Monday in Holy Week.

THE PRIEST AT THE OUTPOST.

A.D. 1524.

ND so the one great feast of Lent is over, and we have entered on those sad days, which will grow more and more gloomy, till they bring us down

into the very valley of the shadow of death. We have been with our dear LORD this morning; we have been keeping our eyes on Him as He was when the days of His mortal life were drawing to an end. And now we shall hardly be taking them off Him if we turn to see how one of His servants trod in His footsteps. I will tell you then another of the valiant deeds which they who were His soldiers here, and are now His guests, wrought in His strength, and for His Name's sake.

There are few times in the history of the Church of which it is so sad to read or to speak, as the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth century in Germany. Bishoprics and Abbeys were given away according to the will of princes; children were often presented to them. The wealth of the Church caused men to enter into Orders who, if they did not deny GoD with their mouth, at least did so in their heart. Many Priests led lives of open wickedness; and the people gradually learnt to despise those who were over them in the LORD, and should have admonished them. By the wars from which Europe was then suffering, GOD was calling to the Church to remember from whence she had fallen, and repent; and well had it been if she had listened to His call in time.

Yet it is of that age that I am now going to tell you a story; the first which it has given me, and I dare say it will be the last.

The little town of Heinsberg, in the Netherlands, which was held by the French, was closely besieged by an army of the Emperor Charles V.; none went out, and none came in.

The troops whom the General, Marshal Von Sickingen, had gathered together for this service, were the worst of the half robbers, half soldiers who had long been the curse of Europe. They had no country; they had no home; they fought for the king that would pay them best; their own lusts were their god; and their hearts were as hard as the nether mill-stone.

You must remember what the character of these men really was; else my story, true though it be, will seem strange to you. But the fact is that the generals scarcely dared to check these freebooters. A harsh word, and much more any punishment, would send them over to the enemy. Their discipline in battle was excellent; at other times they did as they would, and none dared to say them nay.

The siege had lasted much longer than was expected, and the soldiers began to murmur at the heat of the weather, (for it was now July,) the unhealthiness of the country, and the want of provisions. It was in vain that good Father Gaspar, the army chaplain, did what he could in his office; he was plentifully mocked, bitterly reviled; and still, like his

Blessed Master, he went on in his labours, remembering that it is written, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days."

He set out, then, on a summer evening, from his poor tent, to see a party of soldiers, encamped at an outpost on a rising ground, (or, in that flat country, you might call it a hill,) about three miles from Heinsberg. The reason why they were placed there was to give notice if any French troops should advance; for there was some talk of assistance to the garrison from Maestricht, or Aix-la-Chapelle.

His path led him across the marshes, just as the sun was setting in glory over the vast plain of the Maas. He could catch the sluggish river winding for many a mile before him, sometimes shining like a silver serpent, sometimes only to be tracked by the reeds and rushes which grew upon its banks. But as he descended the slope, there was nothing to be seen but the swampy moor, and here and there the remains of what had been a barley or wheat field, destroyed in that summer's war.

Perhaps it was a sight like this; perhaps it