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.

In reference to the priests of St. Wilfrid’s, we shall only specially mention, and that briefly, the Rev. Father Cobb.  No man in Preston cares less for fine clothes than he does.  We once did see him with a new suit on; but neither before nor since that ever-memorable day, have we noticed him in anything more ethereal than a plain well-worn coat, waistcoat, and pair of trousers.  He might have a finer exterior; but he cares not for this kind of bauble.  He knows that trappings make neither the man nor the Christian, and that elaborate suits are often the synonym of elaborate foolery.  He takes a pleasure in work; is happy inaction; and hates both clerical and secular indifference.  Priests, he thinks, ought to do their duty, and men of the world ought to discharge theirs.  In education, Father Cobb is far above the ordinary run of men.  He has a great natural capacity, which has been well regulated by study; he is shrewd; has a strong intuitive sense; can’t be got over; won’t be beaten out of the field if you once get him into it; and is sure to either win or make you believe that he has.  Like all strong Catholics he has much veneration—­that “organ,” speaking in the vernacular of phrenology, is at the top of the head, and you never yet saw a thorough Catholic who did not manifest a good development of it; he is strong in ideality; has also a fine, vein of humour in him; can laugh, say jolly as well as serious things; and is a positively earnest and practical preacher.  He speaks right out to his hearers; hits them hard in reference to both this world and the next; tells them “what to eat, drink, and avoid;” says that if they