors are odious in the sight of God." Moreover, many a man's freedom from vanity is merely the result of his pride, a much greater evil. His

self-contained satisfaction with the excellence of what he is or has leads him to be indifferent to, if not to despise, the opinions entertained of him by others. One may easily be too proud to be vain.

According to Ecclesiasticus, "pride is the beginning of all sin," and it requires no exceptional power of analysis or keenness of interior vision to recognize it as the specific root of all sins against fraternal charity-suspicions, rash judgments, unkindness, harshness, slander, calumny, envy, jealousy, hatred, vindictiveness, revenge, and similar passions. What, for instance, but pride, inordinate esteem of ourselves, overweening selfconceit, auto-intoxication of the intellect, is at the bottom of our drawing for our special friends so unflattering a character, or caricature, of “that money-grabbing old crank," our pastor; "that effeminate young dude," our curate; or "that chuckle-headed ass and insufferable bore," our neighbor of the next parish? Is it merely to pass away the time and to entertain our auditors that we exaggerate his faults, minimize his virtues, put the worst possible construction on his actions, recount with gusto any incident that tells to his disadvantage, and suggest that unworthy or questionable motives underlie his habitual conduct? Not at all. Our detraction springs in reality from our wounded self-love, from a secret sentiment of jealousy or envy that we are ashamed to acknowledge even to ourselves, from a latent spite we bear because of some real or fancied grievance, or, conceivably, from a purely malicious desire to lower him in the estimation of others.

It would be superfluous to remind priests of the utter puerility of the specious argument with which lay detractors often seek to justify or excuse their evil speaking: "Well, after all, I told only the simple truth." Damaging truth told of one's neighbor without reason or necessity is slander, and its retailer is "an abomination to men and an enemy to God." Nor need any cleric be reminded that, in the case of uncharitable talk, there is from the true to the false, from slander to calumny, but a single step-and a step so slippery that the average evil-whisperer is very liable to take it. Who does not know that a single grain of fact hurtful to a priestly reputation will yield a quicker and more abundant crop than any other seed ever planted? Who has not seen a slight defect become transformed in the mouth of the detractor to a grievous fault, and, passing from one to another, grow to an enormous crime? Where is the priest so singularly blessed that he has altogether escaped the priestly gossip's tongue? Where the diocese so phenomenally charitable that it cannot furnish at least one or two clerical backbiters who are continually at work changing pigmies into giants and molehills into mountains? When shall we priests take to heart, ourselves, the lesson from Ecclesiasticus which we are so fond of impressing upon our people: "Hast thou heard a word against thy neighbor? Let it die within thee, trusting that it will not burst thee." Nor is it enough to shun active detraction: fraternal charity demands that we avoid passive participation therein as well. Talkers will refrain from evil-speaking only when listeners refrain from evil-hearing.