{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38695/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38695","id":"gutenberg_38695","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38695","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Donahoe's Magazine","Periodicals"],"text":"Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, JoAnn Greenwood\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: The following Table of Contents has been added (not\npresent in the original). Remaining transcriber's notes are at end of\ntext.]\n\n    Welcome of the Divine Guest                                305\n    John Scotus Erigena                                        306\n    Frau Huett: A Legend of Tyrol                               308\n    Echoes from the Pines                                      310\n    Musings from Foreign Poets                                 312\n    Erin on Columbias Shore                                    314\n    The Ursuline Convent of Tenos                              316\n    Southern Sketches. XIX.                                    320\n    The Church and Modern Progess                              328\n    Give Charity While You Live                                333\n    Emmet's Rebellion                                          335\n    The Annunciation:--March 25th                              339\n    Much-a-Wanted                                              339\n    Mixed Marriages                                            344\n    Farewell, My Home                                          345\n    The \"Ten-Commandment\" Theory                               346\n    Bay State Faugh-a-Ballaghs. IV.                            347\n    Drunkenness in Old Times                                   351\n    The Paschal Candle                                         352\n    Our New Cardinal                                           359\n    The Irish as Conspirators                                  362\n    Orders of Knighthood                                       366\n    Low-necked Dresses                                         367\n    Columbus and Ireland                                       368\n    Miss Mulholland's Poems: \"Vagrant Verses.\"                 369\n    Seeing the Old Year Out: A True Story                      370\n    Juvenile Department                                        373\n    Lenten Pastorals                                           384\n    Notes on Current Topics                                    385\n    Personal                                                   396\n    Notices of Recent Publications                             397\n    Obituary                                                   398\n\n\n\n\nDonahoe's Magazine.\n\nVol. XV. BOSTON, APRIL, 1886. No. 4.\n\n     \"The future of the Irish race in this country, will depend\n     largely upon their capability of assuming an independent\n     attitude in American politics.\"--RIGHT REV. DOCTOR IRELAND,\n     _St. Paul, Minn._\n\n\nThe Welcome of the Divine Guest.\n\n    In a rare old Irish story,\n      I have read with a tear and smile,\n    Of a scene in a little chapel\n      In Erin's far-off isle;\n\n    A little rustic chapel\n      In a wild yet fair retreat,\n    Where the hardy sons of the mountains\n      On hallowed mornings meet.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    The priest at the lighted altar\n      Is reading the blessed Mass;\n    And the place is thronged from the chancel,\n      Clear out to the churchyard-grass;\n\n    All kneeling, hush'd and expectant,\n      Biding their chosen time,\n    'Till the bell of the Consecration\n      Rings forth its solemn chime;\n\n    When lo! as the Host is lifted,\n      The Chalice raised on high,\n    Subdued yet clear, the people\n      Send forth one rapturous cry:\n\n    \"Welcome! A thousand welcomes!\"\n      (While many a tear-drop starts:)\n    \"Welcome! _Cead mille failthe!_\n      White Love of all our hearts!\"\n\n    Oh, the passionate warmth of that whisper!\n      Oh, the grace of that greeting strong!\n    On the tide of its glowing fervor,\n      All hearts are borne along!\n\n    And the blaze of the Son of Justice\n      Lights up that dim old spot,\n    And kindles in every spirit\n      A flame that dieth not!\n\n    Ah! friends in our stately churches,\n      When we gaze on the gorgeous shrine\n    Where the Sacred Host reposes,\n      Like a great white Pearl divine,--\n\n    Let the voice of our faith find utt'rance\n      In a greeting free from guile;\n    Let us cry with our Irish brothers\n      In Erin's far-off isle:\n\n    \"Welcome! a thousand welcomes!\"\n      (What bliss _that_ prayer imparts!)\n    \"Welcome! _Cead mille failthe!_\n      White Love of all our hearts!\"\n\n                                        ELEANOR C. DONNELLY.\n\n\n\n\nJohn Scotus Erigena.\n\n\nDuring the ninth century there lived few more remarkable men in Western\nEurope than John Scotus Erigena, the celebrated Irish theologian,\nphilosopher and poet. Little beyond mere conjecture is known of his\nbirth and early education. Indeed, the first well-authenticated facts in\nconnection with his life is that in the year 851 he held the offices of\nrector and professor of dialectics in the famous Royal School of Paris,\nand that he occupied at the same time apartments in the palace of\nCharles the Bald, son of Louis le Debonnaire, and grandson of the\nEmperor Charlemagne. It may, however, be interesting to see what\nhistorical critics have to say of his birth and early antecedents.\n\nAlmost all writers of weight are agreed that John Scotus Erigena was an\nIrishman. In fact, there is hardly any room for doubt on the subject. If\nall other evidences of the fact were absent his very name furnishes\nproof enough that John was a son of the Emerald Isle. John Scotus\nErigena simply means John the Irish Scot--Erigena being a corruption of\na Greek word, the translation of which is \"of the sacred isle,\" and\nevery school boy knows that Ireland was known at that time throughout\nthe nations of the earth as the \"_insula sanctorum et doctorum_,\" the\n\"island of saints and sages.\"\n\nIt was in 851 that he published his famous work on \"Predestination.\"\nLong before that time, however, his name was well known in France, so\nthat it may be safely assumed that he came to that country about the\nyear 845. At this calculation we may place his birth somewhere about the\nyear 820.\n\nPrudentius, his colleague in the Scolia Palitina, or Royal School of\nParis, says that he was the cleverest of all those whom Ireland sent to\nFrance. _Te solum omnium acutissimum galliae transmisit Hibernia._ When\nwe consider that Prudentius was so intimately connected with him as to\nstyle himself his \"_quasi frater_,\" any doubts that might remain as to\nErigena's nationality should entirely vanish.\n\nBut, it may be asked, why did this great man leave Ireland to seek\nshelter and patronage from a foreign king? Had he not at home a field\nwide and fertile enough for even his towering intellect in the numerous\nmonasteries and schools which were at this time the pride and glory of\nErin? The cause of his departure from his home and friends was probably\nthe inroads of the Danes, who, in the year 843, under their brutal\nleader Turgesius, \"plundered Connaught, Meath and Clonmacnoise with its\noratories,\" and thus rendered a residence in the country anything but\ndesirable for the holy monk and erudite scholar.\n\nWe have seen that John published his work \"De Praedestinatione\" about the\nyear 851. In combating the errors of Gottschalk, he unfortunately\nbroached new errors of his own, and thus incurred the displeasure of the\nHoly See.\n\nThe most precious volume in the Royal Library at Paris was a Greek copy\nof the works of \"Pseudo Dionysius the Areopagite.\" Many unsuccessful\nattempts had been made to translate this work, and when Charles the Bald\nfound that the erudite rector of the Royal School could translate Greek,\nhe ordered him to furnish a translation which he did. It was published\nin 861, and a copy sent to Pope Nicholas I. The Sovereign Pontiff, who\nwas not inclined to look with great favor on the author of \"De\nPraedestinatione,\" did not approve of the translation, and as a\nconsequence of some farther negotiations between Charles and the Holy\nSee, Scotus was, in 861, dismissed from his position in the Scolia\nPalitina. He did not, however, just then cease to be connected with the\nRoyal Palace. His principal works are--\"De Divisione Naturae,\" \"Liber de\nDivine Praedestinatione,\" Translation of the Ethics of Aristotle and of\nthe writings of \"Pseudo Dionysius the Areopagite,\" and a \"Commentary on\nthe Gospel of St. John.\" That John Scotus Erigena erred and erred\ngravely, no one can for a moment deny; but we should remember with the\nlearned and distinguished Coadjutor Bishop of Clonfert (the Most Rev.\nDr. Healy), \"That he erred not in the spirit of Luther and Calvin, but\nof Origen and St. Cyprian.\"\n\nHow long he remained in Paris after his dismissal from the Royal School\ncannot be determined, nor do we know how he ended his days. Some assert\nthat \"he was murdered by a band of infuriated students at Oxford or\nMalmesbury,\" but this is by no means certain.\n\n    Jan. 18th, 1885.                             OLLAVE FOLA\n\n\n\n\nFrau Huett: A Legend of Tyrol.\n\n\nThe Austro-Bavarian Alps are perhaps unsurpassed in number and average\nheight by any group of mountains in the world. There is always more or\nless snow on their summits, and as they are continually attracting the\nclouds and causing a changeable, capricious climate in their\nneighborhood, they may be said, like fashionable ladies, to have a\ndifferent dress for every day in the week, and to look beautiful in\nwhichever dress they choose to wear. They are beautiful when they stand\nout clear and sublime in the perfect sunlight of a cloudless day. They\nare beautiful in the night when the moonlight grows even more silvery\nfrom its contact with the snow upon their tops, or when there is no moon\nand the stars are rivalled by the bonfires which merry climbers have\nkindled upon their well-wooded sides. They were beautiful in the only\nthunder-storm I have seen during my residence among them,--their tops\nhidden by the clouds and the lightning flashing furiously down their\nsides, as if the thunderer of Olympus himself were hurling his bolts\ninto the valley, while \"a million, horrible, bellowing echoes\" bounded\nand rebounded from mountain to mountain. And they were very beautiful on\nthe day when I first heard this little legend which I am about to put\ninto writing. It was raining in the valley, but yet it was possible to\nsee more or less of all the mountains, and the summit of one of them was\nperfectly visible above the clouds that covered its sides. This was Frau\nHuett, a peak whose shape bears a remarkable resemblance to that of a\nmonstrous woman on horseback; and this is its legend as it was told to\nme by a very obliging _kellnerin_ in the cosey little inn where I was\nsitting:\n\n\"Frau Huett was a beautiful young maiden who lived in this very valley a\ngreat many hundreds of years ago, and one morning she determined to have\nher favorite palfrey saddled and take a canter up the mountain-side. It\nwas a lovely morning and she was soon glowing with exercise and\npleasure. She had passed over the lower part of the mountain, and was\nenjoying the merry, upward rush through the cool, fresh air, when she\nsuddenly perceived a beggar standing in the road before her, with head\nuncovered and hands outstretched for alms. Now, Frau Huett was a selfish,\ncold-hearted woman, and instead of checking her steed or turning him\naside, she rode straight upon the helpless beggar, and in a very few\nseconds he was being trampled beneath her horse's feet and was spending\nhis dying breath, not in praying for his soul, but in cursing hers.\n\n\"His curse took immediate effect. Frau Huett was at once struck by\nremorse. The glow of exercise fled from her cheeks, and she began to\nfeel chilly and faint, and to think of returning home; but she shuddered\nat the thought of repassing the beggar's mangled corpse. And when at\nlast she attempted to check her steed and head him for the valley, she\nfound with horror that the brute had acquired a will of his own and\nwould no longer obey the bit; and when she tried to hurl herself from\nthe saddle, it was only to discover that she was firmly fastened to her\nseat and could not move from it. So horse and rider rushed upward higher\nand higher, upward through the frosty mountain air and over the frozen\nmountain snow, and all the time Frau Huett grew colder and colder, and\nfelt the very blood in her veins ceasing to circulate, and her muscles\nbecoming so stiffened that she could not even shiver. And when they had\nreached the summit of the mountain where people in the valley might best\nsee her and be best warned by her fate, the palfrey rested, and Frau\nHuett's whole body became what her heart always was,--stone.\n\n\"And even unto this day, once every year at a certain midnight, when the\nair is silent except for here and there the crowing of a cock, and the\ncontinuous gurgle of our rivers rushing to the sea, a mist arises from\nthe muddy waters of the river Inn and thickens into a cloud and floats\nnorthward; and when it approaches Frau Huett, it slowly takes the form of\na beggar with head uncovered and hands outstretched as if for alms; and\nthen the upper part of the mountain trembles visibly, just for all the\nworld like a mortal shuddering in the presence of some ghastly horror.\n\n\"And have I seen this myself?\" repeated our kind informant. \"No, indeed;\nand I suppose if I were to ask the same question of the person who told\nme the story, he would reply, after the fashion of all ghost-story\ntellers, that his mother's first husband knew a gentleman whose aunt's\nnext-door neighbor was reported to have seen it often. At any rate, one\ncannot easily watch for the spectre, because nobody knows the date of\nits annual appearance. 'And how in the world could a woman and her horse\never become so monstrously large as to form the peak of that great, big\nmountain?' Oh, that is easily answered. They did not become so. They\nalways were so, for it all happened in the days of the giants.\"\n\n                                              CASPAR PISCHL.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nCHARLES O'CONOR.--\"He went to Ireland and visited the seat of his\nancestors at Belanagre, in Connaught, the result of which was that upon\nhis return he changed the orthography of his name. Before that time he\nand his father had spelled Conor with two n's, but he then dropped one\nof the n's upon discovering that the family name was anciently spelled\nin that way. I was once asked if I knew why he had changed the spelling\nof his name from two n's to one, and I answered that he was descended\nfrom the Irish kings, and found, when he visited Ireland, that they\nspelled the name in that way, which information Mr. Nathaniel Jarvis,\nthe witty Clerk of the Court of Common Pleas, who was present,\nsupplemented with the remark that he supposed that the Irish kings had\nalways been so poor that they had never been able to make both n's\nmeet.\"\n\n\n\n\nEchoes from the Pines.\n\n    \"----, This, nor gems, nor stores of gold,\n    Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow,\n    But God alone, when first His active Hand\n    Imprints the secret bias of the soul.\"\n\n\nThe palm, the laurel, and all the fountains of Pindus, Helicon and\nParnassus, were sacred to the muses. The deep and dark pine woods of\nMaine, if not sacred to the muse of the author of \"Echoes from the\nPines,\" seem at times to have been a source of inspiration to her. We\nsay \"at times,\" and in a relative sense only, for assuredly, Margaret E.\nJordan, the gifted author of the beautiful volume of poems, with the\nabove title, sought her sources of inspiration at a higher fount than\nthis, or any named in the pages of ancient mythology. Of her, indeed, it\nmay be truly said,--\n\n                        \"His active hand\n    Imprints the secret bias of the soul.\"\n\nThese poems, about fifty in number, are scattered throughout the work\nlike wild flowers o'er mead and hill, in copse and glen. They are, to\nsome extent, artless in composition, free and flowing in style,\ngarnished with pure and holy thoughts, and most of them, while stamped\nwith the royal sign of deep religious thought,--truest source of all\npoetic inspiration,--are free of the namby-pambyism common to what are\nsometimes called \"religious\" poems.\n\nNearly all these poems are written in words of one syllable; that, at\nleast, is a chief characteristic of them. This simple beauty of\ncomposition is oftener felt than observed. Thus, in our immortal lyrics,\nthe Irish Melodies, Moore deals largely in this style.\n\nTake a glance at the following:--\n\n    \"The harp that once through Tara's hall\n      The soul of music shed,\n    Now hangs as mute on Tara's wall,\n      As if that soul were fled;\n    So sleeps the pride of former days,\n      So glory's thrill is o'er,\n    And hearts that once beat high for praise,\n      Now feel that pulse no more.\"\n\nThis beautiful simplicity is too often overlooked by the lovers of the\nIrish Bard, yet it indicates great strength of mind and a powerful\npinion not only in poetry but in prose. (_Vide_, Cardinal Newman's\n_Apologia_).\n\nThe patriotic poems in Miss Jordan's collection are full of fervent\npathos and fine feeling.\n\nTake this stanza for example:--\n\n    \"'Twas no disgrace to be Irish\n      In the far-famed days of old,\n    When the tale of our redemption\n      In Tara's halls was told.\n    When the holy feet of Saint Patrick\n      Blessed the land whose soil they trod,\n    And a pathway traced, yet never effaced,\n      From Ireland to God.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"'Tis no disgrace to be Irish,\n      Or to bear the faith to-day\n    That Ireland's sons have cherished\n      Thro' many a weary way.\n    What! a disgrace to be Irish!\n      A pride and a joy let it be!\n    More than fortune or fame, prize the faith and the name,\n      Of the Saint-hallowed isle of the sea.\"\n\nIn the spirited poem, \"Leave their Fair Fatherland,\" in which the cruel\nprocess of emigration as a panacea for the sufferings of Ireland is\ndescribed by the author, the opening stanza gives the tone of the whole\npoem:--\n\n    \"Leave the fair land of their fathers,\n      The graves of their grandsires--for what?\n    Have ye not hearts in your bosoms,\n      Or think ye the Irish have not?\n    When sounded our trumpet of battle,\n      Were they cravens? Nay, bravest of men!\n    And they fought till the 'stars' rose in triumph\n      Never to vanish again!\"\n\nOur poet is not above giving \"A Bit of Advice,\" and the way she gives it\nis this:--\n\n    \"Whene'er you find a chance to wed\n      A noble girl, don't slight it;\n    And if you cannot speak your mind,\n      Why, just sit down and write it.\"\n\nBut the fellow who couldn't \"pop the question\" to \"a noble girl,\" would\nnot deserve to get her, and we think the noble girl would say the same.\n\nThe above selections are by no means the best we could have given. They\nare selected at random, and chiefly because they admit of selection\nwithout injuring the sense of their meaning. In other instances it would\nhave been necessary to quote the poems entire, and this, of course, was\nneither desirable nor practicable in the small space at command.\n\nThe author of these poems is not unknown in Boston and throughout the\nNew England States. It would be an encouragement to her to find that her\nefforts were not without promise of reward, and confident we are that\nthose who spend a dollar in purchasing this handsome volume will not\nregret it. We have all a duty to discharge in the encouragement of\nCatholic writers and here is an excellent chance.\n\nThe work is beautifully brought out by the spirited publishers, McGowan\n& Young, of Portland, Me. It is printed on the finest paper, well and\nhandsomely bound, gold lettered and red edges. It has a dedication so\nbrief and beautiful that we give it entire. It is a little poem in\nitself. Here it is:--\n\n     \"TO MY BELOVED FATHER AND MOTHER.\"\n\nWere it possible to reveal even a little of what this abdication means,\nand what it conceals, the effort of Margaret E. Jordan would reap a rich\nreturn for literary labors performed under trying circumstances. Our\nbeautiful singer could not well refrain from writing about \"Gethsemane.\"\nHer devotion and her love to our Suffering Lord must needs find its vent\namong the trees of Mount Olivet!\n\nProcure a copy of \"Echoes from the Pines,\" and the sweet music and\nbalsamic odor will be deliciously refreshing and grateful to every\nsense.\n\n                                                     P. McC.\n\n\n\n\nMusings from Foreign Poets.\n\n\nTHE PEARL AND THE SONG.\n\nFrom the German of Ebert.\n\n    The million-tinted pearl of ocean\n      Lies shrined within its mortal shell,\n    And sails the deep in wavy motion,\n      Responsive to each tidal swell.\n\n    These songs of mine that shell resemble\n      Freighted with tears, in ebb and flow,\n    Like to the shell they float and tremble\n      On the wild ocean of my woe.\n\n\nTHE MODERN MUSE.\n\nFrom the Italian of Leopardi.\n\n    While still a youth and all aflame\n    With fire poetic, I became\n    A pupil of the Muses nine;\n    One took my hand in kindly mood,\n    And led me to the inner shrine--\n    The secret workshop, where apart,\n    In silence and in solitude,\n    They wrought the marvels of their art.\n\n    The Muse then showed me, one by one,\n    And in minute detail outlined\n    The various tasks to each assigned;\n    I listened, marvelling much the while;\n    \"Pray, Muse,\" I asked, \"where is the file?\"\n\n    She answered lightly as in scorn,\n    \"The file is rusted and outworn,\n    'Tis used no more in prose or rhyme.\"\n    \"But why not mend it if 'tis broken?\"\n    Lightly again the words were spoken,\n    \"The fact is, friend, we have no time!\"\n\n\nPRAYER OF THE POOR.\n\nFrom the French of Lamartine.\n\n    O Thou who dost thine ear incline\n      Unto the lowly sparrow's nest,\n    And hear'st the sighs of flowers that pine\n      For dews upon the mountain's crest!\n\n    Divine Consoler of our woes!\n      Thou dost the hidden hand perceive\n    That on the poor a coin bestows\n      To buy the bread by which they live.\n\n    Thou givest, as Thou deemest best\n      To mortals, wealth or poverty,\n    That, springing from their union blest,\n      Justice might live and charity.\n\n    To know the hearts, be this Thy care,\n      Who thus their kindly gifts dispense,\n    That in the treasures they may share\n      Of Thy all-bounteous providence.\n\n    We know not those for whom we pray,\n      They are beheld of Thee alone;\n    Their right hand's gifts from day to day,\n      Are ever to their left unknown.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nThe plan to unite Paris and London with pneumatic tubes has been\nreported on favorably by French engineers, and submitted to the\nGovernment. It is proposed that two pneumatic tubes be laid, following\nthe line of the Northern Railroad from Paris to Calais, thence across\nthe channel to Dover, and following the line of the South-Eastern\nRailroad to London. Letters could thus be transmitted between the two\ncapitals in one hour. Wagonets like those now used to transport\ntelegrams from Paris are used, weighing ten kilograms and capable of\ncarrying five kilograms weight of mail matter. Twenty pneumatic trains\nare to be started every hour.\n\n\n\n\nErin on Columbia's Shore.\n\nBRIGHT INCIDENTS OF CORRELATIVE IRISH HISTORY.\n\n\nThat history repeats itself in many and sometimes mysterious ways, is\nrather interestingly illustrated in a talk with Mr. Denis McGillicuddy,\nof Medford. This gentleman emigrated from Ireland to America about forty\nyears ago, and in the meantime has been a prominent builder and\ncontractor. His works include the construction of nineteen Catholic\nChurches, among them in 1870-1, St. Augustine's Church of South Boston,\nand also the mansion of Archbishop Williams and his priests near the\nCathedral in this city. His story links two countries together in its\ndetail, though centuries and three thousand miles of ocean divide them,\nand the incidents he related yesterday to the writer, as follows:\n\n\"When I read the account of the truly Christian celebration of Christmas\nin St. Augustine's Church, South Boston, it brought to my mind an\nincident in connection with the building of that beautiful and\nelaborately finished edifice and its worthy pastor, Rev. Father\nO'Callaghan, which I should think might very well interest the general\nreader; but it certainly ought to be interesting to those who\nfamiliarize themselves with comparisons in history. Among the artisans\nemployed on St. Augustine's, when in process of erection, were four men\nbearing the historic names of O'Keefe, O'Sullivan, O'Falvey and\nO'Connell. Now, sir, in the Annals of Ireland, by the Four Masters, we\nfind that Ceallachan (Callaghan), a celebrated warrior of the Erigenian\nrace, was King of Cashel in the tenth century, and having defeated the\nDanes in several battles, Sitric, who was then chief of the Danes, in\nDublin, made proposals of peace to the King of Munster. Ceallachan went\nto Dublin on that mission accompanied only by his body-guard, and one or\ntwo friends. On his arrival there, his party was treacherously attacked,\nand Ceallachan was taken prisoner,--the entire proceedings, on the part\nof the barbarians being a conspiracy to get Ceallachan, their formidable\nopponent, into their power. The Munster (South of Ireland) chiefs, in\norder to release their king from captivity, collected a powerful force,\nnumbering over twelve thousand troops commanded by Denis O'Keefe, Prince\nof Fermoy, and O'Sullivan, Prince of Beara. They also organized a large\nnaval force, consisting of one hundred and twenty ships commanded by an\nO'Falvey and an O'Connell.\n\n\"The army marched northwest through Connaught, and thence through Ulster\nto Armagh, which city was then in possession of the Danes, and whither\nthe latter had brought Ceallachan to transport him captive to Denmark.\nThe Irish attacked Armagh, applied scaling ladders to the walls, and the\nDanes under Sitric and his brothers, Tor and Magnus, were defeated with\ngreat slaughter. The Danes fled in the night to the protection of their\nships at Dundalk, and carrying Ceallachan, they embarked on board their\nvessels in that bay. Warrior O'Keefe followed, and from its shores sent\na flag of truce demanding of Sitric that he deliver to him the person\nof King Ceallachan. But Sitric refused the demand unless an eric, a sum\nof money, was first paid for every Dane who fell in the fifteen\ndifferent battles with King Ceallachan and his forces. Sitric then\nordered Ceallachan to be tied to one of the masts of his ship, and he\nwas thus exposed in full view of the whole Munster army. The Irish were\nterribly enraged at this outrage on their chief, but had not then any\nmeans of attacking the enemy. Shortly after, however, O'Falvey, the\nIrish admiral, hove in sight and drew up his ships in line for attack on\nthe Danish fleet. A desperate engagement ensued; the Irish commanders\ngave orders to grapple with the enemy's vessels. O'Falvey succeeded in\nreleasing Ceallachan, and, giving him a sword, asked him to assume\ncommand. The Irish, at seeing their king at liberty, fought with renewed\nvalor; but the valiant O'Falvey fell pierced with many wounds.\nO'Connell, who was second in command, seized Sitric, the Danish\nchieftain, in sudden grasp and plunged overboard with him. Both were\ndrowned. It is also related that Fingal, and many other Irish chiefs,\ngrasped other Danish chiefs in similar fashion in their arms, and leaped\nwith them in like manner into the sea. At length, the Danish forces were\ndefeated, and their fleet totally destroyed. Almost all the Irish chiefs\nand a great many of the men engaged in that hard contest were slain. The\nconsternation of General O'Keefe and his army, being unable to render\nany assistance to their countrymen on the water, may be imagined. After\nthe naval combat Ceallachan landed in Dundalk, where he was most\njoyfully received by the people, and soon after resumed in peaceful\nsway, the government of the Munster province.\"\n\n\"This great sea fight took place,\" said the narrator, \"in the Bay of\nDundalk, in the year 944. The account is given in an ancient Irish MS.\nwith the title of '_Toruigheachd Cheallachain chaisil_,'--signifying the\npursuit for the rescue of Ceallachan Cashel.\"\n\n\"Well what are your deductions, Mr. Mc.,\" queried the writer.\n\n\"The coincidence to my mind is this,\" said Mr. McGillicuddy, as his face\nbrightened; \"and it is a singular one I think, that here in this\nglorious and enlightened Republic, one thousand years later, the kinsman\nof this Munster prince, Rev. Denis O'Callaghan, when erecting his\nchurch, now all paid for, had in his employ the kinsmen of the four\nchiefs highest in command on that memorable occasion--viz: O'Keefe,\nO'Sullivan, O'Falvey and O'Connell, all professing the identical\nChristian creed their forefathers professed and practised. There are no\nbarbarians here now, thank God, to hinder Christians from kneeling at\ntheir own shrine, and all as they chose, no matter how else they may\ndiffer on material and worldly questions. Here the kinsmen of these\nbrave soldiers of the tenth century build temples to the Lord of Hosts,\nand are not called upon to defend them with their life's blood from the\nfire and sword of barbaric legions. Thus let us pray that with pure\nChristian foundations, the beloved union of States,--the Republic--may\nbe in the quotation of Henry Grattan, '_esto perpetua_.'\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Ursuline Convent of Tenos.\n\n\nTwenty-three years ago there started from France four Ursuline nuns with\nthe intention of founding a convent of their order in the island of\nTenos, in the Greek Archipelago. The first idea had been to found this\nestablishment in Syra, the chief commercial town of the Cyclades; but\ninsuperable difficulties turned their hopes to Tenos, known to the\nancient Greeks as the island of Serpents. Nothing could be more\npicturesque and lovely than the island, nothing less civilized. These\nfour ladies, of high courage and energy, left the shores of the most\ncivilized country in the world with the small sum of six hundred francs,\nupon which they resolved to start a school of Catholic education and\ncharity in an island which had ceased to be universally Catholic from\nthe time of Venetian rule. Having gone over the ground and realized\n(only dimly) their enormous difficulties, the complete sacrifice they\nwere compelled to make of all bodily comforts, and the unendurable\nconditions of existence they bravely faced, I can only compare their\ncourage with that which formed the annals of the earliest stages of\nChristianity. Becalmed upon a whimsical sea, they arrived at Tenos a\nlittle before eight in the evening. Tenos was the spot selected, or\nrather its village, Lutra, because the bishop had consented to the\nerection of a convent in his diocese. To readers accustomed to the\nresources of civilized travelling the hour of arrival is an inconsequent\ndetail. Not so even to-day in Tenos. Judge, then, what it must have been\ntwenty-three years ago! Four delicately nurtured women had to face a\ndark, rocky road, more of the nature of a sheer precipice than a road,\nlate at night upon mules. I made the same journey at mid-day and felt\nmore dead than alive after it. There is positively not a vestige of\nroadway up the whole steep mountain pass, nothing but large rocks and\nbroken marbles, though the traveller in search of the picturesque is\namply repaid the discomfort of the ride. But compared with the village\nof Lutra, which was the destination of the nuns, this wild and\ndangerous-looking path is a kind of preliminary paradise. No\nword-painting of the most realistic school could do justice to the\nhorror of Lutra to-day--and what must it have been there before the\nrefining influence of those nuns touched it? This dirty stone-built and\ntumble-down village the four nuns entered at eight o'clock, when\ndarkness covered its ugliness, but greatly increased its dangers. The\nfirst entrance winds under an intricate line of narrow stone arches, the\npavement uneven, the mingling of odors unimaginable. Through this\nunearthly awfulness they bravely struggled and reached their destination\nat last. A Father from the neighboring community had heard of their\nexpected arrival, and was already superintending the rough and hurried\ndetails of their reception. I saw the house which stands just as it was\nwhen the Ursuline nuns first made it their residence. A mud cabin\ncontaining two rooms: kitchen and dining-room, bedroom and chapel. The\nroof is made of stones thrown loosely over wooden beams placed far\napart, the two rooms separated by a whitewashed arch instead of a door.\nThere are no windows; but spaces are cut in the walls which served to\nlet in the light and air, and at night were covered by shutters. Hail,\nrain, or snow, it was necessary to keep these spaces open by day in\norder to see, and it is not surprising that one of the nuns was soon\nprostrated by a dangerous fever. The beds were mattresses stuffed with\nsomething remarkably like potatoes, and laid on the mud floor at night,\nupon which the nuns slept a short, ascetic sleep.\n\nHere they remained for some time, going among the villagers and\nsoliciting that the poor would send their children to be taught. This\nthe poor did, and gradually the children began to fill the kitchen of\nthe mud cabin. If it rained during class umbrellas had to be put up as a\nprotection under a nominal roof, just as the nuns had to sleep under\numbrellas in wet weather. Indeed, sometimes it rained so hard that they\nwere obliged to take up their mattresses at night, and seek a more\nsheltered spot elsewhere. At last the number of their charity pupils\nincreased; and the bishop, as poor as they were almost, offered them the\nonly asylum in his power, his own paternal home, also a mud cabin; but\ninstead of two miserable rooms it contained four. This was an immense\nimprovement, and the nuns felt like exchanging a cottage for a palace.\nBut here the protection of umbrellas was still necessary, as the roof\nwas also made of loosely set stones and beams. In time other nuns joined\nthem from France, until they formed a community of eleven, with eighty\nvillage school children and one boarder. It grew daily more and more\nnecessary that something should be done to raise money to build a\nconvent. Their couches had been slowly raised from a mud floor to\ntables, upon which they slept the sleep of Trappists; but a proper\nestablishment was now indispensable to the work they had laid themselves\nout to do. With this object, two nuns set out on a supplicating mission\nround the Levant. They were less successful than they had perhaps\nanticipated, for they returned after their arduous task only enriched by\neight thousand francs. With this sum they were enabled to build a small\nportion of the present establishment; but building in a Greek island is\nslow and costly work. Each stone has to be carried up the long mountain\npass from the quarries; the way is difficult, the men unaccustomed to\nprompt work.\n\nHowever, in due time the nuns were enabled to leave the bishop's homely\nroof, where their chapel was a tiny closet separated from the class and\ndining-room by a curtain, and the beds the tables used during the day\nwith umbrellas for a roof.\n\nTwo nuns later made the tour of France in search of funds, and were\nrewarded for their unpleasant undertaking by the sum of twenty-five\nthousand francs, which added something more to the building already\ncommenced, and smaller sums, together with pupils, came afterwards. Now\nthey have between fifty and sixty pupils who are paid for, and almost as\nlarge a number of charity children and orphans who are supported at the\nexpense of the convent. These children are all Greeks or Levantines; but\nas the language of the Order is French, they speak French fluently.\n\nSo much for a general idea of the immense difficulties in the way of\nfoundation, and for an outline of the personal sacrifices and admirable\ncourage which has carried it through. I will now try to give an outline\nof what has been done. To begin with the island of Tenos, although\nextremely picturesque, with its marble rocks, its clear, bare hills\nshadowed lightly by purple thyme and gray olives and torrent beds in dry\nweather forming zigzag lines of pink-blossomed oleanders, fig-trees,\nmulberries, tall, feathery-headed reeds and orange and lemon trees, is\nas devoid of all the necessary adjuncts of modern existence as it is\npossible to imagine any place. As you approach it, it lies upon the\ndeep, blue Mediterranean, a stretch of dimpled brown hills, curve laid\ninextricably upon curve, its apparent barrenness softened in the beauty\nof shape, as the morning sea mist, which has rested upon its base like a\nfine white veil, gradually lifts itself into the clouds. From an\naesthetic point of view, the picture is admirable; but the least\nfastidious of travellers must at once recognize the almost impossibility\nof raising upon it anything like a comfortable European home. Yet,\nnevertheless, this gigantic feat is what the nuns, by a peculiar genius,\npatient perseverance, and severe economy, have accomplished. The\ntwo-roomed mud cabin of twenty-three years ago is now a tradition, and\nthey have made themselves a lovely centre above the dirty village of\nLutra. They have cultivated the stony, impoverished soil till their\ngardens are thickly foliaged by lemons, oranges, figs, pomegranates,\ncactuses, oleanders, oaks, olives, apples, pears, and apricots. These\nfruits are consumed in the convent partly, and the surplus is sold in\nSyra for a mere song, which, if they could export to England would yield\nthem a profitable interest. Their gardens are arranged with great taste,\nFrench and English flowers blooming side by side with the luxuriant\ngrowths of the country. Nothing more lovely than the site upon which\ntheir mountain home is built can be imagined. The hills roll one above\nthe other in different colors, and the valleys, with their stains of\nverdure and dusky foliages upon the red soil and marble rocks, are\nunfolded like a perpetual panorama. If you mount the terrace or the\ncastra higher up--once a Venetian fortress--you will see the dreamy\nMediterranean, responsive to the slightest emotions of the Eastern sky,\nand you will be surrounded by soft, blue touches of land breaking above\nits waves of intenser color--the Grecian Isles, Syra, with its white\ntown half hidden by the cloud-shadowed hills, Syphona, a misty margin of\ngray upon the clear horizon, ancient Delos, so dim as to appear neither\nwholly sky nor land; desert Delos, with darker, fuller curves of land\nupon a silver edge of water, and nearest Mycono, a blending of the\npurest blues, with the famous Naxos behind washing which, whatever its\nmood in general, the Mediterranean is sure to take its own distinctive\ncolor--sapphire.\n\nThe convent is built in the shape of the letter S, with the new building\nrecently added for the pupils--a long line of class-rooms and music\nclosets below and the dormitories above admirably arranged so that each\ngirl is enclosed in a kind of cell, or cabin, numbered on the door\noutside, with a general ceiling. It is original and much better than the\nold system, by which twenty or thirty girls felt themselves in a general\nbedroom. This building has proved the most expensive of all, and the\nundertaking leaves the community considerably in debt and if any of my\nreaders feel sufficiently impressed by the endurance, courage, and\nself-sacrifice I have indicated in this short sketch to desire to be of\nany help in a most deserving cause, donations to enable the convent to\npay off its debt will be very gratefully received by the superior. Their\ncharities and hospitalities are necessarily great, and their isolated\nposition precludes them from the enjoyment of those resources and\nassistances which the communities in Catholic countries may justly rely\nupon.\n\nThe features of the island of Tenos gather beauty with familiarity, and\nthe inhabitants are as simple and pure and primitive as the old ideal of\nArcadia without, however, the picturesque shepherd costume and crook.\nThey have the greatest respect for the French nuns, teach their little\nbrown-faced babies to salute them by kissing their hand, and with the\nuntutored courtesy of their peasant race are willing and anxious to\nrender the sisters whatever service lies within their power. They wonder\ngreatly at the taste and artistic beauty of the convent grounds; at the\nperfect neatness and cleanliness of all the domestic details, and those\nwho have come under the personal influence of the nuns are already\nendeavoring to beautify their own homes. A servant man who had worked in\nthe convent has gradually turned his pig-sty home into a charming little\ncottage, with a neat terrace covered with trellised vines, the poles\nwhich support it wreathed in fragrant basilica. He is quite proud when\nyou stop in the dirty village to admire the incongruous effect of his\npretty house, and tells you frankly that he owes his taste to \"_la Mere\nAssistante_.\"\n\nThe influence of these ladies throughout the primitive island is\nremarkable, and by the simple-minded peasants who have benefited so\ngreatly by their charity and labors, are gratefully recognized as the\none oasis of civilization in their midst. Unfortunately they are not\nrich enough to give any more practical evidence of gratitude than\nsincere love and devotion.\n\n                                               HANNAH LYNCH.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nIt has been noticed that boiler explosions are especially frequent in\nthe morning. Take, for example, an engine which works during the day\nwith steam at six atmospheres. The workmen leave the factory at seven\no'clock P.M., and about six o'clock the fireman reduces his fires and\nleaves the boiler with the gauge at four atmospheres. On returning the\nnext morning at half-past five, he generally finds the gauge at 1.5 or\ntwo atmospheres, with a fine water level. He profits by the reserved\nheat, which represents a certain expenditure of fuel; as an economist he\nutilizes it, and drives his fires, to be ready for the return of the\nworkmen, without suspecting the dangers concealed in the water which has\nbeen boiling all night. He does not feed his boilers, because they are\nat a good level. In other words, he prepares, unconsciously, the\nconditions which are most favorable to superheating, and a consequent\nsudden and terrible explosion, which will be attributed to some\nmysterious and unknown cause.\n\n\n\n\nSouthern Sketches.\n\nXIX.\n\nFROM HAVANA TO MATANZAS--THE VALLEY OF THE YUMURI.\n\n\nThere are two railways leading from Havana to Matanzas, one called the\nvia Baya (Bay line) runs along the sea coast through a mountainous and\nromantic country. This is much shorter than the other route, which\npasses through the interior, affording the traveller an excellent\nopportunity of observing the rural tropical scenes of the island.\n\nI decided to go the latter way by the train, which was to start from the\ndepot near the Campo de Marte at 2.40 P.M. The fare from Havana to\nMatanzas either way, second-class, is $7.10 in Cuban currency. This\nclass is well patronized by respectable travellers. Negroes, Chinese and\nthe poorest Cubans take the third. The carriage in which I rode was\nbuilt and furnished somewhat like those in the United States, except\nthat the seats had no cushions, and the windows no glass. The train\nstarted at the appointed time, and we soon found ourselves rushing\nthrough narrow streets, past many colored buildings.\n\nThe Yanza, or Chinese quarter, presents an extremely wretched and filthy\nappearance, thus contrasting wonderfully with the splendid attractions\nof other parts of the city. The suburbs were soon reached, and the hot\nand dusty town gave place to the clear, refreshing country. Hurrying\npast the gardens of the captain-general, with their avenues of royal and\ncocoa palms, their fountains, waterfalls and pyramids of flowers, we\nbeheld ahead verdant, green hills, beautiful mansions, and here and\nthere very ancient stone buildings, forts, cottages and gardens. All\nkinds of vegetables and blossoming plants were seen growing down to the\nrailroad track. There were waving meadows through which streams of a\npale blue, transparent tint, wandered gracefully, bending bamboos,\nslanting palms, and thousands of wild vines full of flowers grew on the\nbanks. As the train rushed by these silent Edens, the splendid paroquets\nand other gorgeous birds, browsing goats, mules and cattle started at\nthe sound, paused in wonder as we passed, and then relapsed into their\nprevious occupations. Half-naked Chinese farm-hands carried water in\nbuckets suspended from yokes fixed on their shoulders. We saw fields of\ncorn and sugar-cane stretching away for miles. Here and there, out of\nthis bright, green sea arose an odd planter's mansion, painted sky-blue\nwith its pillars, railings, and towers of white and gold. One of these\nhouses stood a few hundred feet from the track. It was two stories high,\nsolid and Corinthian in its architecture, of a cream color, while its\nlofty colonnades were painted in delicate crimson and blue. Large,\ncostly vases, full of flowers, decorated the entrance, and this was\nreached through an antique gateway that was covered with roses. Now we\nswept by large banana groves whose trees were loaded with fruit. We\nrushed by rocks, dells and fields adorned with grasses as glossy as\nsatin and of every color. We saw fruit trees of all kinds, stone fences\ncovered with century plants, cacti and other flowers; enchanting vales,\nfields of shrubbery, and avenues of royal palms over fifty feet high,\never stately and beautiful whether in groups or alone.\n\nThe soil of the island is of a deep red color, and contrasts splendidly\nwith the rich green of the trees. The cattle looked fat and large, and\nnumerous queer-looking domestic fowl were seen in the fields. The\n\"Ingenio\" or sugar plantation, was readily recognized, whether rising\nabove the cane fields or partly shaded by trees. It consisted of a group\nof buildings generally painted white, out of which arose a very tall\nfurnace chimney. Negroes and Chinese were seen steering oxen with carts\nfull of cane from the fields to the mill.\n\nThe chief agricultural industry of the island consists in the\ncultivation of this product. Cane fields almost boundless in extent\nappeared here and there in the luxuriant landscape. The railroad\nstations at the villages where we stopped were crowded with hogsheads of\nsugar and molasses, ready to be sent to Havana, and shipped from there\nto foreign seaports. Black and white coolies were noticed cutting the\ncane and often greedily devouring it, while the rich juice ran down\ntheir naked chests. This could be had for almost nothing at the depots\nfrom the dealers who also sold oranges, pineapples, tamarinds,\ncaimetoes, cocoanuts and other luscious fruit. I stepped out of the cars\nat Guines, where the train was to stop for a few minutes, and bought for\na couple of cents two cocoanuts, each as large as an ordinary sized\nmushmelon. The rind was perfectly green, soft and easily broken, the\njuice fresh and delicious, and the pulp was tender and sweet, much\nricher in flavor than that which one eats in the North. On the journey I\noften noticed the tall and handsome ceiba tree, with its smooth trunk\nand gracefully-spreading limbs and branches full of verdant leaves. Now\nwe passed by the house of the _montero_, or sporting peasant. It was a\nrather rude-looking dwelling thatched with palm leaves, and open at the\nsides to the mild, pure air. This _montero_ usually possesses but a few\nacres, which yield him fruit, cane and vegetables enough to make his\nlife easy and contented. The streams give him lots of fish, and the\nsunny blue skies look down with favor upon him, as he languidly reclines\non the grass and eats his melting bananas. The sisal hemp fields look\nvery attractive, and as the train rushes on, we catch glimpses of\nlaughing children, who are playing amid a wilderness of roses. We soon\nreached the town of Catalina. It looked wonderfully charming, with its\nhandsome church and houses, surrounded by groves of bananas and oranges.\nWe saw pine apples growing in the gardens. The colored leaves of these\nplants were conspicuous for their variety and beauty. The motion of the\ntrain developed a steady breeze, and this, laden with the odors of\nmillions of blossoms and fruits, afforded us the greatest delight. The\neye could never tire of the beauty of these tropical scenes. When it\nwithdrew from immediate objects, it wandered away to rest with delight\non the softly lit-up mountains, crowned with palms. How splendid those\nmountains looked, covered to their summits with verdure, and now as the\nsun was sinking, becoming enveloped in purple and crimson mists. The\nglory of the rosy sunset on field and wood was brought into deeper\nrelief by the shadows of the trees and hills. On getting on the rear of\nthe train, I was enabled to take in the receding landscape and the views\nto the right and left. The whole seemed a poetic reality, a region of\nluxurious delight. The heavens assumed most exquisite hues, forms and\ncolors peculiar to tropical skies. Clouds lately gorgeous, passed into\nshapes still brighter, and their softness, delicacy and glory seemed to\nillumine the landscapes. The grand, royal palms which carried one's\nthoughts to the Holy Land and the time of our Saviour, the mountains\ntipped with the moving mists, the peaceful valleys where droves of fat\ncattle feasted, the gaps in the hills, the groves of fruit trees and the\nflowing streams--all rested tranquilly and brightly under the belts of\ngold in seas of blue and green, the tongues of fire, rivers of light,\nsilvery hills, purple and crimson isles, castles, vases, columns and\nthrones that were traced in the clouds. No language can sufficiently\ndescribe the beauty of this tropical region; it must be seen to be\nadequately appreciated.\n\nNight was just falling, when we arrived at Matanzas. The drive to the\nHotel de St. Francis, where I determined to stay while in the city, led\nthrough a number of narrow and hilly streets, lined on both sides by\nlow, jail-like stone houses, painted as at Havana, in every imaginable\ncolor. In the course of about twenty minutes I arrived at the hotel\nwhich stands on the Calzada De Tirry, the principal street near the bay.\nThe host, Signor Juan Gonzalez, with a Scotch interpreter who knew\nSpanish well, received me very heartily at the door. After passing\nseveral refreshment saloons and reaching the office, I requested to be\nshown to my room. I found that it opened, like all the others, on a\ncourtyard, and being the best that could be had, I agreed to remain a\nguest at the house for $2.50 per day, in gold. Dinner being the next on\nthe programme, I soon found myself at the head of a large table, on both\nsides of which a number of swarthy, black-eyed, dark-haired coolies and\nSpaniards were seated. Recognizing me as a _padre cure_, all bowed and\nceased talking as I entered, exchanged courtesies and then resumed an\nexciting conversation. The meal consisted of a variety of courses. The\nmeats were ingeniously spiced, but rather redolent of garlic. Tropical\nfruits and vegetables, cooked in all manners of ways, were served up in\nabundance, and each guest was treated to a bottle of Catalonian wine,\nwhich is a very pure and favorite claret in Cuba. This wine is imported\nfrom Spain, and a _pipe_ containing one hundred and twenty-five gallons\ncosts about fifty dollars in gold. When dinner was over I retired to my\nroom to find it containing two windows without glass, enclosed by heavy\ngreen shutters. The plainest kind of furniture was visible in the\napartment. The bed, scantily supplied with clothing, was adorned by a\nlarge mosquito net. Anticipating colder evenings in Matanzas than I\nsupposed were peculiar to Havana, owing to the former's situation on so\nmany hills, I requested the waiter to bring me a blanket. This article\n(being rather unusually used at the Hotel de St. Francis) it took him a\nlong time to find. At last he procured me a peculiar specimen of one,\nso, resolving to make a virtue of necessity, I placed myself under the\nprotection of heaven and retired to rest. After a sound sleep I was\nawoke before dawn by the hopping and cooing of numerous doves, whose\ncots were established not far from my bedroom. The morning soon followed\ntheir waking, and eager to gaze on the city and its environs, I made\nhaste to dress and go abroad. The view which greeted my eyes the moment\nI stood on the balcony outside my door, seemed to me very strange and\ndelightful. The sun was just rising in the east, and in such a soft and\nlovely sky as the tropics only know. Its calm, golden light fell on the\ncity before me, and on the emerald mountains behind, giving to the\nvillas and gardens that sat on the hills an aspect of unearthly beauty.\nThe doves, finding their society invaded, flocked together and flew over\na grassy square, in the midst of which stood immense stores for sugar\nand molasses. I walked down to the courtyard, admired its fountain,\ngold-fish, peacock, and tame flamingo. All in the hotel were up before I\nrose from bed. Cubans take advantage of the early morning, as it is much\ncooler, and consequently pleasanter to work then than later on in the\nday. Each guest enjoys a cup of coffee after getting up and takes\nbreakfast about ten o'clock. The coffee in Cuba is well made, and has a\nmost delicious aroma. After taking a cup I went out and saw the street\nalive with Chinese laborers, who were employed by the city in making\nextensive repairs. I sauntered towards the Church de San Carlos to hear\nMass. On crossing the bridge that spans the San Juan River, which shone\nin the sunlight as it flowed into the sea, I observed curious-shaped\nboats, lighters and other craft moving on it, all occupied by\nqueerly-dressed, bronzed, bustling men. Numerous drays and strings of\npacked mules, carrying heavily laden panniers, raised clouds of dust,\nfrom which I was glad to escape on entering the narrow streets near the\nchurch. Over the doors of the stores were the customary fancy signs and\nnames. There seemed to be no end to the picturesque street-venders even\nat this early hour of the morning. A Chinaman, dressed in loose, blue\nshirt and yellow trousers, passed with a long, flat box on his head,\nstriking it loudly with a short, thick stick, and crying out, \"dulces,\ndulces,\"--\"sweet meats, sweet meats.\" A _panadero_ (baker) balanced on\nhis cranium a big basket full of rolls, and carried on each arm also a\npalm-leaved bag full of bread. A tall negress turned a corner, holding a\nweighty basket, and shouting out at the top of her voice, \"Naranges,\ndulces, naranges, dulces,\" \"sweet oranges, sweet oranges.\" Soldiers,\nlottery-ticket venders, and an occasional negro _calasero_ dressed in\ngorgeous blue jacket, fringed with gold, jack boots reaching to the\nhips, high silk hat and silver-plated spurs, lent variety to the scene.\nI soon saw the church of San Carlos, a large building of dark stone,\nwith two lofty towers, one of which had a splendid chime of bells. The\nedifice within was long and high; its gigantic pillars and great marble\naltar looked very imposing. When the service was over I returned to my\nhotel, intending to visit the priests after breakfast. When the meal was\ndespatched, eleven o'clock found me in the presence of Father Francisco\nde P. Barnada, Cura Vicario Parroco Ecclesiastico, and Phro Jose Saenz,\none of his assistants. Being a stranger, the pastor had some slight\nsuspicions about my orthodoxy; but these were soon dispelled when he\nread my letters of introduction. I could see at once that, though\nstrict, he was a very cheerful, hospitable gentleman. His bright and\npleasing features indicated the presence of a brilliant mind and a\ntender heart. Father Jose Saenz was the life and soul of cheerfulness\nand kindness. I found myself at home immediately with these excellent\npriests, and we chatted together very pleasantly for about an hour, on a\nvariety of subjects. Bits of Latin, English and Spanish were our\nchannels of expression. The quarters of the priests were simple, but\ncomfortable, and communicated directly with the church.\n\nOn suggesting that I would like to see the famous valley of the Yumuri,\nFather Barnada had me introduced to an engaging and intelligent young\nCuban named Signor Joaquin Mariano, who volunteered at once to accompany\nme on my ramble.\n\nThe most interesting though longest way to the valley is to walk along\nthe banks of the Yumuri River from a point a little above the beautiful\nbridge near that part of the town called Versailles. Here the costly and\ngrand church of St. Peter's can be seen rising, with its beautiful\nspires, above every other building. On our way to the valley we were at\nfirst obliged to pass objects not very inviting, such as city rubbish,\nluxuriant weeds, yelping dogs, grunting pigs, tanneries and dilapidated\nhouses; but these soon yielded to grassy lanes, charmingly picturesque\nlittle dwellings perched on rocks in regular staircase position, and\ngardens full of exquisite fruit trees and flowers. The road is now\nperfectly clean and level, edged on one side by the bright, placid\nriver, and on the other by steep rocks and quarries, in the cool nooks\nof which large, lovely ferns, air plants, and numerous wild flowers\nbloom. Here we noticed a handsome private residence, fronted by a stone\nwall crowned with cacti, and guarded at the rear by stupendous cliffs.\nSago and date palms grew near the narrow road. We saw tremendous\nopenings in the bare-ribbed mountains on the other edge of the stream.\nPieces of rock overhead looked down like dead sea-lions and quarters of\nbeef. Blossoms of every hue peeped out through the old black rocks\nbeside us; millions of insects rushed pell-mell out of the crevices of\nthe shining stone, and while we looked, the breeze from the rippling\nriver shook millions of neighboring flowers, scattered their perfumes\nbroadcast, and thus afforded us an exquisite treat away from the heat,\ndust, and noise of the city. Gazing up, we saw birds' nests in the limbs\nof trees, naked roots of large bushes and vines clinging like net-work\nto their rocky bed, and century plants growing in profusion where they\ncould scarcely get an inch of soil. These cliffs must have been two\nhundred feet high, and on looking up one would imagine that the almost\ndisjointed masses of hanging rock would fall down at any moment and\ncrush us to pieces. Turkey buzzards, with their black bodies and pink\nbills, were screaming overhead on the tops of big limbs, and anxiously\nlooking out for prey. The fair blue sky above looked down on the lines\nof green, wild shrubs that flourished amid beds of solid rock. Sun and\ncandelabra flowers, big as cups and orange in hue, with stalks like the\nbananas or Indian corn, sprung out of the cliffs to the height of twenty\nfeet. Morning glories, rare lichens, violets, dresinas, and century\nplants grew by their side, while the silky Spanish moss, suspended from\na higher point, threw a veil of beauty over all. A curve in the walk\nbrought us into the valley. On the other side of the river we saw\nsand-hills crowned with emerald mountains and groves of palm. The plain,\nas far as it could be seen, was one sheet of verdure, and the stream\nwidening at this point into a lake, was adorned with woody islands.\nBirds, breezes and the echoes of the hammer's sound in the quarries\nsupplied natural music. As far as the eye could see, the valley was\nsurrounded by mountains. The lofty, rocky wall continued to the left,\nexposing to our view its beautiful cream-colored layers of granite,\nfringed with lichens and ferns, and surrounded by weirdly-carved roots\nand branches of gray stone. All before us looked charming. The narrow\nfoot-path in the long grass, the wild flowers everywhere, the old kiln,\nembraced by parasites, convolvulus and jasmines, the brushwood rustling\nwith little reptiles, the flying fish in the stream, an old negro\nrolling a barrow full of leaves, the Indian mounds having figures of\nlions and human heads carved out of the rock, the ever-royal palm with\nits mistletoes and berries, its blood-red tassels on the smooth, hard\ntrunk, its long, feathery leaves, ever falling like ribbons or streamers\ninto various situations by the force of the breeze; all, all looked\nbeautiful. And to add to our delight the sounds of the Angelus from the\ntower of the church of Monserrat, at the top of the mountain at hand\ncame down on our ears like music from heaven. The mountains around this\nvalley of peace seemed to echo the melodies of God. The cross on the\nbeautiful Corinthian Church, shone between the hills and the sky,\nreminding us of Him who died for us, and who holds all creation in His\nhands. All the lovely objects in this tropical vale seemed to murmur His\npraises. The palms reminded us of His wanderings in the desert, when a\nchild, of His domestic life at Nazareth, and His latter years in and\naround Jerusalem and Galilee.\n\nOur course now led through winding walks under waving palms, by a house\nin the rocks, past doves, ducks, chickens, arches, arbors, flowering\nthickets, wild lime, sour orange and paw-paw trees. We inhaled the most\ndelicious fragrance at every step. On emerging from the glades into an\nopen field, we began to climb the hill to the church of Monserrat. As we\nascended, the view of the valley grew wider. Scenes, unobserved from the\nlevel, now appeared enriching the picture. We crept rather than walked\nup the great hill, at one time gazing upon gullies and wells, at\nanother, admiring big beautiful berries, but ever and anon pausing to\ntake in the view of the vale. When the summit of the Cumbre was gained,\nI felt well rewarded for my toil, for never before did I see a landscape\nso brimful of poetry and repose. There it lay extending in every\ndirection for miles, bounded on all sides by mountains with picturesque\ngaps, spurs, peaks and openings; it seemed to me more like a scene in a\ndream than a reality,--the character of the prospect was so ethereal, a\nfit retreat for celestials,--lovelier than the most delightful panorama.\nStill, it was a reality, and not a painting of indescribably happy\ncombinations of contrasts in color, vegetation, lights, shadows, and\nforms, like the garden of Eden, and far fairer than the happy valley\ndescribed in Rasselas. The Yumuri River flowed through it looking like a\nsilver thread. Billowy fields of cane, rich pastures, clumps of\nfeathery palms and shrubs with golden flowers adorned the vale. It is\nlike a glimpse of Paradise to see it at sunset.\n\nI turned with regret from this feast of nature, and walked with my\ncompanion along the extensive plateau on which the church and other\nbuildings stood. A venerable, mild-looking old gentleman approached us.\nHe was Migael Darna, the sexton and bell-ringer of Monserrat, living\nlike a hermit on the top of the Cumbre. A handsome little boy with dark\neyes and coal-black hair accompanied him. This was his son, of whom he\nseemed to be very fond. At a sign from Migael we entered the church. Its\ninterior, like the outside, was very pretty. Behind the altar and around\nthe side walls of the sanctuary stood a miniature mountain of cork, on\nthe top of which rested a statue of the Blessed Virgin resembling the\nimage supposed to be made by St. Luke, which graces the monastery of\nMonserrat in Spain. Flowers and gifts of various kinds were attached to\nthe cork by faithful doners. On our way to the tower, I could see from\nthe clever manner in which young Darna played the organ, that on the\nhills his father had not neglected his musical education.\n\nAfter gaining the top we beheld a prospect, which, for grandeur and\nextent, could scarcely be surpassed. The valley to the left looked even\nmore mysteriously enchanting than before, owing to its greater distance\nand depth. On the right the glorious ocean burst upon us, its blue and\ngreen waters in some places as smooth as glass, in others worked up into\nangry billows. We saw the ships in the bay, the coral reefs washed by\nthe waves--the city with its sloping streets, quaint, gaudy buildings\nand villas resting below us like lords looking down on the scene. In\nfront we observed brown, grassy, shrubby hills, cliffs, precipices and\nvast fastnesses. Behind us flowed the San Juan River by low, rich\nmeadows, past numerous houses till it rested in the sea. Beyond appeared\na chain of mountains, whose dark-blue peaks were almost lost in the\nclouds. The view of the country and city from the tower of this church\nis certainly the finest in all Cuba, and it was with the greatest\nreluctance that I turned from it to follow my companions down stairs.\nBidding good-by to Migael, Signor Mariano and myself descended to the\ncity over a grassy road, full of blue, white and yellow flowers. We\nnoticed on one of the lowest slopes of the Cumbre one of the handsomest\nvillas in Matanzas built in the midst of gardens, and surrounded by a\npretty stone wall. Numerous statues and fountains adorned the grounds.\nSignor Mariano, being acquainted with the family, offered to introduce\nme. We were received at the door of this fine stone villa by Signora\nTorres who is regarded by the priests and people of Matanzas as the\nforemost Catholic lady in the city. The recent death of her husband and\nbrother sorely afflicted her, but she endured this trial with Christian\nfortitude, and an ever-present desire to please and do good could\nreadily be noticed even in the midst of her sorrow. As we moved through\nthe house, I admired the lofty ceilings, handsome stained-glass windows,\nblack and white marble floors, and splendid furniture that graced the\nseveral apartments. Coolness and shade, so desirable in the tropics,\nreigned here, and were rendered further agreeable by the sight of\noccasional rosy beams, the odor of flowers and songs of birds. The rich\nantique vases and fine old paintings on the the wall looked very\nbeautiful. The most precious woods of the island were seen in the\nwainscoting and furniture. The chapel looked a rich and graceful little\ntemple. All the rarest valuables seemed to be reserved for here. When\nthe chaplain is home (as he generally is) Mass is celebrated in the\nvilla every morning.\n\nAfter saying a little prayer, we walked out on the front piazza. This\nhad a fine tiled floor and several pretty iron seats and sofas. Its\nnumerous vases were full of flowers. Its balustrades were of stone, with\nblue and gold, porcelain finish. Rustic baskets hung around it in\nappropriate numbers and graceful order. It faced the city and the bay.\nDown in the garden were all kinds of fruits and flowers. Oranges,\nbananas, pomegranates, caimetoes, pineapples, oleanders, cacti, allspice\ntrees, enormous fuchsias, canicas, kaladiums, and numerous other\nvarieties, bloomed in abundance, each and all emitting a fragrance quite\nirresistible. Prince Alexis of Russia, while on his visit to Matanzas,\nspent a few weeks in this villa and garden. He could not have selected a\nmore charming spot in Cuba. As time was precious, we took our leave,\nthanking the good Senora for her kindness, and pursued our journey down\nthe hill. On the right and left of us were high walls of calcareous\nrock, over the tops of which hung thousands of brilliant, sweet-scented\nflowers. The Casus de Benefecentia, a long, yellow stone building, with\ngreat pillars and piers, rested on a hill a short distance away, and on\nthe edge of the street on which we walked, stood the handsome, sky-blue\ndwelling of a _cure_, who was attached to a charitable institution\nconducted by the sisters. I visited these buildings on an after\noccasion, accompanied by two priests, and was greatly edified and\ndelighted with all I saw in them. Before we came to the Church of St.\nCarlos, we passed through the Plaza de Armas, the most beautiful square\nin Matanzas. A magnificent fountain ornamented the centre of a circular\nrow of palms. Numerous fragrant shrubs and flowers flourished near at\nhand, and iron seats were provided for all who wished to rest. Beautiful\nstores and private dwellings line the enclosure, which is surrounded by\ngas lamps, sofas and wide-paved walks. The palace of the _comandant_, or\ngovernor, of the department, is situated on the east side. The Licco, or\nlyceum and club-house, stand on the north. The military band plays in\nthe Plaza on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday evenings. Thither all classes\ncome then to hear the music, observe the fashions, form acquaintances,\nand chat with friends. On our arrival at the priest's house, Padre\nBarnada invited me to celebrate Mass, in the church, on the following\nmorning (Ash Wednesday). I cheerfully consented, and then took my leave,\nintending to see more of the town. The attractions of Matanzas are\ngreatly marred by the clouds of dust that are almost constantly\ndrifting. As rain seldom falls the streets become very dry, and the\nsteady passing and repassing of mules and heavy ox-carts, laden with\nsugar and molasses, cause the calcareous sand to rise and envelop\neverything. The Chinaman occupies a conspicuous place in the life scenes\nof Matanzas. He can be readily recognized whether attired in the long,\nloose, shabby shirt of the laborer, or the citizen's dress of the\nstorekeeper. His peculiar gait, hair and countenance are very\ncharacteristic. He associates familiarly with the negro, is zealous,\nparsimonious, and so sensitive that he will even kill himself if he\nbecomes incapable of revenging an insult. Most of these people in Cuba\nremain in a beastly state of degradation, while others of the race rise\nin the ranks, own elegant stores, and other establishments. A certain\nChinaman in Havana owns the finest silk establishment in that city.\nAnother keeps a hotel in Matanzas, styled the \"Flower of America.\" Their\ndiet chiefly consists of rice, fruit and vegetables. They are generally\nvaccinated on the tip of the nose. Chinese free railroad hands receive\nsixty dollars per month, in currency, and street laborers get twelve\nreals a day.\n\n                                          REV. M. W. NEWMAN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Church and Modern Progress.\n\n\nVaticination, if we are to believe George Eliot, is only one of the\ninnumerable forms in which ignorance finds expression. In the olden time\nprophecy for the most part assumed a sombre guise, denunciatory of woe\nand wrath to come. In these latter days prophecy appears under the form\nof _taffy_, which, perhaps, is indispensable for a generation whose\nreligious emotions find adequate musical expression in that popular\nhymn, \"The _Sweet_ Bye and Bye\"--heaven being apparently a sort of\ncandy-shop on a large scale. Artemus Ward's famous advice, \"Do not\nprophesy until _after_ the event,\" is scarcely applicable to modern\nprophets, inasmuch as the fulfilment of their predictions is not at all\nnecessary to their character and standing, unless, of course, they\nshould chance to be weather prophets.\n\nThe modern prophet dearly loves to take up some dominant idea of his\ntime, of such vastness and hazy indistinctness, as will afford ample\nroom and verge enough for his wildest speculations, and allow him to\ndisport at will within its undefined limits. An idea of this kind is\nthat which appertains to the progress of the species of humanity. With\nthis for his theme, the modern prophet, whether in the guise of a\npopular lecturer, or masquerading as a writer in the current literature\nof the day, rarely forgets, while weaving his rose-colored visions of\nthe future, to indulge in a fling at the Catholic Church as the\nirreconcilable foe of progress in all its forms. Ask him what progress\nmeans, in what respect the Catholic Church is opposed to it--the answer\nwill prove to be rather unsatisfactory. The constant cry of old\nAristotle--\"Define, Define,\" is to him the voice of one calling in the\nwilderness. If he ever read Cicero, it must have been in some expurgated\nedition, \"_Pueris Virginibusque_,\" in which the following passage found\nno place: \"_Omnis quae ratione suscipitur de aliqua re institutio\ndebet a definitione proficisi, ut intelligatur quid sit id de quo\ndisputetur._\" _De offic._, 1, 2. The prophet of progress has an\ninstinctive dread of the bull-dog grip of a definition, and will not\nreadily run the risk of being pinned to the ground, and perhaps rolled\nover in the dust. And yet the chief cause of controversy, of the heat\nwith which it is carried on, and its customary lack of decisive results,\nlies in the fact that the disputants do not attach a definite meaning to\nwords, and do not understand them in the same sense.\n\n\nI.\n\nProgress means \"motion forward.\" This supposes a starting-point and a\ndefinite end or goal. Without these two requisites there may be motion,\nbut no progress. Now there is such a thing as \"progress\" in the life of\nindividuals and of nations. Indeed, the magic of this word \"progress,\"\nits power to sway the minds of men, goes to show that the conception\nrests on some underlying basis of truth. A lie pure and simple has no\nsuch power. It must clothe itself in the garb of truth if it would win\nconverts and adherents.\n\nThe very life that throbs within us impels to progress, for all life is\nbut a motion and a striving towards a destined end, and implies the\ngrowth and development of all our faculties to the full perfection of\ntheir being. Death alone is a resting and a standing still.\n\nThis visible nature around us pulsates with the spirit of life and\nprogress. The stars wheel onward in the courses marked out for them by\ntheir Creator. The interior of the earth is heaving and palpitating with\na hidden life of its own, which is ever manifested in richer fulness and\nstrength, in higher and more perfect forms. Nay, the very stone that\nseems so motionless, the inert metal in the bowels of the earth, comes\nunder the influence of this universal law of life and progress. And what\nis this but the creative breath of God streaming through the universe,\nand ever shaping it into new and diverse forms of life?\n\nBut this law of progress under which the physical universe lies, affects\nman likewise in a manner worthy of him as the crowning masterpiece of\ncreation. So essentially is progress a law of our being that while\nmaterial things, in the process of their development, cannot overstep\nthe limits marked out for them, man is called upon to progress even\nbeyond the limits of his nature. God Himself, in all His greatness and\nHoliness, is the exalted ideal towards which all our aspirations should\ntend. \"Be ye perfect as my Heavenly Father is perfect.\"\n\nNay, more: not alone is progress a law of man's being; it is a positive\nduty and command which he is obliged to fulfil. And herein lies another\npoint of difference between the laws of progress, which are stamped into\nthe nature of man, and those we perceive operating in the visible world\naround us. In nature no backward steps are possible. Every object in the\nphysical universe, in its growth and development, moves within the\nfixed, unchanging limits of law which God has marked out for it. As a\nconsequence, there is no falling back in the world of nature from a\nhigher to a lower type of existence. The plant ever remains a plant; the\nmineral ever remains a mineral. But in the case of man, he cannot stand\nstill--he can only retrograde, sink beneath his own level, if he does\nnot continually move forward, in order, by degrees, to reach the supreme\nend and aim of his existence. Thus does the Catholic Church not alone\nrecognize progress as a great law of our being; she insists upon it, as\na divine duty which we are obliged to fulfil.\n\n\nII.\n\nFrom these preliminary remarks, it will be seen that those who charge\nthe Catholic Church with being opposed to progress, must mean _material_\nprogress; that is, a larger knowledge of the laws of the physical\nuniverse, and a wider diffusion and application of the various arts and\ncontrivances which minister to the comforts and conveniences of man's\nearthly existence, leaving out of account altogether the moral and\nspiritual advancement of humanity.\n\nTo all such it will be enough to observe: the Catholic Church is not\nopposed to progress in the material order of things. She places no\nhindrance to the exercise of man's inventive faculties. But above and\nbeyond the highest material progress, above and beyond railroads and\ntelegraphs, steam-engines, and cannons and iron-clads, she places the\nmoral and spiritual progress of the human race. She will never cease to\nmaintain that though railroads and telegraphs girdle the earth a hundred\ntimes over, and the telephones penetrate into every private dwelling;\nthough the sails of a nation's commerce whiten every sea, and the face\nof the land be covered with the most varied and prosperous\nindustries--man will be none the happier, society none the more peaceful\nand durable when not leavened by the spirit of Christian truth and\nChristian morality. At every new invention men cry aloud in tones of\ntriumph: See how humanity is advancing; see what victories mind is daily\ngaining over matter; and dazzled by the splendor of their progress in\nthe material order of things, come to think that therein lies the end of\ntheir existence, the supreme aim of all human exertion. To all such the\nchurch simply observes: Labor and strive to make what progress you can\nin art and science, in commerce and industry, in every department of\nhuman enterprise and activity: and when you have travelled over the\nwhole field, have exhausted all your resources, and reached the farthest\nlimits of your power, I say to you: You have not progressed far enough.\nA far nobler and higher ideal is yours. You are born to be a child of\nGod, to bring out into utmost clearness and distinctness the likeness of\nGod that is stamped on your soul, and develop into the full-grown man,\n\"to the measure of the stature and the fulness of Christ.\" Thus, as\nregards the higher order of progress, the Catholic Church is in advance\nof her age. \"Excelsior\" is the motto emblazoned on her flag.\n\nIt is no difficult task for the mere theorist to sketch out, in the\ndomain of religion or politics, systems ideally perfect, serenely\nignoring in their application such disturbing elements as the vices and\nfrailties incident to a fallen humanity. But the practical man of\naffairs who has to deal, not with abstractions, but with the concrete\nrealities of life, soon, alas! perceives that such a dazzling formula,\nfor example, as that of the French republicans, \"Liberty, Equality,\nFraternity,\" can be realized on earth by revolutionizing, not only\npolitical institutions, but the very nature of man himself. Humanity is\na mere empty abstraction, except in so far as we conceive it as composed\nof individuals. Society is a mere aggregate of individuals. Except to\nyour modern prophet, it is difficult to conceive how there can be\nprogress in society without progress among the individuals who go to\ncompose that society.\n\nEach individual may be viewed, under a threefold aspect: in his\nrelations to himself, to the family, and to the society of which he is a\nmember. Now all progress which deserves the name must make for the\nwell-being and advancement of the individual in these threefold\nrelations of life.\n\nThis the Catholic Church claims to do. On the first page of the\ncatechism which she places in the hands of the little child is a\ndecisive, authoritative answer to the heart-piercing cry of modern\ndoubt: \"Whence, and great heavens, whither?\" She exhorts to the practice\nof those virtues which alone beget true peace and contentment of\nmind--to temperance, purity, honesty, self-control, love of God and our\nneighbor. She claims, furthermore, to be the sole depository and\ndispenser of these spiritual aids, without which the practice of these\nvirtues is impossible, and without which man can never attain the end of\nhis existence.\n\nThe church has blest and sanctified the family relation as the\nfundamental element in the structure of human society. She is the only\ninstitution now in the world which upholds the unity and indissolubility\nof the marriage tie. She has uplifted woman from the mire of degradation\ninto which paganism had dragged her, has made her the equal, instead of\nbeing the slave of man. She counsels mutual love, trust and fidelity, as\nbetween husband and wife, and reminds them of their common\nresponsibility in training their offspring in the ways of truth and\nvirtue. She exhorts children to the duties of love, reverence, obedience\ntowards their parents.\n\nShe tells the citizen that he owes a strict, conscientious obedience to\nthe laws of the realm, a willing allegiance to the lawfully constituted\ngovernment under which he lives. She reminds rulers that they have no\npower except in so far as it has been given to them from above; that\nthey are responsible to the Most High for the use they make of that\npower; that their authority must be exercised in a spirit of justice,\nmoderation, and regard for the interests of those over whom they are\nplaced; and that, finally, in the sight of God, they are of no more\naccount than the lowliest of their subjects.\n\nThis doctrine of the equality of men before God is the fruitful\nprinciple which flung forth into the seed-field of time has developed\ninto the kindred doctrine which asserts the equality of all men before\nthe law. The assertion and application of this principle it was which\nenabled the Church to abolish slavery in Europe, not indeed by the\neffusion of blood and treasure, but by the calm, winning influence of\nher persuasiveness and her example. In truth, it may be said that the\nhistory of the Catholic Church is the history of human progress on\nearth. From the day when she stepped down from the little chamber in\nJerusalem into the public squares of the city, and took society by the\nhand to lift it out of the corruption into which paganism had dragged\nit, dates the first step in the true progress of human society.\n\n\nIII.\n\nBut, unhappily, in these latter days certain elements have been imported\ninto men's conceptions of progress, of which the Catholic Church is the\nstern and uncompromising foe. In so far as the advocates of modern\nprogress aim at the destruction of those Christian principles of conduct\nwhich should influence the individual man in his relations to himself,\nto the family, and to the State, they may expect unceasing opposition\nfrom the Catholic Church.\n\nIn some respects the Church does not consider modern progress,\nso-called, as progress in the true sense of the word, but rather a\nretrograde movement--a relapse into the moral corruption, the political\nand social degradation of ancient paganism. When a man finds himself\nmoving forward at a rapid pace along a road which he discovers to be a\nwrong one, he is only moving farther away from the end of his journey;\nhe cannot be said to be making progress. Or, when a man is sick of a\ndeadly disease, which is rapidly gaining ground, it cannot be said that\nhe is progressing, since such progress leads to death, not life.\n\nIn certain European countries at the present day, advocates of progress\ninsist that the Church should adapt herself to the spirit of the age,\nand would fain transform her into a mere creature of the civil\ngovernment, a sort of moral police under its pay and control, or to use\nthe illustration of Cardinal Newman, employ her as a pet jackdaw, useful\nfor picking up the grubs and worms on its master's trim, smooth-shaven\nlawn.\n\nThe Church, however, will not surrender her independence, nor will she\nchange her doctrines to suit the shifting, fallible opinions of men. Her\nmission is to hold pure from all taint of error, and transmit unimpaired\nto future generations the word of her master: \"Guard that which is\nentrusted to thee, turning away from the profane babblings and\noppositions of knowledge falsely so called.\"\n\nThe Church is opposed to modern progress in so far as it seeks to rob\nChristian marriage of its sacramental character, and reduce it to the\nlevel of a mere contract, which may be dissolved at the will of the\ncontracting parties.\n\nShe is opposed to the divorce of religion from education, holding that\nthe development of man's moral and intellectual nature, should go hand\nin hand. Indeed, among ourselves of late, many serious-minded persons\nseem to be coming round to the Church's way of thinking on this\nimportant matter. They are exerting themselves to find some substitute\nfor religion in the moral training of children, and profess to have\ndiscovered it in a knowledge of the elements of physiology. A text-book\nof this science, which will clearly impress on the youthful mind the\ndire fattening qualities of alcohol is the _unum necessarium_. It is\nfondly hoped that the natural horror which one experiences at the\nthought of an accumulation of adipose tissue in the intestines will be\nquite sufficient to deter the rising generation from the use of\nalcoholic stimulants.\n\nThis, however, is only taking a limited view of the matter, for humanity\nmay be conceived as divided into two classes, the fat and the lean.\nThis latter class constitutes a large percentage of the world's\npopulation; and in their case the temptation is great of falling back on\nalcohol as an excellent substitute for padding, forswearing thin\npotations and addicting themselves to sack.\n\nFurthermore men of science inform us that, owing to the conditions of\nour environment, climatic and otherwise, there is a tendency among\nAmericans, after a few generations, to develop into a type of man,\nsimilar to the Red Indian, tall, muscular, gaunt. If this is so, have we\nnot cause to apprehend the universal use of alcohol as a means of\ncounteracting such a deplorable tendency. We respectfully refer these\nconsiderations to the serious attention of those who would place the\nscience of morals on a physiological basis.\n\nFinally then, the only progress which the Catholic Church upholds is\nthat which rests on the foundations, everlasting and unchanging as\nadamant, of Christian truth and Christian morality. A fair and goodly\ntree, the higher it grows, the more widely it expands, the deeper must\nit cast its roots into the ground, if it would not come toppling down\nand cumber the earth. So must the roots of modern progress strike\nthemselves more and more deeply into the soil of the Christian virtues,\nthat its fine growth of material well-being may not drag down the fair\ntree, and only serve to hasten its speedy disappearance in corruption\nand death.\n\n                                                       J. C.\n\n\n\n\nGive Charity While You Live.\n\n\n_Lake Shore Visitor_:--The many men and women who leave large bequests\nto religion and to charity do in a certain sense some good. Their means\nthus disposed of may feed the hungry and bring the erring to a sense of\nduty. But generally speaking means thus left are not as well husbanded\nas if they were spent by the testator himself. It is given in a bulk and\nthe legatee not having been put to the trouble and pains of earning the\nlegacy dollar for dollar soon lets the specie fly. It came easy and is\nvery apt to go the same way. It is not necessary for the charitably\ninclined to wait until the message comes in order to perform an act of\ncharity. We are told that the \"poor we always have with us.\" The orphan\nmay be found in every city and town, and orphanages and hospitals exist\nin every city. To be really disinterested in our charity, we should give\nwhile in health. While giving thus we are making a sacrifice, and\nplainly proving that our hearts are not very strongly set on the goods\nof this world. To give when that which we give is about to be snatched\naway from us is certainly not giving with the hope of obtaining a very\ngreat reward. Looking after our own donations would make them more\nprofitable to the cause of good, and giving when we are in health and\nstrength is making a sacrifice that without doubt will meet a reward.\n\n\n\n\nEmmet's Rebellion.\n\n\n[Illustration: ROBERT EMMET. Born March 4, 1780. Executed Sept. 20,\n1803.]\n\nAt the time when the plans of the United Irishmen were slowly ripening\ntoward revolution, and when Wolfe Tone and Edward Fitzgerald still\nbelieved in the immediate regeneration of their country, there were two\nyoung men in Dublin University--close personal friends--who were\nwatching with peculiar interest the progress of events. Both were\nexceptionally gifted young men, and both were destined to leave behind\nthem names that will live forever in the history of the Irish nation.\nOne was Thomas Moore; the other, his junior by a year and his senior by\none class in the University, was Robert Emmet.\n\nIt was especially natural that two such young men should take the\nkeenest interest in the national movement that was going on about them.\nIt was a movement calculated to attract all the generous and impassioned\nimpulses of youth. Both Moore and Emmet were profoundly ambitious for\ntheir nation's welfare; both of them, we may well assume, felt conscious\nof the possession of abilities beyond the average; and both were\nanimated by a desire to be of active service to their people. The\ndesire, however, which led Moore to become the poetical voice of\nIreland's aspirations and regrets, urged Emmet into directer and more\ndecided action. Emmet was a brother of Thomas Addis Emmet. He was,\ntherefore, closely in connection with the revolutionary movement, and\ndid all that lay in his power to advance it by his speeches in the\nDebating Society and in the Historical Society of the College. Political\nspeeches were, of course, forbidden in such bodies as these two\nsocieties; but Emmet always contrived to introduce into his utterances\nupon any of the themes set down for debate some burning words which\nthose who listened to him, and loved him, could readily interpret into\njustification of the United Irishmen, and encouragement of their\nefforts.\n\nBetween the young orator and the young poet the closest friendship and\naffection existed. The genius of Moore was naturally captivated by the\npure and lofty enthusiasm of Robert Emmet; and it is almost surprising\nthat under the circumstances Moore did not become more deeply involved\nin the conspiracy that spread all around him. Moore had not, however,\nthe nature of the conspirator, or of the very active politician. He was\ncalled upon to do other work in this world, and he did that work so\nworthily that we may well forgive him for having been so little of a\nrebel at a time when rebellion was the duty of every Irishman. Moore\ntells a touching little story of himself and of his friend, which, in\nitself, exemplifies the different natures of the two young men. Moore\nhad become possessed of that precious volume in which the labors of Mr.\nBunting had collected so much of the national music of Ireland; and he\ndelighted in passing long hours in playing over to himself the airs\nwhich he was destined later on to make so famous by his verses. Emmet\noften sat by him while he played, and Moore records how, one evening,\njust as he finished playing that spirited tune called \"The Red Fox,\"\nEmmet sprang up from a reverie, and exclaimed, \"Oh, that I were at the\nhead of twenty thousand men marching to that air!\" The air which\nawakened in Emmet the gallant hope, which he was never destined to see\nrealized, had probably started in the brain of Moore dim memories of the\nlost glories of Ireland; of the Knights of the Red Branch, of Malichi\nwith the gold torque, and of the buried city of Lough Neagh. The music\nwhich Emmet had desired to hear as the marching song of victory is\nfamiliar to every Irishman as \"Let Erin Remember the Days of Old.\" \"How\nlittle did I think,\" said the poet, \"that in one of the most touching of\nthe sweet airs I used to play to him, his own dying words would find an\ninterpreter so worthy of their sad but proud feelings; or that another\nof those mournful strains would long be associated in the hearts of his\ncountrymen with the memory of her who shared with Ireland his last\nblessing and prayer.\" Ninety-eight had come and gone like a dream. The\nleaders of the United Irishmen were dead, in exile, or hiding from the\nlaw. The Irish parliament had passed from existence, and the hated union\nwith England had become an accomplished fact. The promises of the\nBritish minister, which had done so much to facilitate the passing of\nthe Act of Union, had, of course, been shamefully violated.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere were desperate riots in Limerick, Waterford and Tipperary in the\nyear of the union--smouldering embers of the revolution of '98, which\nwere destined still to break out into one final, fitful conflagration.\nRobert Emmet saw the sufferings of his country with indignation, but not\nwith despair. He conceived the possibility of reviving the spirit of\n'98. In his eyes revolution was not dead, but only asleep; and he\nproudly fancied that he might be the voice to wake rebellion from its\ntrance, and lead it to its triumph. He had some personal fortune of his\nown, which he unselfishly devoted to the purpose he had in view.\nGradually he began to gather around him a cluster of the\ndisaffected--survivors of '98 who had escaped the grave, the gibbet, or\nexile--men like the heroic Myles Byrne, of Wexford, who had evaded the\nclutch of the law, and was lying _perdu_ in Dublin, as assistant in a\ntimber yard, and waiting for fortune. In Myles Byrne, Emmet found a\nready and a daring colleague, and each found others no less ready, no\nless daring, and no less devoted to their country, to aid in the new\nrevolutionary movement. Like the United Irishmen, Emmet was willing to\navail himself of French arms; but he trusted France less than the United\nIrishmen had done. He had been in Paris; he had had interviews with\nNapoleon; he had distrusted the First Consul, and, as we know from his\ndying speech, he never for a moment entertained the slightest idea of\nexchanging the dominion of England for the dominion of France. His\nscheme was desperate, but it was by no means hopeless. Large stores of\narms and gunpowder were accumulated in the various depots in Dublin.\nThousands of men were pledged to the cause and were prepared to lose\ntheir lives for it. The means of establishing a provisional government\nhad been carefully thought out, and had been given effect to in an\nelaborate document, in which vast information was printed, ready to be\nsown broadcast through the city and the county as soon as the green flag\nfloated over Dublin Castle. That was Emmet's chief purpose. Once master\nof the castle, and Dublin would be practically in his power; and Dublin\nonce in the hands of rebellion, why, then, rebellion would spread\nthrough the country like fire in a jungle, and Ireland might indeed be\nfree.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to recapitulate the events of that memorable\nevening of July 23, 1803. At 10 o'clock a rocket sent up from Thomas\nStreet blazed for a moment, the meteor of insurrection, in the unwonted\ndarkness of that summer night. But the signal that was to have been the\nherald of freedom was only the herald of failure. A small mob of men\nhurried to the malt house in Mass lane, which was the principal store of\narms. There pikes were hurriedly handed out to the crowd, and then\nEmmet, who had hoped to head an army, found himself the centre of an\nundisciplined rabble. His hopes must have sunk low as he stood there in\nthe dim and dismal street, in his glittering uniform of green and gold;\nbut his heart did not fail him for a moment. He turned towards the\ncastle at the head of his turbulent horde as composedly as if he had\nbeen marshalling the largest army in Europe. But the crowd lacked\ncohesion, lacked purpose, lacked determination. It fell away from its\nleader loosely, even aimlessly. Some rushed wildly at the castle;\nothers, at the moment when unity and concentration were of the utmost\nimportance, hurried off in another direction to sack a debtor's prison\nand set the inmates free. While the disorganized crowd was still in\nThomas Street, while Emmet was vainly trying to rally his forces and\naccomplish something, a carriage came slowly down the street--the\ncarriage of Lord Kilwarden, Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench.\nInside the carriage were Lord Kilwarden, his daughter, and his nephew,\nthe Rev. Mr. Wolfe. The mob surrounded the carriage; Lord Kilwarden and\nhis nephew were dragged from the carriage, and killed with innumerable\npike-thrusts. The girl was left untouched; was, it is said, carried out\nof danger by Robert Emmet himself, who had vainly attempted to stop the\npurposeless slaughter. Before the Chief Justice was quite dead Major\nSirr and a large body of his soldiers made their appearance, and the mob\nvanished almost without resistance, leaving several prisoners in the\nhands of the military.\n\nEmmet had disappeared, no one knew where--no one, that is, except some\ndozen of his followers and some farmers in the Wicklow Mountains, whose\nhospitality and protection were extended to the fugitive patriot. Emmet\nmight easily have escaped to France if he had chosen, but he delayed\ntill too late. Emmet was a young man, and Emmet was in love. \"The idol\nof his heart,\" as he calls her in his dying speech, was Sarah Curran,\nthe daughter of John Philpot Curran, the great orator who had played so\nimportant a part in defending the State prisoners of '98. Emmet was\ndetermined to see her before he went. He placed his life upon the stake\nand lost it. He returned to Dublin, and was hiding at Harold's Cross,\nwhen his place of refuge was betrayed, and he was arrested by Major\nSirr, the same who had brought Fitzgerald to his death, and who now,\nstrangely enough, occupies a corner of the same graveyard with the\n\"gallant and seditious Geraldine.\"\n\nCurran very bitterly opposed Emmet's love for Sarah, and the voice which\nhad been raised so often and so eloquently in defence of the other\nheroes and martyrs of Irish revolution was not lifted up in defence of\nEmmet. Curran has been often and severely censured for not undertaking\nEmmet's defence, and he has been accused, in consequence, of being, at\nleast indirectly, the cause of his death. But we may safely assume that\nno advocacy either of men or of angels could by any possibility have\nstirred the hearts of those in authority, and saved the life of the man\nwho was presumptuous enough to rebel against the Union. The trial was\nhurried through. Every Irish schoolboy knows the impassioned and\neloquent address which Emmet delivered--an address which even the tragic\ncircumstances could not save from the brutal interruption of Lord\nNorbury. On the altar of truth and liberty, Emmet had extinguished the\ntorch of friendship, had offered up the idol of his soul, and the object\nof his affections. With the shadow of death upon him, the doomed patriot\naddressed his countrymen in words of wellnigh prophetic import,\nforbidding them to write his epitaph until his country had taken her\nplace among the nations of the earth. The words did not pass his lips\nlong before his death. He was found guilty late in the night of the 19th\nof September, and he was hanged the next morning in Thomas Street, on\nthe spot where the gloomy church of St. Catherine looks down Bridgefoot\nStreet, where his principal stores of arms had been found.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSuch was the fate of Robert Emmet. His dying request has been faithfully\nobeyed by his countrymen; and it is but fitting that no spot should bear\nhis name, no statue should typify his memory, until the time comes for\nwhich he hoped, and for which he suffered. His old friend, the companion\nof his youth, the poet who had loved him, has honored his memory with\ntwo of his noblest lyrics, and has devoted a third to the girl whom\nEmmet's love has made immortal. Curran never forgave his daughter for\nhaving given her affections to Emmet; he practically disowned her, and\ndid not, it is said, even extend his forgiveness to her at the hour of\nher death some years later. It is melancholy to have to record the fact\nthat the betrothed wife of Robert Emmet was not entirely faithful to his\nmemory. She married, at the instance, it is said, of her friends, and\ndid not long survive her marriage.\n\n                JUSTIN HUNTLEY M'CARTHY in _United Ireland_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo workman engaged in the copper mines or in the manufacture of copper\nwas ever known to have cholera. Science has demonstrated the fact that\ncholera has raged the least where the presence of electricity in the air\nwas most positive.\n\n\n\n\nThe Annunciation:--March 25th.\n\n\n    How pure and frail and white\n      The snowdrops shine!\n    Gather a garland bright\n      For Mary's shrine.\n\n    For, born of winter snows,\n      These fragile flowers\n    Are gifts to our frail Queen\n      From spring's first hours.\n\n    For on this blessed day\n      She knelt at prayer;\n    When, lo, before her shone\n      An Angel Fair.\n\n    \"Hail, Mary!\" thus he cried\n      With reverent fear;\n    She, with sweet, wondering eyes\n      Marvelled to hear.\n\n    Be still, ye clouds of heaven!\n      Be silent, earth!\n    And hear an angel tell\n      Of Jesus' birth.\n\n    While she, whom Gabriel hails\n      As full of grace,\n    Listens with humble faith\n      In her sweet face.\n\n    Be still, Pride, War and Pomp,\n      Vain Hopes, vain Fear,\n    For now an angel speaks\n      And Mary hears.\n\n    \"Hail, Mary!\" lo, it rings\n      Through ages on;\n    \"Hail, Mary!\" it shall sound\n      Till time is done.\n\n    \"Hail, Mary!\" infant lips\n      Lisp it to-day;\n    \"Hail, Mary!\" with faint smile,\n      The dying say.\n\n    \"Hail, Mary!\" many a heart\n      Broken with grief\n    In that angelic prayer\n      Has found relief.\n\n    And many a half lost soul\n      When turned at bay,\n    With those triumphant words\n      Has won the day.\n\n    \"Hail, Mary, Queen of Heaven!\"\n      Let us repeat,\n    And place our snow-drop wreath\n      Here at her feet.\n\n                                           ADELAIDE PROCTOR.\n\n\n\n\nMuch-a-Wanted.\n\n\nThe sun of an Italian September was shining in broad, yellow splendor on\nAncona--shining on the city, on its tawny background of hills, and on\nthe shimmering spread of the Adriatic at its feet. But for all the\nsunshine, the city was not cheerful. The narrow streets were deserted by\nordinary wayfarers, shops were shut, sometimes a wan face peeped\nfurtively from a half-opened casement. The churches were turned from\ntheir normal purposes to those of hospitals. Sant' Agostino, near the\nPiazza del Teatro, was assigned to one set of patients; even the\ntransepts and aisles of the Duomo, on the top of the Monte Ciriaco, were\nconverted into wards and lined with rows of beds.\n\nIt was not that a pestilence brooded over the place, but something\nworse, much worse.\n\nUnfortunate Ancona, the scene of so many pages of strife written by\nGreeks, Lombards, and Saracens, by the troops of Barbarossa and of\nothers, was undergoing its latest bombardment on this September day of\n1860. Since the opening of the century it had changed its masters four\ntimes: now it was about to change them anew.\n\nAn army-corps, commanded by the Sardinian general, Cialdini, was\nencamped outside the advanced works, and had planted batteries which\nsent projectiles hissing and screaming not only over the ramparts and\ncitadel, but into the heart of the thickly peopled city; and the fleet\nof the Sardinian admiral, Persano, was steaming to and fro outside the\nharbor, and occasionally joining in the work of destruction by pitching\na heavy missile into the Lazaretto (occupied as barracks), or against\nthe masonry of the Mole. De la Moriciere, the general to whom\nAbd-el-Kader had surrendered, and who had driven the Red Republicans of\nParis from the left bank of the Seine in the June of 1848, was \"holding\nthe fort\" for Pio Nono. He had escaped but a few days previously from\nthe disaster of Castelfidardo with a troop of light dragoons, and was\nbattling stubbornly against odds which forbade the chance of success. He\nhad not much faith in his Swiss--they were purely and simply\nmercenaries; the Italians at his disposal were neither unquestionably\nloyal nor of the stuff of which heroes are made; the only men he had\nbeyond his own small ring of French Legitimists--his personal followers\nso to speak--on whose courage and fidelity he could depend were the\nIrish and the Austrians. The former, the Battaglione di San Patrizio,\nwere in the citadel and the environing entrenched camp; the latter,\nbeing more seasoned and better armed, were assigned to the approaches of\nthe beleaguered stronghold. The inhabitants of Ancona were by no means\nall well affected; but the one sentiment in which they were unanimous\nwas the hope that it might soon end--for all were in a mortal fright.\nThe roar of artillery, the bursting of shells, the collapse of shattered\nwalls, bugle-blasts, drum-beats, the tramp of armed men, the crepitation\nof the hoofs of cantering chargers on the hard pavements, were frequent,\nand now and again rose a shriek of terror, or an alarm of fire. But the\ninhabitants took care to keep away these sounds as much as possible;\nthey cowered in dark cellars, and prayed and cursed, and played _mora_,\nand helped to make each other uncomfortable by the contagion of an\nabject poltroonery.\n\nOn the spacious sloping piazza in front of the Cathedral, where the\nmarket used to be held, the main-guard was posted, and a pair of\n_jaegers_ paced backward and forward with the stolidity of Germans\nbetween their sentry-boxes. Suddenly they halted, raised a cry, the\nmeaning of which I could not grasp, and the guard turned out. I could\nsee no visiting officer, and was lost in conjecture when I noticed an\nambulance party with a stretcher moving slowly downwards by the road\nleading from the citadel. A blue great coat outlined a figure on the\nstretcher; one of the legs cased in red trousers was lumpy with\nbandages, through which the blood oozed, but the face of the sufferer\nwas screened from observation and from the fierce noon glare of the sun\nby a strip of linen. The party came to a standstill opposite the post of\nthe sentries; the guard presented arms, the officer lowered his sword,\nthe bugle blew thrice a weird melancholy wail of notes, and the\nstretcher-bearers resumed their careful, slow march.\n\nThis, I heard, was a usage borrowed from chivalrous times, and was\nintended as a compliment; but I could not help thinking it a cruelty to\nthe poor wounded wretch whose recovery the delay of a minute might\nimperil.\n\nI went up to the party and asked who was the last victim of the war they\nwere carrying.\n\n\"A countryman of yours,\" was the answer.\n\nI gently lifted the strip of linen, and recognized in the sufferer a\nyoungster from Sligo, of some nineteen years, the only son of his\nmother, who had joined the Papal service through motives of the most\nsincere faith and devotedness. To his aged parent, in her humble\nConnaught cabin, he had sent the twenty _scudi_ he had received as\nbounty. Andy was his Christian name--I never heard that of his family;\nbut he usually went by the nickname of \"Much-a-Wanted.\" This originated\nfrom a habit he had of using the phrase on all occasions, suitable and\nunsuitable. If it came on to rain, Andy would say, \"much-a-wanted;\" if\nmacaroni, which the Irishmen unaccountably disliked, were served up from\nthe dinner-boiler, he met it with the same exclamation; if he got a\nnewspaper from home, or won a _mezzo-baioccho_ at pitch-and-toss, it was\nalike. All were \"much-a-wanted.\" Verily, I believe if he had been sent\nto the cells on a false charge, the philosophic Andy would have consoled\nhimself with the cheery reflection that it was \"much-a-wanted.\"\n\nOn inquiry I discovered he had come in for his fate characteristically.\nWhile they had been preparing the mid-day meal for his company, the cook\ncomplained of a scarcity of water. The path to the draw-well was in the\ndirect line of a terrible fire; it was positively furrowed with ripping\nsegments of shell. Instead of ordering the men on fatigue duty (whose\nactual business it was) to go, volunteers were asked for, and Andy and a\ncomrade stepped forward and undertook to fetch a bucket. Hardly had they\nstarted into the open on their hazardous errand, when a shell exploded\nalmost at their feet, knocking them over like ninepins, and sending the\nfragments of the bucket whizzing in splintered chips far asunder. Andy's\ncomrade was hit on the sole of the foot, and broke into a bellow of\npain. It was no want of fortitude; the torment must have been\ninsupportable. The net-work of sinew and muscles in that most delicately\nformed portion of the human framework was torn through, and the dirty\nleather of the shoe was forced into the flesh, and there was an ugly\ncircle of jagged spokes around like the star-fractures made by a stone\nflung through a pane of glass. Andy's right leg was shattered a few\ninches above the knee, and hung on by a shred of skin; the shock must\nhave deprived him of sensation, and the rapid gush of blood caused a\nmerciful swoon. The hemorrhage was stopped by a surgeon on the spot, and\na dose of brandy poured down his throat. As he recovered his speech he\nmurmured in a dazed way his old catch-words \"much-a-wanted.\"\n\nWhile I was learning these particulars, the pathetic little procession\nwas climbing towards the hospital of St. John of God, where the most\naccomplished of our staff of surgeons were in waiting to perform serious\noperations, and the zealous brothers of the institution--a sort of\nanticipatory Red Cross order--were on the constant watch to supply all\nthat science, good nursing and the beautiful compassion of religion\ncould suggest for the benefit of the afflicted.\n\nOn the ground floor the operating-room was situated, and thither the\nparty bore their pale-faced, perspiring, still burden. I followed,\nthinking I might be of use as I understood Italian; and, in any case,\nwhen the sufferer returned to consciousness it might be some comfort to\nhim to have the face of one he knew by his pallet. It was promptly\ndecided that the leg should be amputated at the thigh, and as the\nsurgeons, with workmanlike coolness, proceeded with their grim\npreliminaries, the pain awoke Andy to his situation. And yet not quite.\nBy the wild unrest of his eyes and the working of his features, it was\nplain that he was in the throes of acute agony; he felt it, but he could\nnot tell why or wherefore it was. He knew too keenly where the seat of\npain was, but he could not divine the exact injury he had sustained, and\nstrove almost frantically to rise so as to obtain a view of his lower\nextremities. He caught sight of me, and besought me to lift him. I laid\nmy hand on his forehead and tried to pacify him, but in vain. He sank\nback with a moan that went to my very marrow. While he lay thus, as if\nin the coma of prostration, I asked quietly if they did not propose to\nadminister chloroform, but they shook their heads and said they had none\nto spare except for officers. I insisted that the boy would die under\nthe knife unless he had something to numb his sensibility, and at the\nmoment he opened wide his eyes, and, with a look of pleading which I can\nnever forget, gasped--\n\n\"Gracious God! How I burn. Take me out and shoot me.\"\n\nThen, in a sharp shout of entreaty as if wrung by a stronger spasm than\nbefore--\n\n\"If you're friends, if you're men, you'll put me out of pain.\"\n\nThe surgeon-major at last relented and nodded to an aide, who\nadministered the chloroform. Quickly and skilfully the operation was\nperformed, and when the patient came back to things of the world he lay\nin a ward on the same floor, a cradle over the stump to avert the risk\nof hemorrhage from the dressings being disturbed. He was very feeble and\nlanguid, and spoke like one in a trance.\n\n\"Do you feel better after your sleep, Andy?\"\n\n\"Yes, thank you; 'twas much-a-wanted. But my feet are very cold.\"\n\nHis feet! Then he knew nothing of what had occurred; that he was no\nlonger as others, but maimed in his youth, destined to go through life a\ncripple--if he ever rose from his bed.\n\n\"Put more covers over me,\" he besought.\n\nHe got a stimulating cordial from one of the brothers who specially\ncharged himself with his guardianship, and I passed through some of the\nremaining wards on my way out. Those who were the least querulous\nappeared to be the very men who were most grievously wounded, perhaps\nthey were too spent to sigh; those who were loudest in their yells of\nanguish--there is no other word--were a number of unfortunates who had\ntheir flesh scorched and shrivelled by the blow-up of a magazine. It is\nas trying to hear a strong man yell with anguish as to see a strong man\nshed tears. Here and there a lighted taper was placed at the foot of a\nbed, and the white sheet drawn over the mute and motionless occupant\ntold its own story.\n\nThe next forenoon I visited Andy. He was weak but sprightly, and still\nunconscious of his great loss. He asked me how we were getting on, and\nwhen we should have the enemy beaten, for he could distinctly hear the\nwhistling of shells and the repercussion of the booming of the big guns.\n\nOn the following day there was a change in him for the worse. There were\ntwo reasons to explain it; a shell had fallen on the roof of the\nhospital and crashed into one of the wards of the upper story where it\nburst. This naturally caused a fearful commotion, and fevered and\nmutilated patients had started from their beds in panic and crouched in\nthe corridors and on the staircases. But, to my thinking, the alteration\nin Andy's condition was to be traced rather to another accident. He had\nlearned the extent of his misfortune. A rough, good-natured comrade who\nhad snatched time for a friendly call had blurted it out.\n\n\"Keep up your spirits, my hearty; you won't be the first lad to hobble\nthrough life on a timber-peg.\"\n\nThe poor fellow turned a ghastly white, gazed around him in a scared,\nvacant manner--so the brother told me--and asked with dry, tremulous\nlips for a drink of water. Afterwards he had dozed into a delirious\nslumber. In his ravings he fancied he was on a lone and dangerous post\nin advance of our lines, and that his officer had forgotten him.\n\n\"I'm perishin' wid the cowld,\" he peevishly muttered, \"and no sign o'\nthe relief. Ten hours on sentry; I give them ten minutes more. If they\ndon't come, I'll go.\"\n\nThen there must have been a struggle in his harassed brain between duty\nand the sense that he had been neglected.\n\n\"No,\" he continued. \"Desertion before the inamy--disgrace! Can't do\nthat. As I'm here, I'll see it out. I wish the relief would come.\"\n\nAnd then the poor crazed youth went through the motions of slapping his\nhands across his breast to quicken the circulation, and began humming\nthe air of \"The Pretty Maid Milking her Cow.\"\n\nBy degrees the motion of his hands slackened, his voice grew fainter, he\nturned his head on one side, and dropped into a deep, calm sleep.\n\nDuty took me elsewhere, but I returned in a few hours. As I stole up to\nthe bedside the patient was awake and looked brighter and better than\nbefore. It was the blazing of the wick before the candle expires.\n\n\"He has had a lucid interval,\" whispered the brother, \"and was so meek\nand patient that it made me weep. But he is delirious again--still\nyearning for that relief.\"\n\nAt that instant the sunset flame shooting through a window burnished the\nsufferer's face until it looked like that of some waxen image with a\nhalo; by a powerful effort he propped the upper portion of his body on\nhis left elbow, raised his right arm in salute, and cried--\n\n\"Hurrah! I saw the sunlight on yer bay'nets, boys. Andy wouldn't lave\nhis post. But whisper, sargent, ye were much-a-wanted, much-a-wanted!\"\n\nAnd with a glad laugh the boy-soldier fell back.\n\nThere was a thin crimson streak upon the pillow. The relief had, indeed,\ncome at last.\n\n                   JOHN AUGUSTUS O'SHEA, in _Merry England_.\n\n\n\n\nMixed Marriages.\n\n\nMarriage is so intimate a union between man and wife that the hearts of\nboth should ever beat in full and unalloyed sympathy and accord. Above\nall, the religious convictions of both ought to be in perfect harmony.\nIf there is not in the family a common faith and a common form of divine\nworship, the consequences are disastrous to home comfort, to religious\ntraining, and to faith itself. Show me a family that forms an exception,\nand you either show a strengthening of the rule, or you show a family\nthat is happy only in appearance. For, even then you will find that the\nCatholic party has to do a thousand things unknown to the other, and to\nbeg of the children to keep matters secret. There is woe following the\ntelling of the secret. Suffice it to know that the wisdom of the\nCatholic Church is opposed to these unions; that if the Catholic party\ndie, the children, as a rule, are lost; and that even in the best cases\nreligious indifference is the ordinary consequence.\n\nHow often do we meet such an instance as this, nor shall I overdraw it.\nA young Catholic lady tells her confessor that she intends to marry a\nProtestant young man. The confessor remonstrates. It is useless. Her\nmind is made up on the matter. He is a good young man, with no prejudice\nagainst her faith, and is satisfied to be married by the priest. Very\nwell; they get married; and six months afterward the bell is rung at the\npriest's door. A thickly veiled female comes in, and she has a sad story\nto tell. She has been abused, called names in which her religion was not\ncomplimented; and, oh, worst of all, this very day he has thrust her out\nof doors. Yes; called Papist and thrown down the stoop by the \"splendid\nyoung man\" on whose arm she hung so proudly in the heyday of her foolish\nfascination!\n\nSome of our young ladies may be educated a little too high for our\naverage young man. And too many of them look down on honest labor--on\nthe young mechanic or tradesman--and cast their eyes on some banker's\nclerk or broker's accountant, who, with ten or twelve dollars a week,\nstudies the manners of the millionnaire, frequents the opera, and may\nnot be above forging his employers' name. Better to cast her lot with\nthe honest young Catholic tradesman, who attends to his religious\nduties, is temperate and steady, forgetting altogether that he neither\ndresses like a fop nor poses like a Chesterfield.\n\nIf the man be the Catholic, the case is worse. The mother has most\ninfluence with the children. The father worries, drinks, loses his\nposition, and perhaps dies a victim of intemperate habits.\n\n\n\n\nFarewell, My Home.\n\n\n    Though sunshine dances merrily\n      On wave and stream and trembling leaf,\n    Though wild birds wake their minstrelsy,\n      My heart is full of grief.\n\n    No sunshine there; 'tis sad and lone;\n      No echo to the wild bird's lay;\n    One only thought--the dear hearth-stone\n      I loved is quenched to-day.\n\n    My heart will break; I cannot bear\n      To part with scenes so loved, so blest.\n    My heart will break; I cannot tear\n      Me from this home of rest.\n\n    Yet, though I say farewell, my home,\n      'Tis but the lips that speak their part;\n    Believe, wherever I may roam,\n      I leave with thee my heart.\n\n    Broken, yet clinging still to thee,\n      My home, as to a mother's breast;\n    Broken, yet loving tenderly\n      My home, my heart's first rest.\n\n    Farewell, my home, farewell, farewell;\n      One last, one lingering look I take\n    On each dear scene of hill and dell,\n      Of mountain bold and silver lake.\n\n    Farewell, I leave my bleeding heart\n      Within thy loved retreats to roam;\n    Farewell, farewell, too soon we part;\n      My home, my childhood's home.\n\n    Ballycastle, Co. Antrim, Ireland.                 ULIDIA\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nARBITRATION.--The question of arbitration received quite an impetus at\nBraddock, Penn., by the selection of Rev. Father Hickey, the well-known\npastor of St. Thomas' church, at that place, as an arbitrator. The\nBessemer Steel Works, an institution employing _six thousand men_, was\nshut down on account of the strike. Father Hickey was selected by both\nparties, and succeeded in satisfactorily settling the difficulties.\n\n\n\n\nThe \"Ten-Commandment\" Theory.\n\n\nSir Wilfred Lawson, writing to the _Pall Mall Gazette_ (a London paper),\nsays:--\"In a recent article on Home Rule, you declared: 'We are all for\nHome Rule plus the Ten Commandments. But if the Irish seek Home Rule\nexpressly to violate the Ten Commandments with impunity, then they shall\nnot have Home Rule, let them demand it ever so loudly.' I have my doubts\nwhether it is possible to 'violate the Ten Commandments with impunity,'\nbut we will not stop to argue that point. But what I want to know is,\nhow far you intend to carry this 'Ten-Commandment' theory? Is it\napplicable to all nations or only to the Irish? If the former, how shall\nwe stand in England? The Ten Commandments forbid among other things,\nmurder, stealing and coveting our neighbors' possessions.\n\n\"Do we reverence the command, 'Thou shalt do no murder?' Let the\nthousands of Zulus, Afghans, Egyptians and Arabs whom we have\nslaughtered during the last few years give dumb evidence on that point.\nThe slaughter of these unfortunate men, whose crime is that they are\nworse armed than we are, is duly hailed with public acclamation and with\necclesiastical thanksgiving!\n\n\"Stealing is equally popular. At this very moment the press gushes with\nrapturous delight because Lord Dufferin has succeeded in stealing the\nterritory of the Burmese.\n\n\"As to lying, I need say nothing, as we are all fresh from the general\nelection.\n\n\"The Irish will be very ingenuous if they can contrive to violate the\nTen Commandments more successfully than we do in very many of our public\nproceedings. The crimes for which we are responsible are, however,\nmainly committed against feeble foes who have no means of stating their\ncase to the world. But the violation of the Eighth Commandment, which is\nwhat you really fear will be endorsed in Ireland, will be committed\nagainst the body of Irish landlords, who, up to a recent period, have\nhad their own way in that country. The fear is that the tenants will\nsteal the property of the landlords. In former times the landlords have\nstolen the property of the tenants. In either case stealing is most\ndeplorable, but I do not know whether, in a moral point of view, the\nlatter is worse than the former. Honest men must hope that both may be\nput a stop to. Sir, I hold by the Ten Commandments, and I heartily wish\nthat all nations and all individuals would pay them practical deference.\nAll that I maintain at present is, that the fear that the Irish may, on\none point, adopt a different course is not enough to justify us in\nrefusing them the benefit of self-government. If we are to wait until we\nhave guarantees for the observance of the Ten Commandments before we\ngrant political rights to nations, we shall have, I fear, to wait until\ndoomsday, or, at the very least, until the millennium is upon us.\nHowever, the position taken up in your article may be the right one; but\neven in that case we shall speak to our Irish brethren with much more\neffect if we can show that we ourselves are observing the precepts which\nwe are so anxious to enforce upon them.\"\n\n\n\n\nBay State Faugh-a-Ballaghs.\n\n\nIV.\n\nIn the last number of the MAGAZINE we left the patriotic Irishmen of the\nTwenty-Eighth Regiment in their Camp Cameron, at Cambridge, dreaming of\nthe heroic deeds of their race on foreign fields; of the proud\nchronicles of the valor of the European Irish Brigade at Fontenoy and\nRamillies that illumine the pages of French history; of the saving of\nCremona by the Irish regiments under Count Dillon and Col. Burke; of\nLord Clare's dragoons at Blenheim, which, although victorious to the\narms of John Churchill (great Marlborough), and his Teutonic allies the\ndefeat of Marchal Tallard, commanding the French and Bavarians, was\nrelieved of some of its ignominy by the capture of two standards from\nthe British by these dashing Irish troopers; of the fields of Staffardo\nunder the exiled Lord Mount Cashel, and many other inspiring military\nachievements and successes of these Irishmen who vowed by Erin's\nSunburst:\n\n    \"That never! No! never! while God gave them life\n      And they had an arm and a sword for the strife,\n    That never! No! never! that banner should yield\n      As long as the heart of a Celt was its shield;\n    While the hand of a Celt had a weapon to wield,\n      And his last drop of blood was unshed on the field.\"\n\nThe Twenty-Eighth Regiment was formally mustered into the United States\nservice December 13th, 1861, with Col. William Monteith commanding. Col.\nMurphy, it seems, only assisted in the recruiting of the regiment.\n\nChristmas Day found the command not yet ordered forward, still at duty\nin the Cambridge camp. The day was duly honored with religious services\nand social interchanges. The boys were provided by loving friends with\nthe wherewithal to make merry and to toast the sweethearts not yet made\nexactly of the class of \"The girl I left behind me,\" although in the\nexpression of the conviviality of the hour that and kindred airs were\njovially rendered by the rollicking blades who were bound to make the\ngreat festival as merry as possible. In the \"privates\" as well as the\nofficers' quarters during the evening, innocent revels were made up of\nfeasting, the witty jest and repartee, playful jokes, songs and stories\nuntil \"taps\" reminded all through the orders of the officer of the day,\nthat the night of Christmas Day had a new significance for these Irish\nvolunteers. Before another return of it, how many of these fine fellows\nwere food for powder and worms. A touching and very natural little\nincident in one of the tents will not only illustrate the genuineness of\nthe soldier's heart, but also may be set down as a sample of the kindred\nfeelings of many comrades who shouldered a musket for the preservation\nof the country. When the lights were put out as ordered by the \"taps\"\npatrolling guard, a fine young fellow, who had during the evening been\nmerriest of the merry, was seated near the opening of the tent, bowed\ndown in thought, while the fitful flickering of the expiring camp-fire\nshone through the handsome, glossy hair that drooped over his temples.\nHis suppressed sighs brought an older and much attached comrade to him,\nwho, putting his arms kindly around the youth's manly shoulders said, in\nlowered tones:\n\n\"Arrah, Jim, ma bouchal, what's the matter with you, at all, at all? Has\nall the fun gone out of you?\"\n\n\"No, no, friend Tim! But this night last year I was with my poor old\nmother. I'm all that's left to her now, and when she hears I am in the\nwar, her poor heart will break, and if it is ever my luck to return to\nIreland it will, I'm afraid, be to visit her grave in Kilmurry\nchurch-yard.\"\n\n\"Oh, the _wirrasthru_, and that's the pity av it, Jim. But don't you be\nthinking of these things and be sad, or faix's, you'll make a fool of a\nsoldier of me with thinking of my sweet Kitty and the two childer.\nThey'll be safe, at any rate for awhile, until we can put in a few good\nblows for the glorious country that has given us freedom and a home.\nJim, me boy, our enemy, England, is at the bottom of this bad business.\nYou know the ould song, 'She comes to divide, to dishonor;' but a tyrant\nshe'll never reign here while we have a hand to lift and\"--(Tim just\nthen kindly slapping his chum on the back) \"a heart to dare her!--and\"--\n\nThe fervor of Tim aroused comrades in the tent, who gave signs of\napproval.\n\n\"And, perhaps when we have finished this business, as Secretary Seward\nsays, in three months we'll have a nice training to go across the ocean\nwith our arms, and wollop John Bull out of the dear old land.\"\n\n\"Good boy, Tim! good boy;\" were the tokens of approval that came\nvociferously from all parts of the tent, while at the same time the\ndouble quick tread of the patrol guard, preceded by the flash of the\ncorporal's lantern was hastily bearing down on the devoted quarters to\nstop this untimely ebullition of patriotic fervor, and noticing which\nBill and Tim grasped hands fervently, but hastily, in approval of the\nsentiments of the latter. When the corporal looked into the tent the\ndozen soldiers it contained were all rolled up snugly in their blankets\nand sound asleep, apparently. 'Twas to the noise, not to the patriotism\nto which the corporal objected, fearing censure or worse from his\nsuperiors. Had he been off duty, no man likely would have more heartily\nre-echoed Tim H----'s patriotic expressions.\n\nDays and weeks passed. In the meantime the officers and men, through\nmilitary routine, were perfecting themselves; but for heavier work than\nwas anticipated.\n\nAt last the call came, and amid heart-breaking farewells from wives,\nsweethearts and children, and the cheers of the throngs assembled to bid\nthe gallant fellows good-by, the Twenty-Eighth Regiment left Boston,\nJanuary 11, 1862, and went to Fort Columbus, New York harbor, from which\nplace on February 14, it was sent to Hilton Head, South Carolina. The\nregiment was at a place called Darofusky Island when Col. Monteith was\nordered off with the right wing to duty, on Tybee Island, Georgia. It\nwas here that Col. Monteith did his last service with the Twenty-Eighth.\nThe whole command was subsequently transferred to James Island, at which\nplace in an attack on Fort Johnson, the regiment lost fourteen killed\nand fifty-two wounded. Gen. Benham, U. S. A., paid a high compliment to\nthe command for the handsome manner in which they joined in the assault\non the fort June 16. On July 20, the regiment was assigned to Gen.\nBurnside's Ninth Corps, and after being a while at Newport News,\nVirginia, landed at Aquia Creek, on the Potomac River, August 6th, to\nparticipate in the campaign of Gen. John Pope, \"headquarters in the\nsaddle,\" on the line of the Rappahannock, and which terminated so\ndisastrously to our arms at the second Bull Run battle. Major Geo. W.\nCartwright commanded the regiment in this severe engagement and was\nwounded. Eighteen men were killed and one hundred and nine wounded, with\neight missing. This was August 30th. On September 1st at Chantilly,\nmemorable by the death of that daring soldier, Gen. Phil Kearney, the\nFaugh-a-Ballaghs lost fifteen killed, with eighty-four wounded, and\ncasualties. We find the regiment under heavy fire at South Mountain, and\nat Antietam's great battle, it crossed the creek at the stone bridge,\ncharged the enemy's right, located in a most advantageous position, and\ndrove them, sustaining a loss of twelve killed and thirty-six wounded.\n\nAbout one month after this, Col. Richard Byrnes,[1] on October 18,\nassumed command of the Twenty-Eighth at Nolan's Ferry, and on the 23d of\nNovember, it was transferred to the Second Corps and assigned to\nMeagher's Irish Brigade, which was in the division commanded by that\nmuch lamented and knightly soldier, Winfield Scott Hancock. At the close\nof the year 1862, some two weeks after fateful Fredericksburg, the\nreckoning showed that the Faugh-a-Ballaghs lost five hundred and twenty\nin killed, wounded and missing. The second Christmas Day for the boys of\nthe Twenty-Eighth brought many sad reminders. Poor Kitty H---- and her\nbabies had to mourn the loss of her brave Tim, the Irish patriot of Camp\nCameron, and the poor heart-broken mother of his young chum drooped and\npined in Ireland for the son who was the solace of her hope and heart.\nShe had the premonition of his death, at the battle of Chantilly, so\nweirdly given in Gerald Griffin's \"wake.\" She saw the blood-red cloud in\nthe west far out on the Atlantic's tide and while--\n\n    \"Her door flings wide, loud moans the gale;\n      Wild fear her bosom fills;\n    It is, it is the Banshee's wail\n      Over the darkened hills!\n        Ululah! Ululah!\n    A youth to Kiffiehera's taken\n    That never will return again.\"\n\nThe Christmas of 1862 in the camps of the Union Army on the left bank of\nthe Rappahannock, confronting Fredericksburg, was rather wanting in good\ncheer, although so near the Potomac, and it was only until Gen. Hooker\nsuperseded Burnside in command of the Army of the Potomac, that rations\nof potatoes could be had to serve out to the half-famished troops. What\na delightful supplement to a soldier's mess is even one good potato and\na piece of onion, when for weeks his only change has been from hard tack\nwith fat pork to pork (fat) and hard tack! The regiment performed the\nusual duties of beleaguers when St. Patrick's Day got round to them in\nthe camps of the Irish brigade at Falmouth, Va. If not very active\nparticipants with their New York fellow soldiers in the sports of the\nsteeple chase, race-course, and other parts of the programme, yet the\nboys of the Twenty-Eighth could not have failed to enjoy with enthusiasm\nthe hilarity and frolics of that occasion. At least ten thousand had\nassembled from the camps cantoned in winter quarters for miles between\nthe Potomac and along the Rappahannock Rivers. The grand stand contained\nthe commander-in-chief and other distinguished generals and officers,\nand a number of ladies. Besides Hooker, the commander, there were\nconspicuously present Generals Slocum, Hancock, Charles Griffin,\nSedgwick, Franklin and others. Together with the races of the\nthoroughbreds, there were also long prize lists, programmes of\namusements, such as catching a soaped pig, and competing for money, and\nmastery at dancing Irish jigs, reels and hornpipes. An idea may be had\nof the provision made for the entertainment of the invited guests from\nthe following summary of the bill of fare which the quartermaster of the\nbrigade brought with him from Washington for the occasion: The side of\nan ox roasted, thirty-five hams, a whole pig stuffed with boiled\nturkeys, and \"an unlimited number of chickens, ducks and small game. The\ndrinking materials comprised eight baskets of champagne, ten gallons of\nrum and twenty-two of whiskey.\" Thus sayeth the record. All of this was\nserved inside a beautiful bower capable of containing several hundred\npersons. The festivities were duly preceded with the religious\nceremonies of the great holyday of St. Patrick's feast, and closed by a\ngrand entertainment at night, which included theatricals, recitations\nand olios of song and sentiment.\n\nIt is needless to add that the visiting generals, whose duties admitted\nof their remaining, entered into the humor of the hour, and toasts went\nfreely round, intermingled with flowing bumpers and loving glances at\nthe fair visitors, who graced the occasion by their presence.\n\nWe afterwards trace the heroic work of our Massachusetts\nFaugh-a-Ballaghs in their valiant services at Chancellorsville; at famed\nGettysburg, where the regiment lost nearly one-half its force in killed\nand casualties; at Mine Run, the Wilderness, Po River, Spottsylvania,\nCold Harbor, Petersburg, Deep Bottom, and at Reams' Station, the latter\npart of August, 1864.\n\nThe offices and men whose term did not expire with that of their\nregiment in December, 1864, were consolidated into a battalion under the\ncommand of Major James Fleming (of North End, Boston), and at the close\nof hostilities were mustered out with the remnant of the Irish brigade.\nThe originals were ordered to Boston, December 20, to be mustered out,\nand numbered only twenty-one enlisted men and one officer, Col.\nCartwright. No better close can be made to this article than to quote\nfrom \"Conyngham's Concise History,\" printed in 1867, the record of this\nfamous Irish-American regiment:--\n\n\"The aggregate number joined for duty since the organization was about\n1,703; the list of killed and casualties numbered 1,133, a fearfully\nheavy proportion. During the Wilderness campaign, but one officer\nescaped unhurt in the fearful havoc. Who shall say, in view of this\nrecord of the devotion of Irishmen to the cause of freedom in this their\nadopted country, that they are not entitled to the sympathy, aid and\nsupport of this nation, in the endeavor to free their own beloved,\ndown-trodden land?\"\n\nAmerica should never forget it.\n\n                                                    STUDENT.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] The scope of this article does not admit of much extension on\naccount of the great demand on the space of the MAGAZINE, but inasmuch\nas Col. Byrnes was the most conspicuous officer of any who had to do\nwith this gallant regiment, a few words concerning his personal career\nmust seem appropriate. Richard Byrnes had served fifteen years in the\nregular army, reaching the commission of first lieutenant in the\ncavalry, when he was appointed to the command of the Twenty-Eighth\nMassachusetts Volunteers. He was assigned to it by orders in October,\n1862. He perfected its discipline with soldierly skill, led it in battle\nwith the valor of a true Irish-American hero, and commanded the respect\nand admiration of his troops. While in command of the Irish brigade at\nthe battle of Cold Harbor, June 3, 1864, he was mortally wounded and\ndied at Washington, June 12. His wife soothed his dying moments. He was\ninterred with due military honors in a cemetery near his home in Jersey\nCity. The likeness of Col. Byrnes, published in the March number of this\nMAGAZINE, is pronounced a most excellent one. The copy was procured from\nCol. Jeremiah W. Coveney, of Cambridge, who served with distinction and\nhonor in the Faugh-a-Ballaghs with the regular army hero.\n\n\n\n\nDrunkenness in Old Times.\n\n\nThe offence of drunkenness was a source of great perplexity to the\nancients, who tried every possible way of dealing with it. If none\nsucceeded, it was probably because they did not begin early enough by\nintercepting some of the ways and means by which the insidious vice is\nincited and propagated. Severe treatment was often tried to little\neffect. The Locrians, under Zaleucus, made it a capital offence to drink\nwine if it was not mixed with water; even an invalid was not exempted\nfrom punishment, unless by the order of a physician. Pittacus, of\nMitylene, made a law that he who when drunk, committed any offence,\nwould suffer double the punishment which he would do if sober; and\nPlato, Aristotle and Plutarch applauded this as the height of wisdom.\nThe Roman censors could expel a Senator for being drunk and take away\nhis horse; Mahomet ordered drunkards to be bastinadoed with eighty\nblows. Other nations thought of limiting the quantity to be drunk at one\ntime or at one sitting. The Egyptians put some limit, though what is not\nstated. The Spartans, also had some limit. The Arabians fixed the\nquantity at twelve glasses a man; but the size of the glass was,\nunfortunately, not clearly defined by the historians. The Anglo-Saxons\nwent no further than to order silver nails to be fixed on the side of\nthe drinking cups, so that each might know the proper measure. And it is\nsaid that this was done by King Edgar after noticing the drunken habits\nof the Danes. Lycurgus, of Thrace, went to the root of the matter by\nordering the vines to be cut down. His conduct was imitated in 704 by\nTerbulus of Bulgaria. The Suevi prohibited wine to be imported. And the\nSpartans tried to turn the vice into contempt by systematically making\ntheir slaves drunk once a year to show their children how foolish and\ncontemptible men looked in that state. Drunkenness was deemed much more\nvicious in some classes of persons than in others. The ancient Indians\nheld it lawful to kill a king when he was drunk. The Athenians made it a\ncapital offence for a magistrate to be drunk, and Charlemagne imitated\nthis by a law that judges on the bench and pleaders should do their\nbusiness fasting. The Carthagenians prohibited magistrates, governors,\nsoldiers and servants, from any drinking. The Scots, in the second\ncentury, made it a capital offence for magistrates to be drunk: and\nConstantine II. of Scotland, 1761, extended a like punishment to young\npeople. Again, some laws have absolutely prohibited wine from being\ndrunk by women; the Massillians so decreed. The Romans did the same, and\nextended the prohibition to young men under thirty. And the husband and\nthe wife's relations could scourge the wife for offending, and the\nhusband himself might scourge her to death.\n\n\n\n\nThe Paschal Candle.\n\nFrom the French of Rev. Michael Romanet, Augustinian, by Th. Xr. K.\n\n\nFrom Septuagesima to Holy Saturday, everything in the liturgy breathes a\nprofound sadness. During those seventy days, like the captives of\nBabylon, the sacred spouse clad in mourning garments, no longer sings\nher glad canticles; she, too, has hung her harp on the willows beside\nthe brook. The song of the angels is heard no more at Mass except on the\nfestivals of the saints, instead of that loud cry of gladness, the\ndivine _Alleluia_, there is naught but a severe and _dragging_ melody;\nand, on Sunday, the night office loses its magnificent Ambrosian hymn.\n\nThe closer the day of her spouse's death approaches, the deeper the\nChurch is plunged in grief.\n\nOn Good Friday, violet does not suffice for her moaning: she covers\nherself with vestments of black.\n\nBut, behold, suddenly, on Saturday morning, while the Christ is still in\nthe tomb, she seems to forget her mourning. The aspect of grief of the\neve is gone. See the deacon after the blessing of the new fire. He comes\nforward, wearing the white dalmatic, the garb of joy, with a triangular\ncandle in his hand, the image of the Trinity, and sings three times,\n\"Lumen Christi\"--a triple proclamation of the divinity of the Father,\nthe Son, and the Holy Ghost. He then goes towards the _Paschal Candle_.\n\nWhy, then, these emblems of joy in presence of this torch? What are the\nmemories it brings to the heart of the Spouse thus to make gladness take\nthe place of grief? Let us ask the author of the blessing of the\nPaschal Candle, St. Ambrose, for the explanation of this mysterious\nsymbol. Let us question, too, the faith of the Middle Ages. Let us\nlisten to the symbolic language so familiar to our fathers, and with\nwhich we are so little acquainted. Perhaps, even, we have sometimes\nsurprised a smile on our lips at the sight of that candle, and of\ncertain other exterior practices of worship, whose significance we did\nnot understand; for, in our days, how great, generally, is the ignorance\nof the faithful in the matter of liturgy and symbolism. Now, we see how\nmagnificent is the meaning of that ceremony of the blessing of the\nPaschal Candle which was extended by St. Zozimus in the middle of the\nfifth century to the other churches of the city of Rome, although\nbaptism was conferred only at the baptistery of Lutran, and later on by\nother popes to all the churches, even to those which have no baptismal\nfonts: so holy and salutary did the sovereign pontiffs consider the\nimpressions which this great rite should produce.\n\nIn this candle, superior in weight and in size to the candles which are\ngenerally lighted on other solemnities, in this unique candle, the\nprinces of liturgy show us the image of Jesus Christ, a precious symbol\nwhich is impressed on it by the virtue of the blessing.\n\nThis blessing is reserved for the deacon. To him belongs this\nprerogative when the priest, and even when the bishop is present. This\nis because the deacon represents on this occasion the holy women, who,\nnotwithstanding the inferiority of their sex, were commissioned by the\nSaviour to announce His resurrection to His Apostles, and that, by a\ndisposition of Providence, woman, in the first days of the world, sent\nby the demon to man, brought him death; woman was to be sent by the\nrisen Christ to man to proclaim life to him. The Apostles were still in\ntears, when, in transports of gladness, Mary Magdalene and her\ncompanions announced to them the mystery of the resurrection. The priest\nand the bishop, too, still wear the color of mourning, when, clothed in\nwhite, the deacon freely and loudly chants the beautiful prayers of the\nblessing, and is thus the herald of the resurrection's joys.\n\nIn consequence of the deacon's blessing, the candle then becomes the\nsymbol of Christ. \"Before it is lighted,\" says Dom Gueranger, summing up\non this point the interpretations of the olden liturgists, \"its type is\nin the pillar of cloud which covered the departure of the Hebrews as\nthey went forth from Egypt; under this first form, it is a figure of\nChrist in the tomb, inanimate, lifeless. When it will have received the\nflame, we shall see in it the pillar of fire which gave light to the\nholy people's feet, and also the figure of Christ, all radiant with the\nsplendors of His resurrection.\"\n\nThis majestic symbolism is demonstrated by the prayers of the blessing.\nAnd first those cries of gladness, those outbursts of joy, and that\nlavishness of praise on the part of the deacon, as he stands before that\nwaxen pillar, we now understand, knowing that _He_ whom the candle\nrepresents, the Divine Light, is the one to whom they are addressed.\n\nThe deacon begins with a lyric exordium. Let those who understand Latin\nread in the text itself that magnificent prayer of the _Exultet_; the\ntranslation cannot entirely reproduce its beauties:\n\n\"Let now the heavenly troop of angels rejoice; let the divine mysteries\nbe joyfully celebrated, and let the sacred trumpet proclaim the victory\nof so great a king. Let the earth rejoice, illumined with such\nresplendent rays, and let the whole world feel that the darkness is\ndriven from it by the splendor of the Eternal King. Let the church, our\nmother, also rejoice, being adorned by the rays of so great a light, and\nlet this temple resound with the joyful acclamations of the people.\nWherefore, most beloved brethren, who are now present at the admirable\nbrightness of this holy light, I beseech you to invoke with me the mercy\nof the Almighty God. That He, who hath been pleased without merit of\nmine, to admit me into the number of the Levites will, by an infusion of\nHis light upon me enable me to celebrate worthily the praise of this\ntaper.\"\n\nNo, this candle would not merit as much praise if it did not represent\nthe Christ. The Son alone, with the Father and the Holy Ghost, is\ndeserving of praise.\n\n\"It is truly meet and just to proclaim with all the affections of our\nheart and soul, and with the sound of our voice, the invisible God the\nFather Almighty, and His only-begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, who\npaid for us to His eternal Father the debt of Adam, and by His own blood\ncancelled the guilt contracted by original sin.\"\n\nAs though to give a reason for his songs of glory, the deacon hastens to\nproclaim aloud the coming of Easter: \"For this is the Paschal solemnity\nin which the true Lamb is slain, by whose blood the doors of the\nfaithful are consecrated.\" The Hebrews celebrated the ancient Pasch at\nnight. Standing, with loins girded and staves in their hands, they\nawaited the passing of the Lord. This expectation at night the faithful\nrenew on Holy Saturday. St. Jerome tells us in fact that it was an\nApostolic custom maintained by the Christians of his day to remain\nunited in prayer until midnight, awaiting the coming of Christ. But\nanother mystery is included in that night, and, in its mute language,\nthe candle unites with the deacon in reminding us that in the Old\nTestament there was another night and another pillar. The Lord, it is\nsaid in Exodus, went before the sons of Israel, when they went forth\nfrom Egypt, by day in a pillar of cloud, to show them the way, and\nduring the night in a pillar of fire, to be their guide both day and\nnight. Now, this pillar of cloud like the pillar of wax still unlighted,\nis the humanity of Christ, the cloud in which Divine wisdom has placed\nits throne: _thronus meus_ in _columna nubis_ (Eccl. xxiv.). But this\ncandle will soon be lighted by contact with the new fire, as the\nhumanity of Jesus Christ will recover life by the approach of the fire\nof the Divinity. Then, indeed, is this a night of exultation for the\nChurch when she sees coming to her, triumphant over death, the Divine\nSpouse whom she bewailed but recently, buried in the darkness of the\ntomb. So with what complacency does not the deacon celebrate this\nthousand-fold happy night. He hails it as the dawn of the glorious\nmystery of the Resurrection:\n\n\"This is the night in which Thou formerly broughtest forth our\nforefathers, the children of Israel, out of Egypt, leading them dry-foot\nthrough the Red Sea. This, then, is the night which dissipated the\ndarkness of sin by the light of the pillar. This is the night which now\ndelivers all over the world those that believe in Christ from the vices\nof the world and the darkness of sin, restores them to grace, and\nclothes them with sanctity.\" This is the night in which Christ broke the\nchains of death, and ascended conqueror from hell. Naught would it have\nprofited us to be born, if we were not redeemed.\n\n\"O how admirable is Thy goodness towards us! O how inestimable is Thy\nexcess of love! To redeem the slave, Thou hast given up the Son. O truly\nnecessary sin of Adam, which the death of Christ has blotted out! O\nhappy fault that merited such and so great a Redeemer!\n\n\"O truly blessed night! which alone deserved to know the time and hour\nwhen Christ rose again from hell. This is the night of which it is\nwritten: And the night shall be as light as day; and the night shineth\nupon me in my pleasures. Therefore the sanctification of this night\nblots out crimes, washes away sins, and restores innocence to the\nfallen, and joy to the sorrowful. It banishes enmities, produces\nconcord, and humbles empires.\"\n\nThe deacon then fixes in the candle, in the form of a cross, the five\ngrains of incense which were previously blessed at the same time as the\nnew fire, a visible image of the five wounds made in the flesh of the\nCrucified. Liturgists also show us in this incense the perfumes and\nspices which Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James, and Salome\nbought to embalm Jesus (St. Mark xvi. 1).\n\n\"Receive, O holy Father, receive on this night the evening sacrifice\nwhich Thy holy Church, by the hands of her ministers, presents to Thee,\nin this solemn oblation of this wax candle, made out of the labor of\nbees.\"\n\nThe Passion was truly the evening sacrifice, according to David's\nprophetic word, _Elevatio manuum mearum sacrificium vespertinum_ (Ps.\ncxl. 3), because it was in the evening of the world, as at the decline\nof the day, that the Divine Victim expired, uttering a loud cry to\nheaven, after having declared that all was consummated!\n\nIt was in the evening, too, _ad auram post meridiem_ (Gen. iii. 8), at\nthe hour when a gentle wind arises, when through the earthly paradise\nresounded the voice of the Lord: \"Adam, where art thou?\" At the very\nhour when He found Adam guilty of disobedience, four thousand years\nafterwards the Father called His Son to Him and found the new Adam\nobedient, and obedient even to the death of the cross.\n\n\"_Sed jam nunc columnae hujus praeconia novimus_,\" the deacon continues to\nsing. \"And now we know the excellence of this pillar, which the\nsparkling fire lights for the honor of God.\"\n\nThe sacred minister then lights the Paschal Candle. He lights it with\nthe fire which was recently struck from the stone, that is, from Christ,\nthe Corner-Stone who, beaten by the rods of the scourging, produced in\nus the divine spark of love pre-eminent of the Holy Ghost. This is the\nfire which the Son came to bring upon the earth with the desire to see\nit enkindle the world. Lighted and fed by the wood of the cross, its\ndivine flame is fanned by the breath of the Holy Ghost. This new fire\nis also the new doctrine of the Saviour, the _mandatum novum_ of which\nSt. John speaks.\n\nThe candle thus lighted is thenceforth the figure of the risen Saviour,\nas we have said. The humanity of Christ lay, too, extinguished in the\nshades of death; but, behold, beneath the burning breath of the\ndivinity, it has suddenly recovered life, and Jesus emerges from the\nnight of the tomb all resplendent with light.\n\nThe image of the Son is now revealed to us more completely in the\nsymbolism of the candle. According to the interpretations of the\nliturgists, the three elements of the candle are not without meaning.\nThe wax formed from the juice of the flowers by the bees, which\nantiquity always regarded as the type of virginity, signifies the\nvirginal flesh of the Incarnate Word. Mary, without ceasing to be a\nvirgin, Mary, the industrious bee, says the Abbot Rupert, has brought us\nforth a God in the flesh, like honey in wax: _Maria nobis puerum in\ncarne quasi mel in cera protulit_.[2] St. Anselm teaches us to behold in\nthe wick, which is in the inside of the candle, the soul of Jesus\nChrist, and His Divinity in the light which burns in the upper portion.\n\nIf the candle is the image of the Word made flesh, it was with reason\nthat on it was inscribed the current year counting from the Incarnation.\nThis inscription, of which the ancient liturgists tell, indicates that\nChrist is like the ancient year, the great year, the year full of days,\nof which the twelve apostles are the months; the elect, the days; and\nthe neophytes, the hours. We see in the Abbot Rupert that this\ninscription was engraved in the wax itself in the form of a cross, and\nDurand of Mende speaks of a tablet which was fastened against the candle\nas Pilate's inscription was placed on the cross: _Jesus Nazarenus Rex\nJudaeorum_.\n\nThe Paschal Candle will serve to light the neophytes to the holy waters\nof baptism, as the pillar of fire guided the Hebrews on their\ngoing-forth from Egypt through the waters of the Red Sea to the Promised\nLand; a twofold light, which is for us the emblem of \"that light which\nenlighteneth every man coming into this world,\" of Him who is the way,\nthe truth, and the life, and who, after having delivered them from the\nbondage of Satan, after having led them through the waters of baptism,\nguides His people to the land of the living, the true Promised Land.\n\nAn ancient author remarks that it was not at the first or at the second\nstopping-place of the Hebrews, but at the third, that the pillar went\nbefore them, and he applies this triple encampment of Ramatha, Segor,\nand Ethan to the three days of the Passion, the sepulture, and the\nresurrection. Ramatha (_commotio tineae_) well represents the day of the\nPassion, when the Jews, after having torn the flesh of Jesus, like the\nmoth, attack His garments, His seamless tunic, endeavoring to rend the\nunity of the Church. But death was the road by which He passed from\nRamatha to Segor (_tabernaculum_), that is, into the tent of the tomb.\nThe tent is for the soldier: like an indomitable warrior, Christ in the\ntomb despoils His vanquished foe. Finally, the day of the resurrection\nwas the day of arrival in Ethan (_firmum vel signa ejus_), because,\nthenceforth, death has no sting for Him, _mors ultra non dominabitur\nilli_, and also because it was as a sign for the Apostles when He\nappeared to them radiant after the night of the tomb, illumining them\nlike the pillar of fire.\n\nBut let us return to the deacon's prayers. He thus continues the chant\nwhich he had broken off to light the candle:--\n\n\"This fire, though now divided, suffers no loss from the communication\nof its light, because it is fed by the melted wax, produced by the bee,\nto make this precious taper.\"\n\nThen the lamps hanging in the church are lighted. This lighting takes\nplace only some time after that of the Paschal Candle, because the\nknowledge of the resurrection was diffused only successively. Finally,\nthe deacon concludes the blessing in these words:\n\n\"O truly blessed light! which plundered the Egyptians and enriched the\nHebrews. A night in which heaven is united to earth, and the Divine to\nthe human! We beseech Thee, therefore, O Lord, let this candle,\nconsecrated to the honor of Thy name, continue burning to dissipate the\ndarkness of this night, and, being accepted as a sweet odor, be united\nwith the celestial lights. Let the morning-star find it burning. That\nMorning-star, I mean, which never sets; which, being returned from hell,\nshone with brightness on mankind.\"\n\nBy the mouth of the deacon, therefore, the Church praises in the Paschal\nCandle the Christ-light. Borne before the catechumens, this candle\ndenotes that it is by Christ Jesus their darkness is dispelled. So, too,\nit is from the divine torch of His doctrine that we all must get light.\nWe are invited to it by that other ceremony in use in certain churches,\naccording to the testimony of many ancient liturgists. Durand of Mende\nand the Abbot Rupert tell us that a second candle was lighted from the\nPaschal Candle, and from it all the others were lighted. Christ is the\nlight above all others; but He projects His rays upon the Apostles to\nreflect from them upon the whole Church. St. Augustine tells us of that\ntwofold lighting of the Church by Christ and the Apostles when he\nexplains to Januarius why the faithful should receive communion fasting,\nalthough the Apostles received after the Last Supper or evening meal:\n_Namque Salvator, quo vehementius commendarit mysterii illius\naltitudinem, ultimum hoc infigeri voluit cordibus et memoriae\ndiscipulorum a quibus ad passionem digressurus erat; et ideo non\npraecipit quo deinceps ordine sumeretur, ut apostoli per quos ecclesias\ndispositurus erat servarent hunc locum_. The Saviour, the more to fill\nthe minds and hearts of His disciples with the greatness of this\nsacrament, would have it the last act which he was to perform with them\nbefore separating from them for His Passion. He Himself did not arrange\nthe order thenceforth to be followed in the reception of that sacrament.\nWhy? _In order to leave that question to the Apostles._ Hence he calls\nthem the light of the world, as He calls Himself: _Ego sum lux mundi.\nVos estis lux mundi_.\n\nFinally to the right and the left of these two candles were sometimes\nplaced two others lighted from the Paschal Candle. Let us here admire\nthe saints of the Old and the New Testament. They all, in fact, received\nthe divine irradiations of the Sun of Justice, the former through the\ndoctrine of the Prophets, the latter through that of the Apostles.\n\nSuch is the significance of the blessing of the Paschal Candle, in which\nthe Church delights to display all the pomp of her inspired language!\nWhat a lesson in this ceremony! a lesson at which some, perhaps, will be\ngreatly astonished, because they do not know that the ceremonies of the\nliturgy are a continual preaching.\n\n_Jam columnae hujus praeconia novimus_, yes, we now know what that pillar\nof wax, itself the image of the pillar of old, denotes: it is Jesus\nChrist, Jesus Christ everywhere. He is the true pillar, a pillar of\ncloud when, through the Holy Ghost, He protects us with His shadow\nagainst the devouring fire of the passions, and, at the same time, a\npillar of fire, because His doctrine is the light which enlightens us\nthrough the darkness of the light of this world.\n\nNow, for the true Catholic, Jesus Christ lives in the Roman Pontiff. Our\nHoly Father the Pope is the depositary of the light of truth. Never must\nwe lose sight of that bright beacon; but above all in the hour of storm,\nwhen only fitful gleams are seen, it is for every Catholic a strict duty\nto turn towards Him, under penalty of sinking in the darkness without\nbeing able to find the haven.\n\nThis lesson, especially in this Paschal time, may be applied to all,\nalthough in degrees proportioned to the condition of each. And who has\nnot more or less need of approaching God? Woe to him who will not have\nthe beneficent shadows and the salutary lights of the Christ! he will\nperish in his infirmity. Thinking that he can see far from the light, he\nwill remain in darkness, while by drawing nigh to Him the blind will\nrecover sight. _Cur non ergo et nobis Christus columna?_ let us say with\nSt. Augustine, _Quia et rectus et firmus, et fulciens infirmitatem\nnostram per noctem lucens, et per diem non lucens, et ut qui non vident\nvideant, et qui vident caecci fiant!_ (S. Aug., in libro contra Faustum,\nxii.)\n\n     [This will be followed by the translation of an article on\n     the Agnus Dei, made from the wax of the Paschal Candle.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMgr. Ridel, the holy missionary bishop of Corea, lately gone to receive\nthe reward of long privation and cruel sufferings endured for the faith,\nwas indebted to his pious mother for his vocation as a missionary. One\nday, whilst he was yet a mere child playing at her knee, he saw on the\ntable a beautiful blue book,--a volume of the \"Annals of the Propagation\nof the Faith.\"--\"Mamma,\" said the child, \"are there any stories in that\nbook?\"--\"Yes, my child: it is full of stories about missionaries.\"--\"What\nare missionaries, mamma?\"--\"Missionaries are priests who go to far-off\ncountries, amongst savage races, to teach them how to save their\nsouls.\"--\"Then I am going to be a missionary, too, and tell them how to\nget to heaven with us.\"\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[2] _Ruperti abbatis, Duitiensis, de divinis officiis._ (L. C. VI., c.\n29.)\n\n\n\n\nOur New Cardinal.\n\n\n[Illustration: CARDINAL GIBBONS.]\n\nThe _Catholic Review_:--The Archbishop of New York, on Wednesday\nmorning, February 10th, received a cablegram from Rome, announcing that\nmost Rev. James Gibbons, Archbishop of Baltimore, would be created\nCardinal at the next Consistory. The _biglietto_, or official letter,\nfrom the Cardinal Secretary of State announcing the creation of his\nEminence, was mailed to him on February 8th. This cablegram, although\nnot official, is authentic. It is not unexpected. It certainly is no\nsurprise to those who were privileged to hear the graceful address in\nwhich the senior of the American hierarchy, the venerable Archbishop\nKenrick, of St. Louis, thanked Archbishop Gibbons for the courtesy,\npatience and industry with which, as Apostolic-Delegate, he conducted\nand brought to a close the affairs of the Plenary Council at Baltimore.\nIn chosen and significant words, such as one in Archbishop Kenrick's\nposition might use in anticipating an expected act of the Supreme\nPontiff, he predicted the future and increased honors of the\nApostolic-Delegate, and in such a way as to indicate that they would be\nmost grateful to his brothers and associates. Nor are they less a matter\nof pride and congratulation to the entire body of the faithful. No doubt\nwe are all anxious to see many of the other great cities of America\nhonored, as are smaller and less vigorous dioceses in Europe; and with\nincreasing years, most likely these honors will come. No doubt the\ncaptious are sometimes found to say that Baltimore, first in years, is\nvery far behind in works, in the great race of Catholic American\nprogress. But there has never been found one so unjust as to deny to the\ngentle, zealous and apostolic Archbishop of Baltimore all the virtues\nthat bring honor to the chief priesthood of the Church. One little work\nof his, \"The Faith of Our Fathers,\" will perpetuate his apostolate as\nlong as Protestantism exists. His has been indeed a democratic\npromotion. From the humblest and least important of the missionary\nvicariates of the Church in America, he has steadily moved onward,\ngrowing with every step in mental, moral and ecclesiastical grandeur,\nuntil he stood at the head of the episcopate of America. His\nstepping-stone was, always and only, his unquestionable merit and\nservices. Can any sect show as fair a field for merit as the new\nCardinal's career proves is to be found in the Church of Christ? It\nopens and keeps open to intellect and virtue the path to its highest\nhonors. The transcendent honor of the Roman Cardinalate, which thus\ncomes once more to an American Archbishop, will be prized by his\nEminence's countrymen of all religious faiths, as giving them a share in\nthe glories of a Council that has never been more illustrious than in\nthose days, when Leo XIII. has opened its doors to the first and leading\nminds of the Universal Church, without consideration of distance, race\nor continent.\n\n\nHis Birth, Education, etc.\n\nMost Reverend James Gibbons was born in Baltimore, in 1836. His parents\nwere Irish, and, when a boy, he was taken to Ireland, where he remained\nseveral years. At the age of seventeen he returned to America, and soon\nafter entered St. Charles' College, near Ellicott City, Md., to commence\nhis studies for the priesthood. Here he remained four years, and was\nthen transferred to St. Mary's Seminary, Baltimore, to pursue the study\nof theology and philosophy. He was ordained in 1860, his first mission\nbeing the obscure parish of St. Bridget's, Baltimore. Archbishop\nSpalding soon discovered his merits, and he transferred him to the\nCathedral and made him his secretary. His rise was rapid and brilliant.\nIn 1868 he was made Vicar Apostolic of North Carolina, with the rank of\nbishop, and in a few years he was elected to the See of Richmond. When\nArchbishop Bayley died, in 1875, Right Rev. Dr. Gibbons was appointed\nhis successor in the See of Baltimore. Thus, at the early age of forty\nhe had attained the highest ecclesiastical position in the United\nStates, for Baltimore is the oldest, and, therefore, the primary\nAmerican See. To it belongs the highest dignity in the American\nCatholic Church. The archbishops of Baltimore have always been men of\ndistinguished ability. The immediate predecessor of Archbishop Gibbons\nwas James Roosevelt Bayley, a member of a prominent New York family. He\nwas the nephew of Mother Seton, the founder of the Order of Sisters of\nCharity in the United States. His predecessor was the learned Spalding,\nwhose elegant voice was conspicuous in the great Council of the Vatican.\n\n\nSome Incidents of His Life.\n\nWhile Archbishop Gibbons presided over the small country parish of\nElkridge, near Baltimore, an incident occurred which gave him a large\nmeasure of local fame. Small-pox broke out in the village, and a general\nexodus immediately followed. An old negro man at the point of death was\ndeserted by his family, who left him neither food nor medicines. Fr.\nGibbons heard of the case, hastened to the bedside of the dying man and\nremained with him to the last. Nor was this all. No one could be\nprocured to carry the corpse to the grave. Fr. Gibbons, seeing no other\nalternative, determined to act as undertaker as well as minister; so,\nhaving obtained a coffin, he placed the body therein, dragged it as well\nas he could to the grave, performed the funeral rites and buried it. His\ncareer as vicar of North Carolina was filled with occurrences equally as\nnoteworthy, but of a humorous rather than pathetic nature. He still\ntalks with zest of his all-day rides on horseback through the North\nCarolina pines; of nights spent in the flea-covered log cabins of the\nnegroes, whose best accommodations consisted of a corn-husk bed, meals\nspread out on the floor and gourds for drinking cups; of savory dinners\nof fat bacon and hoe cakes, and of other accompaniments of missionary\nlife among the negroes of that region.\n\nThere is one incident in the primate's life which he seldom touches on,\nbut which caused immense amusement at the time it occurred. While Bishop\nof Richmond, he was the defendant in a suit relating to some church\nproperty. When he was called to the witness stand, the plaintiff's\nlawyer, a distinguished legal luminary, who still shines in Richmond,\nafter vain endeavors to involve the witness in contradictions, struck on\na plan which he thought would annoy the bishop. He thereupon questioned\nMr. Gibbons' right to the title of bishop of Richmond, and called on him\nto prove his claim to the office. The defendant's lawyer, of course,\nobjected to this as irrelevant; but the bishop, with a quiet smile, said\nhe would comply with the request if allowed a half-hour to produce the\nnecessary papers. This was allowed. The bishop left the court room and\nreturned in twenty minutes with a document which he proceeded to read\nwith great solemnity, all the more solemn as the paper was all in Latin.\nThe plaintiff's lawyer pretended to take notes industriously, bowing his\nhead once in a while as if in acquiescence, and seeming perfectly\nconvinced at the end. When the reading was finished, he announced that\nthe Papal Bulls just read were entirely satisfactory, at the same time\napologizing for his expressed doubts. The next day it leaked out that\nthe bishop, unable to find the Papal Bulls at his residence, had\nbrought to court and read a Latin essay on Pope Leo the Great, written\nby one of the ecclesiastical students, and forwarded by the president of\nthe college as a specimen of the young man's skill in Latin composition.\nThat smart lawyer has not heard the last of it yet.\n\n\nAs an Author and Orator.\n\nArchbishop Gibbons is the author of one volume, \"The Faith of Our\nFathers,\" which has met with a larger sale than any Catholic book\npublished in America. More than one hundred thousand copies have been\nsold since its publication in 1877. The work is made up chiefly of\nsimple sermons on the doctrines of Catholicity, delivered while on the\nmission in North Carolina.\n\nAs a pulpit orator, the primate has many superiors in the hierarchy. He\nhas neither an impressive presence nor a good voice. He seldom attempts\nelaborate discourses. He is at his best in simple appeals to the heart,\nand to this fact is due his missionary success. Some of his\nfellow-bishops may have greater power to convince the intellect, but\nnone can touch the feelings more deeply.\n\n\n\n\nThe Irish as Conspirators.\n\n\nIn a recent issue of the _Nineteenth Century_, a magazine published in\nLondon, is an article by Mr. Arnold Forster, in which the following\nstatement was used:\n\n\"Irishmen were at the bottom of the Mollie Maguire conspiracy in\nPennsylvania; Irishmen plotted against the officials and the Chinese in\nSan Francisco; the Tammany ring was largely supported by Irish citizens,\nand even the Boston police were tampered with by Irish politicians of\nthat city.\" To controvert this view, and particularly the reflection\nupon the Boston police, the _Republic_ newspaper of Boston sent a\ncircular letter to a number of prominent men, requesting such denials as\nthey might see fit to furnish. Governor Robinson writes: \"I have already\ntaken occasion to contradict emphatically an assertion said to have been\nrecently made in England that the act to establish a board of police for\nthe city of Boston, passed by the legislature of Massachusetts in 1885,\nwas necessitated by the threatening and disorderly character and conduct\nof the Irish people in Boston. In all the conferences, arguments and\ndeclarations about that act, before its introduction, or while it was\nunder consideration in the legislature, no intimation of that kind ever\nreached me, and I do not believe it to be true. Nor is there, in my\nopinion, any more foundation for the statement to which you call my\nattention. Sharp political controversies arise; but happily no question\nof race or nationality aggravates the differences among our people upon\npublic matters.\"\n\nCharles A. Dana, editor of _New York Sun_, says: \"I cannot now recall\nthe name of a single citizen of Irish birth who was known as a supporter\nof the Tammany ring; and it is notorious that the head of it, the late\nWilliam M. Tweed, was a full-blooded American. At the same time, one of\nthe most conspicuous of its adversaries, the late Charles O'Conor,\nthough born in this country, was thoroughly Irish in heart and sympathy.\nAnother distinguished enemy of Mr. Tweed's ring was his successor as the\nleader of Tammany Hall, the present Mr. John Kelly, a man of Irish\ndescent, and a more determined foe of every kind of corruption and of\npublic dishonesty has never lived.\"\n\nGen. Butler thus replies: \"I can certainly give you the most thorough\ndenial of the slanders upon the Irishmen by the article of the\n_Nineteenth Century_. I have known the Irish-Americans intimately ever\nsince my boyhood, and they are as good, loyal people as any in the\nworld, and as soldiers among the very best.\"\n\nCongressman Curtin, of Pennsylvania, speaks relative to the Mollie\nMaguire conspiracy as follows: \"I can speak relative to the Mollie\nMaguire conspiracy in Pennsylvania. Some of the men engaged in it were\nIrishmen; some were not. The race to which the criminals belonged had\nnothing to do with the crime or its punishment; nor should the fact of\nthe existence of the Mollie Maguire conspiracy, which was a crime\nperpetrated by citizens of Pennsylvania against the good order of that\nCommonwealth and punished by its officers, have any effect on the\naspirations of the Irish people, who were innocent of participation in\nit, and who had no sympathy with it.\"\n\nEx-Mayor Palmer, of Boston, thus defends our police force: \"Mr. Forster\naccuses the Boston police of being corrupted by Irish politicians. It is\nsufficient to say of this that no Bostonian charges it, or believes it.\nBoston is proud of her police force, and boasts of it too strongly and\ntoo frequently, our neighbors think, for good taste. But whatever may be\nthought of our egotism in this respect, it is well known and understood\nby our sister cities that Boston claims to have the best police force in\nthe world. The Irish-American in Boston is a loyal citizen, proud of the\ncity, proud of the State, and proud of the whole country; and his\nheart's desire and prayer to God is, that his motherland may become as\nfree and prosperous and happy as these United States. The trouble with\nMr. Forster, as he shows himself in the _Nineteenth Century_, is that\nParnell is on top, and Forster is afraid he will stay there. Gladstone\nwants to give Ireland land reform and home government. Herein he\nbelieves is true statesmanship. In this way he knows that every interest\nof the empire, even its integrity, would be best subserved. But the\nQueen and the Tories oppose him and may defeat him. Let us hope that the\nhypocritical lament of Arnold Forster in the _Nineteenth Century_ is the\nlast wail of a lost cause. Or will he tell us next that ten thousand\nhowling Englishmen in Trafalgar Square is another Irish conspiracy?\"\n\nCongressman Lovering writes: \"The wholesale charges against Irishmen in\nAmerica will fall flat here as an exaggeration, and a distortion of\nfacts, in a vain attempt to charge against the Irish race the misdoings\nof individuals, who may have chanced to have been Irishmen, and the\neffort is entitled to all the contempt it deserves.\"\n\nPolice Commissioner Osborne says: \"Knowing very little about the force\nbefore I became a member of the board of police, I can only speak of the\ntime during service, and will say most emphatically that no\ninterference, or tampering, with our force by politicians of _any_\nnationality has come to my knowledge. And from what I have seen and know\nI firmly believe that our force is equal to, if not superior to, the\npolice force in any city in the United States.\" To which Chairman\nWhiting of the board adds: \"I am happy to say that I have no knowledge\nwhatever of any tampering with the Boston police, as stated in said\nclipping or otherwise.\"\n\n_New York Irish-American_: In eliciting such valuable expressions of\nopinion, _The Republic_ has done a very good work; though, at this\nperiod of their connection with the United States, our people, as a\ncomponent element of the population, do not need to produce certificates\nof character before any tribunal to which an honest appeal may be made.\nThey have wrought out an excellent and enduring character for themselves\nby their purity of life in private, and their labors and sacrifices in\nevery field of public duty, and stamped it so indelibly on the history\nof the Republic, that no hostile or malign influence can ever erase its\nstrong and well-defined impression. To connect this work, however, with\nthe refutation of such a paltry scribbler as this Arnold Forster,\nappears to us a waste of labor,--like crushing a _ciarog_ with a\nbattering-ram. The Englishman was only following his low, natural\ninstincts when he ambitiously engaged in the task to which so many of\nhis countrymen before him, like Froude, have devoted themselves, since\nthe time of that arch-falsifier of history, \"Giraldus Cambrensis,\" and,\nas his original stock of knowledge of our people (especially here in the\nUnited States), must have been practically _nil_, he was compelled to\ndraw on the store of old, worn-out libels against us, that have so often\nbeen refuted both by historical facts and direct evidence; but which are\nas persistently revamped and repeated by every scribbler who desires to\nvent his spleen, and exhibit his ignorance with regard to a race, that\nall fair-minded students of humanity admit has held its own with any\nother on earth, through centuries of adverse circumstances. The fellow\nis even worse than a libeller, for he began his attacks on the Irish\npeople as an anonymous letter-writer in the columns of the English Whig\nand Tory organs, professing to give statements with regard to events in\nAmerica that were within his own knowledge. The trained professional\nacumen of the leaders of the Irish Party quickly fixed the identity of\nthe hidden assailant; and about the same time that \"Buckshot\" Forster\nhimself was cowering before the assembled Commons of England, under the\nscorching invective of Parnell, this same Arnold Forster--his putative\nson and secretary--was being dragged into the light of public criticism,\nand exposed in his true character as a base defamer of men whose shoes\nhe is not worthy to touch. In revenge for this double punishment he has\nsince collected the slanders he first peddled at retail, and in this\n_Nineteenth Century_ brochure has flung them, _in globo_, at his\nchastisers. But he is not worthy of notice; his plane of thought and\nidea is too low for even contempt to reach him; and argument with him\nwould be wasted. _Le jeu n'en vaut pas la chandelle_--\"The game is not\nworth the candle.\"\n\n_Boston Daily Globe_:--It was in some respects a fortunate thing that\nMr. Arnold Forster uttered his recent malicious slander upon the Irish\nrace. It has given opportunity for banishing, by the production of\nundeniable facts refuting some of Mr. Forster's specific statements, the\nvague innuendoes ever and anon set afloat by those who imagine that all\nwho oppose British oppression must be wrong, because \"it's English, you\nknow.\"\n\nRev. Father Cronan, editor of the _Buffalo Catholic Union_, among\nothers, vigorously replies to Mr. Forster, and in a vein somewhat\ndifferent from any we have yet noticed in connection with the\ndiscussion. Says Father Cronan in the _Union_:\n\n     \"Mr. Arnold Forster told more truth than he suspected, and\n     paid a compliment he never intended, when he wrote in the\n     _Century_ that Irishmen were 'born conspirators.' Divesting\n     the expression of the stupid sting and insult intended by its\n     misuse, it simply means that Irishmen are born _inspired_\n     with a love of justice, and that this inspiration, being\n     brutally thwarted by seven centuries of English misrule,\n     becomes a _conspiration_ (that is the true word, Mr. Forster)\n     of all Irishmen to effect the ends of freedom and\n     self-preservation. Show us a born bondsman and we will show\n     you 'a born conspirator,' or, a born fool, if he be not a\n     conspirator, in the sense we have explained. Let the nations\n     who rule by might instead of right learn at last that they\n     are the creators and perpetuators of conspiracy. If there is\n     shame in the sound, it is their shame. If ruin and riot in\n     the result, it is their handiwork. The day has gone by, long\n     ago, when suffering peoples are to be awed into silence and\n     submission to injustice by the silly outcries of salaried\n     soothsayers. There is no reason on earth, or in heaven, why\n     people should submit to be slaves. If they cannot boldly\n     burst the bonds that encircle them, they will triturate them\n     to dust by friction against the granite hearts of their\n     masters.\"\n\nAmericans who revere the memory of Jefferson and Adams and Patrick Henry\nand their fellow \"conspirators\" will agree with Father Cronan, that\n\"conspiracy\" by Irishmen for the freedom of their native land is a noble\nthing. Mr. Forster belongs to the class which considered Sam Adams the\narch-conspirator of his day. Every attempt to bribe him or to frighten\nhim was met with disdain. Because he could not be bought, England\napplied to him the meanest of epithets. So, to-day, England slanders the\nIrish leaders and the Irish race because they cannot be coaxed or driven\ninto desertion of their country's cause.\n\nBut England found that misrepresenting the character of the Americans\nwas a costly proceeding. She made them the more determined and at the\nsame time deceived herself. A like effect will be caused by this latest\nattack upon the Irish race.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA pompous fellow was dining with a country family, when the lady of the\nhouse desired the servant to take away the dish containing the fowl,\nwhich word she pronounced fool, as is not uncommon in Scotland. \"I\npresume, madam, you mean the fowl,\" said the prig, in a reproving tone.\n\"Very well,\" said the lady, a little nettled, \"be it so. Take away the\nfowl, and let the fool remain.\"\n\n\n\n\nOrders of Knighthood.\n\n\nWe owe to the _Westfalische Merkur_ some interesting remarks on the\nOrder of Christ recently conferred by Leo XIII. on Prince Bismarck.\nAlthough there is no strictly fixed precedence among European Orders of\nKnighthood, yet by common consent there is a kind of relative rank among\nthese numerous honorary distinctions. Thus the first place is generally\nconceded to the Golden Fleece, nowadays conferred by both the Emperor of\nAustria and the King of Spain, and the above-mentioned Papal Order of\nChrist. Next may be said to rank the Garter of England; the Black Eagle\nof Prussia; the Order of Maria Theresa, Austria; and that of St. Hubert,\nBavaria. As, however, the Order of Christ is given almost exclusively to\nsovereigns, and only in most exceptional cases to distinguished\nsubjects, the conferring of the same on the Iron Chancellor is a most\nunusual honor.\n\nThe history of the Order is a curious one. Its origin is to be sought in\none of the Mediaeval Militant Orders of Knights, founded in 1317 by\nDenis, King of Portugal, upon the ruins of the Great Order of the\nTemplars--suppressed in 1312--in order to defend the empires of the\nAlgarves against the Moors. The Order, under the title of \"Knights of\nJesus Christ,\" was confirmed by Pope John XXII. by a Bull of March 14th,\n1319, which prescribed for them the rule of St. Benedict and the\nstatutes of the Cistercian Order, besides granting very extensive\nprivileges. The Abbot of Alcobaza was commissioned, in the Pope's name,\nto receive the oath of the Grand Master. The Pope reserved to himself\nalso the right of admitting candidates to the Order, and extending its\nprivileges and insignia to others. The Knights had to take the three\nvows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, till, in 1500, Pope Alexander\nVI. released them from this obligation, for the old crusading zeal had\ndied out, and the Knights lived in the world like ordinary seculars.\nMeanwhile, repeated victories over the Moors had rendered the Order very\nrich. It possessed 450 commendatories, with a yearly income of over\n1,500,000 livres. In 1550 Pope Julius III. attached the dignity of Grand\nMaster forever to the Portuguese Crown. In 1797, after several attempts\nat reformation, the Portuguese Order was altogether secularized, and\nbecame a simple civil Order of Knighthood reserved to nobles; in 1834\nthe greater part of the income of the Knights was confiscated. The\nprivilege reserved to the Holy See by John XXII., creating Knights of\nthe Order, was fully exercised by that Pope and his successors, for he\nhimself established a sister Order--_Ordine di Cristo_--in Italy, with\nlike privileges and customs; a broad white woollen mantle, and on the\nbreast a red cross with a small silver cross upon it. Pope Paul V. in\n1605 gave the Papal Knights the rule of St. Augustine; but in course of\ntime the Order in Italy followed the course of the Portuguese branch,\nand became the honorary distinction like all modern \"Orders.\" The\nKnights now wear a golden cross with red enamel, of which the ends run\nout into two points.\n\nThe Holy See nowadays disposes of five honorary Orders of Knighthood:\nthat of Christ, referred to above, and consisting of only one class,\n\"Cavalieri;\" that of St. Gregory the Great, founded by Gregory XVI., in\n1831, and containing three classes: those of Grand Cross, Commander and\nKnight; the Golden Spur, created by Pius IV. in 1559, also known as the\nOrder of St. Sylvester, and in two grades: Commanders and Knights,\nstyled _auratae militiae equites_; the Order of Pius, established by the\nlate Pontiff, with two classes; and, lastly, the Holy Sepulchre,\nconferred by the Patriarch of Jerusalem by delegation of the Pope, but\nalso sometimes by the Holy Father himself.\n\n\n\n\nLow-Necked Dresses.\n\n     [The venerable editor of the New York _Freeman's Journal_ has\n     the following article on \"Vicious Customs and Costumes,\"\n     which we recommend to some ladies who appear partially\n     dressed at some of our balls, \"sociables,\" etc. The remarks\n     are as applicable to fashionable society in Boston, and\n     elsewhere, as they are in New York and other cities.]\n\n\nThe hours for social pleasures were never so late as at present. People\ndo not think of showing themselves at any \"evening\" entertainment until\nmidnight. The strain of this kind of thing on young people who have\nnecessary duties to perform the next day, tends to lower vitality and\nshorten life. In London--from which city nearly all the fashions\nunsuitable to our climate and life come--there is a large \"leisure\nclass\" who can sleep into the afternoon without shirking any urgent\ndemands. Here, where even the richest men have to work, these late hours\nare preposterous. But they are English--and, rather than not be English,\nthe young man of to-day prefers listless days and a frequent resort to\nbrandy and soda--English, too!--and other stimulants, to keep him up to\nhis work.\n\nAnother fashion, which has become so rampant as to need a general and\ncontinued objection to it, is that of wearing low-necked gowns. A little\nmore firmness in defying the demands of fashion would, perhaps, save\nsome woman's life. But it is very hard for a woman to be firm on a\nquestion of fashion. Queen Victoria insists on low-necked gowns;\ntherefore all the American world of fashion insists that the Queen's\nmandate shall be followed. At a dinner or dance, the sight is sometimes\nappalling; for what can be more shocking than the apparent attempt of\ndecent women, old and young, lean and fat, to show their shoulder\nblades? Like _Katisha_, in the \"Mikado,\" they seem to think that the\npossession of a \"beautiful left shoulder blade\" will atone for all other\ndefects. The boxes at the opera, and all the places where fashionable\npeople sit, offer a startling picture of how immodest modest women can\nbe when fashion demands it. A writer in a recent New York _Evening\nTelegram_ says:\n\n     \"When one goes to the opera and sweeps the tiers of boxes\n     with an opera-glass for a moment, the question comes: Is it\n     proper to look? Upon careful examination and scientific\n     computation, it is pretty certain that of the ladies at the\n     opera in any five boxes adjoining one another, not less than\n     one out of every three is three-quarters naked above the\n     waist--that is, of the square inches of surface, from the\n     waist up, three-quarters are exposed to the view and to the\n     air. While this is true of opera-goers, of those who go to\n     balls it is far worse. The percentage of semi-nude figures\n     increases until fully ninety-five per cent. is reached.\"\n\nThis picture is not exaggerated. The other night, at the opera of\n\"Lohengrin,\" given by the American Opera Company, the dresses on the\nstage are described as modesty itself, compared with those in the\naudience. The \"lady\" who appears half undressed at a fashionable\nassembly, goes to church the next morning demurely and modestly, to\nthink gently during the sermon of the vices of her neighbors, without\nonce reproaching herself for an immodesty which is worse than Pagan, and\nwhich, when attempted by other than respectable women, is regarded as a\nshameless incentive to evil thoughts and evil deeds.\n\nProbably, if there were any women in New York of sufficient firmness and\nsocial influence to stop this ape-like imitation of usages which, aside\nfrom their grave evils, are out of keeping with the habits of life made\nnecessary in a climate which is not at all English, the custom might be\nrelinquished. But there is none such; and the only pause that can be\ngiven to a whirl of fashion which perilously touches hell will be number\nof other deaths from late hours, mental and physical lassitude, and\nconsequent heart and lung afflictions.\n\nWhat is good in English usages may be imitated with advantage. But\nAmericans will never be thoroughly independent of England until they\narrange their habits to suit a climate whose caprices are so sudden and\nunexpected as to deal death to the unwary.\n\nIt is regrettable that the craze for low-necked dresses should be\nallowed to sweep away women who are bound by their \"social duties\" to\nappear in a costume which must have been invented by one of those\nfemales whose name is unmentionable here--from whom the women who\nimitate them turn in horror.\n\n\n\n\nColumbus and Ireland.\n\n\nOne of the speakers at the dinner of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick in\nthis city referred to the Irish missionaries in Iceland and to the\nmember of the crew of the Pinta[3]--ship in which Columbus sailed from\nPalos--who was born in Ireland. This is astounding information.\n\nThirty-three years ago the learned Digby wrote in his \"Road of\nTravelers,\" Compitum., Book I, page 380, as follows: \"When the  Northmen\nfirst landed in Iceland they found there Irish books, Mass-bells and\nother objects which had been left behind by earlier visitors, called\nPapas. These Papae, fathers, were the Clerici of Dicuil, the Irish Monk,\nwho wrote in the year 823, a treatise, 'De Mensura Orbis Teriae.'\"\n\nThe late Dr. O'Callaghan of New York, called attention to the native of\nIreland, being among the crew of the Pinta, about fifteen years ago. The\nbook referred to by him is entitled, \"Collecion de los Viages y des\nCumplimientos, Madrid, la imprenta real ano de 1825.\" (Collection of\nVoyages and Duties Discharged, Madrid, royal printing office, year of\n1825.)\n\nThe crew list of the Pinta la tripulacion can be seen at Madrid, bearing\nthe ancient Connaught patronymic of Eyre, as follows:--\n\n\"Guillermo Ires, natural de Galway, Irelanda,\" no \"de\" or \"en\" before\nthe word Irelanda.\n\nEyre Court is not far from famed Ballinasloe, in the County Galway, and\nEyre Square, visitors to the capital of the west of Ireland know, is the\nprincipal one in the town of Galway.\n\nThe Eyre family is \"as old as the hills of Connaught,\" and were as\nintimate with Spain as we are with Cuba to-day, before Columbus was\nborn. Up to and after the death of Elizabeth of England all the Catholic\ngentry of the \"ould stock\" were educated in Spain and Portugal.\n\n                                  Yours, etc.,\n\n    NEW YORK, March 19.                        R. F. FARRELL\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[3] The flagship, if I may use such an expression, of the little fleet,\nwas the Santa Maria. Of course, it was on board of this that the\nillustrious navigator took his departure in person. The Pinta, on board\nof which was William Eyre, \"the man from Galway,\" accompanied her, vide\n_Catholic Telegraph_, August 14, 1879.\n\n                                                    R. F. F.\n    NEW YORK, March 22, 1884.\n\n\n\n\nMiss Mulholland's Poems: \"Vagrant Verses.\"\n\n\nRosa Mulholland is a name well known to the readers of Catholic fiction.\nShe is one of the most graceful, pure and tender writers we have.\nHundreds of thousands of Catholic young people owe her some of the most\npleasant hours that brighten happy youth. Her sweet fancy has revelled\nin the sunshine of melodious poesy, as well as in the green fields of\nfresh and charming prose. Her new book, \"Vagrant Verses,\" is a real\nbosom companion, a jewel of dear books. Its prevailing tone is soothing\ntenderness, touched, as is usual with Irish singers, with sadness--but\nthis is not the despairing sadness so prevalent to-day among those\nbeyond the fold of Peter. What has been said of her splendid sister of\nsong, Kate Tynan, may be as truly said of Miss Mulholland,--she cannot\nbe all _sad_. In her darkest hour you have always a streak of dawn in\nthe east. Her poetry is more domestic and tranquil than that of the\n\"Thrush of Glenna Smoil,\" whose magnificent strains in \"Louise,\" \"Joan,\"\n\"Vivia Perpetua,\" and so many others, recall to our minds those words of\nthe immortal lay:\n\n              \"Binn sin, a toin Dhaire an Chairn!\n              Ni chualas, an ard 's an m-bith,\n              Ceol budh binne na dho guth,\n              Acas thu fa bun do nid.\"\n    \"Sweet thy song, blackbird of th' oak grove of Charn!\n    Heard I never in all the vast wide world\n    Song than thine more sweet--voice of song supreme!\n    Sitting thy nest beneath, singing thy song divine.\"\n\nIt is a great blessing to Erin in these hard, wrangling times, when so\nmuch that is good and sweet threatens to disappear, to have two such\nnoble singers raising their melodious voices to appease the angry\npassions of men. Nor should he be forgotten, who has been the maccenas\nof these gifted and noble daughters of holy church--Rev. Fr. Matthew\nRussell, S. J., himself a sweet and true poet. Nor can I close this\nshort notice without the feeble tribute of a word to one so dear to\nthese three, and so dear to us all, Rev. Joseph Farrell, now with\nGod--whose sweet wisdom is fertile in many hearts.\n\n                                                  J. KEEGAN.\n\n\n\n\nSeeing the Old Year Out: A True Story.\n\n\nScene, four young fellows were seated together in the dining-room\ndrinking \"the old year out\" in a punch of Patrick Hallahan's best brew.\n\n\"Well, here's to the good old year of '82,\" said Patrick, raising his\nglass high above his head, \"may the incoming year be as kind to us.\"\n\n\"Amen to that,\" said Phil, his brother.\n\n\"And so say all of us,\" chimed in Denis Walker and Arthur Floyd.\n\nUp went the clouds of smoke in fanciful, weird wreathes to the white\nceiling; up went the glasses with the \"nectar of the gods!\" to the\nhealthy lips of these four friends, tried and true, again and again,\nuntil the huge, lanky-legged clock in the hall chaunted in deep monotone\nthe hour of twelve.\n\nThe four rose as one man, and joined hands across the table.\n\n\"A happy new year,\" they said, in one and the same breath, and they\nushered the poor, innocent yearling in to the tune of \"For he's a jolly\ngood fellow--for he's a jolly good fellow, and so say all of us.\"\n\n\"Stop,\" said Patrick, \"what's that?\"\n\nThe dining-room was but a pace from the hall door, and Patrick had heard\nquite distinctly a thud, as of something heavy falling down.\n\nIn a second he was out into the darkness, and nearly stumbled over an\ninert mass of humanity. It was a man--or the remains of one.\n\n\"He looks bad, Phil,\" said Patrick, \"run for Dr. Naughten while I put\nhim on the sofa.\" Phil threw his warm Inverness cape about him and\nseized his hat and was off in a trice; meanwhile the three men, left\nwith the unconscious fourth, laid their burden down upon the sofa,\nloosened his neckerchief and collar, but no sign of life was there.\n\n\"Drink,\" said Arthur, \"that cursed drink.\" The other men shook their\nheads in silent acquiescence. It seemed an age before the doctor, who\nlived only a few doors off, came upon the scene, not in the best of\nhumors either, for he, too, had been making the night merry after the\nfashion of these four friends.\n\nThe doctor felt his pulse. \"I'm no use here,\" said he. \"The fellow's\nbeen dead this half-hour.\"\n\n\"Dead?\" echoed the friends. \"Dead?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Patrick, \"we heard the fall only a few minutes ago.\"\n\n\"Likely enough,\" said the doctor, \"he had got as far as your door,\npropped himself up against the corner, and then went completely off into\nhis last long sleep.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" they all exclaimed. \"A man to die standing up!\"\n\n\"Possible,\" retorted the doctor, \"and in this case, as you say you heard\nthe fall, most certain. Good evening, gentlemen, there is nothing more\nfor me to do,\" and the doctor hurried away.\n\nSo this poor wretch of a fellow-man had been \"seeing the old year out,\"\nbut the old year was made of tougher stuff than he, and had seen him\nout.\n\nThey went for the police, who came with the stretcher (ah! what tales\nthat rough canvas bed could tell, if it had the gift of tongue!), the\nbody was taken away, and the four friends sat around the table again,\nbut they raised the glass no more to their lips, though the punch-bowl\nwas steaming still--their eyes turned fearfully to the sofa where death\nso lately lay in state, and for a few minutes a dreadful silence\nreigned.\n\n\"Oh! that awful drink, what harm it is working. I'll not taste another\ndrop these six months.\" This from Patrick Hallahan.\n\n\"Nor I,\" said Phil.\n\n\"Nor I,\" said Denis.\n\n\"Nor I,\" said Arthur.\n\n\"Agreed,\" they all said, \"and let us see if we cannot keep our word.\"\n\n\"And now let's break up, for I'm feeling sick at heart,\" were Patrick's\nwords, and they separated.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey met six months after at the same place, and they had kept their\nword, though they never spoke of it to each other. They had been out to\ndinner parties, to \"at homes,\" to balls and routs, for they were\nwell-to-do, wealthy men of business, but they succumbed never once. They\nsimply said, \"No, thank you,\" when the wine was passed on, the grog went\nround. They still entertained, as was their wont, and gave their guests\nthe best of their wine cellar, but they abstained themselves. One of\nthem employed more than one hundred workmen. These men noticed a change\nin their master; he was more gentle with them in a way, quite as severe\nin the matter of time-keeping and of hard work, but he took an interest\nin their welfare, asked after their homes. One of them who brought him\nhis luncheon from an eating-house near at hand, remarked that \"the\nmaster never used the corkscrew now,\" and that \"the bottom of his\nmaster's tumbler was never stained.\" The ninety-nine other men knew this\nninety-nine seconds after. \"If the governor, who works harder than any\nof us, can do without his liquor, dang it all, I can.\" Jack Furniss gave\nthis forth to two pals, and these three entered quietly into a compact,\nupon fine of 1 d., to take no beer for a week; they took no beer for\nfour weeks, for six months. Men are after all like sheep who follow\ntheir superior, the shepherd's dog; the dog leads this way or that way,\nand the flock follows. The dog (Jack Furniss was foreman to his master,\na kind of shepherd's dog to the rest) led the way to pure spring water,\nand the whole flock--save the traditional black sheep--followed, not all\nat once, but little by little.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow let us back to the shepherd and his three friends, who are met\ntogether six months after that awful death. The cloth is laid for four;\nsherry and claret shine upon the table, the champagne is underneath the\nsideboard in an iced pail--lemon, sugar, the silver ladle in the family\npunch-bowl.\n\nThey sat down, and after the soup, when the fish was put on the table,\nPatrick Hallahan passed the sherry to Arthur, Arthur passed it to Phil,\nand Phil handed it to Denis. Curiously, yet true enough, the decanter\ncame back in the same state as it started.\n\nThen these four plain men of business rose like one man, and joined\nhands across the table. Not a word was spoken, but that grip of the hand\nspoke all they had to say to one another.\n\nIt is said they were satisfied with themselves and with one another, so\nsatisfied that they had no wish to go from their word, even though the\ntime of keeping it had gone by.\n\nAfterwards they acknowledged one to the other over their cigars--for if\nthey drank nothing strong they smoked very strong, and, be it said, very\ngood tobacco--they acknowledged that their life had been brighter,\nlighter than before, their mental vision clearer, their home happier;\nand many a fellow-creature round about them could have added that\n_their_ lives had been made brighter and lighter, and their mental\nvision clearer, and their homes happier, by the example and kindness of\nthese four friends.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nThere is an anecdote told of a certain priest who once happened to be\nriding a spirited young horse along a road in Ireland. His reverence\nwhilst thus engaged was met by two gentlemen who had lately been raised\nto the magistracy of the county, and being in a good humor, they thought\nthey would amuse themselves by quizzing him. \"How comes it, good\nFather,\" said one of them, \"that you are mounted on such a fine horse?\nYour predecessors, the Apostles, I understand, always performed their\njourneys on asses.\"--\"That's easily explained,\" answered his reverence;\n\"the fact is, that the Government has of late been making magistrates of\nthe asses, and therefore I should not consider it respectful to travel\nabout on the back of one of the fraternity.\"\n\n\n\n\nJuvenile Department.\n\n\nTHE FLOWERS' ELECTION.\n\n    An election is now being held,\n      For the flowers are all mad for a queen;\n    The \"speeching\" and voting go on,\n      And cause a most terrible scene.\n\n    One tulip, a smart little flirt,\n      Screams loudly and long for the rose;\n    But a wee, giddy, columbine bud\n      Does flippantly interpose.\n\n    Nextly a cauliflower speaks,\n      For his cousin the cabbage he votes;\n    At which e'en a butterfly grins\n      As onwardly he lazily floats.\n\n    A full-blown and strong-minded flower\n      Votes loud for republic and peace!\n    Or else for a strawberry plant,\n      Who's her grandmother's brother's aunt's niece.\n\n    Next marigold speaks to the crowd,\n      Who is known to be forward and pert;\n    But a nettle makes stinging remarks,\n      Till the speaker declares himself hurt!\n\n    And then to rampage they begin;\n      Sweet William is scragging a rose;\n    Sweet-pea in a neighborly way,\n      Is pulling young marigold's nose!\n\n    Such a noise and confusion ensues\n      That a snail faints away on the wall;\n    And never as yet have I heard\n      What the end of it was after all.\n\n    MAUD EGERTON HINE, a child of less than eight years old.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Doing anything now, Bill?\" \"Oh, yes, I'm busy all the time.\"--\"Ah! Glad\nto hear it. What are you doing?\"--\"Looking for a job.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTHE LITTLE FRENCH GIRL OF ST. SULPICE.\n\nWhen I was in Paris, a year or two before the terrible war broke out, I\noften went to the church of St. Sulpice. A grand old place is St.\nSulpice, not so majestic outwardly as Notre Dame, but far more\ninteresting to me. Its painted chapels, its noble altar with the royal\nseat in front, its chairs full of kneeling people, from the splendid\ndame to the bonnetless peasant, its gorgeously dressed priests, its\nmagnificent organ,--everything about it charmed and interested me.\n\nOne day I saw a little girl asleep at the foot of a statue. The calm,\nwhite, marble face seemed to look down in pity on the child, whose\nbeauty startled me. Her white cape-bonnet had fallen from her head, and\ncurls, lustrous as gold, and quite as yellow, fell over neck and cheeks.\nWhat long, dark lashes she had! Her complexion seemed blended roses and\nlilies. But her dress was very shabby. The most beautiful feet will get\nsoiled if they go shoeless, and this child seemed one of the very\npoorest of the poor.\n\nThere came a grand burst of organ music, with which a thousand voices\njoined, and the child awoke. She lifted her head, and the great brown\neyes seemed to drink in the melody. Then, seeing that we were watching\nher, she held out a little palm. The mute appeal was not resisted; I\ngave her my last franc.\n\nShe followed us out of the church. On the stone steps we could see the\nfountains playing. Omnibuses decorated with gay little flags, horses\ndecked out with ribbons, merry groups passing, the red sunshine, the\ndistant beauty of the green park, with its gravelled walks and flowery\nborders, made a picture that I shall never forget. The child touched my\ndress.\n\n\"I must sing for you, madame,\" she said, holding up the franc.\n\nThen she stood back a little, let her pretty arms drop, and sang in a\nsweet contralto, a little French air. Her voice was charming.\n\n\"Why do you beg?\" I asked.\n\n\"I do not beg, madame, I sing;\" and her cheek flushed.\n\n\"Where do you live, my dear?\"\n\n\"Rue St. Pere.\"\n\n\"Near Hotel St. Pere?\"\n\n\"Not far from that, madame. My father makes wooden images; perhaps you\npass his window. At least I call him my father.\"\n\nI had often passed his window, filled with a melancholy collection of\nwell-carved animals, boxes, heads, quite yellow by exposure. Nothing\nseemed ever to be sold.\n\nOne day I went in to ask the price of a stag's head. The poor man,\nbroken down by sickness, sat whittling in the corner. His face was like\nsaffron, while his thin hair was black as jet. A heavy curtain was hung\nacross the shop. Presently the rings that supported it rattled a little;\nthe curtain opened midway, revealing a bit of French home life. A cradle\nof an antique pattern, a woman ironing at a table, a tiny stove, two\nwindows full of flowers, everything poverty-stricken but clean. As I\nwas paying for the stag's head in came my little one of St. Sulpice. She\nknew me, but with only a nod and a smile passed into the other part of\nthe room.\n\n\"That is your little girl, I suppose,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, no; I care for her; that is all. Her mother is dead; she is no kin\nto me, but one cannot see a little one suffer. Besides, she does very\nwell with her voice; she will work her way in the world. We do not\nsuffer; we have bread.\" Nevertheless I knew by his voice and the aspect\nof things that they did suffer sometimes, so I often made little\nexpeditions that way, and spent for carved wood every franc I could\nspare.\n\nNow comes the wonderful part of my story. I had been at home six months\nwhen the French war broke out. While reading the dreadful tidings, and\nseeing with my mind's eye those fairy-like palaces, over which I had\nwandered so often, sacked and destroyed, I thought of the little girl of\nSt. Sulpice, and wondered what had become of her. Where were the wooden\nhounds with their life-like eyes, the stags' heads so beautifully\ncarved, the long, French faces with the dust lying in their grotesque\ngoatees? Where were the sick old man, the tidy little mother, the large,\nrosy baby?\n\nOne day, only a very few weeks ago, while walking down Pennsylvania\nAvenue, in Washington, a splendid carriage drove past, and I caught a\nglimpse of a face that set my heart beating. I turned to look, and,\nstrange to tell, the child was also turning to look at me. Could this be\nthe little French girl of St. Sulpice? Impossible.\n\nOn the following day I was called into my sitting-room to see some one\nwho wanted a donation.\n\n\"They're always a beggin', Miss Alice,\" said my maid. \"There was three\nmen with papers yesterday, and now come these flipflappers.\"\n\nThe \"flipflappers\" were two Sisters of Charity. One of them, the\nyoungest, with large, loving, dark eyes, and one of the finest faces I\never saw, won me at sight. She was soliciting money she said for an Old\nFolks' Home. \"You are not an American,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, no; I am only five months from Paris. This is my sister, who can\ntalk only French.\"\n\nAn hour passed during which I had told all about my St. Sulpice child.\n\nThe women looked at each other.\n\n\"It seems like Marie,\" said one.\n\n\"It certainly _does_ seem like Marie,\" responded the other.\n\n\"And who was Marie?\"\n\n\"Marie was with a wood-carver. Marie's mamma was an Englishwoman. Her\nhusband brought her to Paris. They both died when Marie was a little\none. Marie used to sing, and she lived in rue St. Pere.\"\n\n\"It must be my St. Sulpice girl!\" I said, excitedly.\n\n\"During the troubles,\" continued the woman, \"the old wood-carver died.\nHis wife, whose sister was a nun, went to one of the charity homes. She,\nalas! was shot, and soon after her baby pined and died. The sisters took\ncare of Marie for awhile, she was so beautiful. No, madame, it is not\nto be denied that they would have liked it if Marie could have grown up\nin their midst, and become one of the holy order, but the war forbade\nthat. Some of the sisters escaped to England, and Marie went with them.\nIn London, Marie sang a little now and then, for we were much reduced.\n\n\"One day she was listened to by a lady living in some villa. She had the\nchild brought in, and kept saying to herself, 'It is a wonderful\nlikeness!' Then she called her husband and all the family, and they each\none said that it was a wonderful likeness.\n\n\"Well, madame, they found the child was one of them, the child of a\nsister who had married imprudently and gone off, and after that we had\nlittle to do with Marie. But we came over to America in the same ship,\nand the little lady was very kind to us. Her friends have given largely\nto this fund since she has been here. Will madame contribute?\"\n\nOn condition that they found where the child lived, I gave them what I\ncould spare, and they went away grateful.\n\nOnly the next day a grand equipage stopped at my door. There were two\nmen in splendid livery on the box, and a tiger behind, who sat with his\narms folded like a statue of ebony.\n\nAh, but there was my sweet little St. Sulpice girl, with her nurse, or\ncompanion. How lovely she was! Her white hat and blue feather, beautiful\nblue silk, trimmed with costly white lace, her buttoned gloves, and\ndainty parasol, spoke most eloquently of the change in her\ncircumstances. But to me she seemed just the same.\n\n\"Then you have not forgotten St. Sulpice,\" I said.\n\nShe shook her head and her lips trembled a little.\n\n\"It was so awful before we came away!\" she said, with a shudder. \"They\ntook St. Sulpice for the soldiers, and they killed the nuns and shot the\ngood priests, and, it seemed as if everybody was dead or dying. Oh, how\nwe did fly for our lives!\"\n\n\"But you are very happy now?\"\n\n\"Yes; I have a governess, and I am studying English; but I shall always\nlove my dear, dear France, and I would go there again, but poor Pere and\nMere Bouve are gone, and their little child. If they could only have\ncome to England with me!\"\n\n\"And does your aunt stay in America long?\"\n\n\"Till the next September. Oh, how I felt when I saw you on the street! I\nknew it was you. To-morrow we go to Cape May, and I shall never see you\nagain.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, you will. I shall come over to England next summer.\"\n\nThe child's eyes brightened.\n\n\"Will you?\" and she threw her arms round my neck in true French style,\nand declared that she loved me.\n\nI hope I shall see my little one of St. Sulpice again. If anybody meets\nan English family at Cape May, with one of the loveliest little girls in\nthe world, I have no doubt she will answer to the name of Marie.\n\n\nTHE DONKEY.\n\nMine is not a common donkey at all, living upon thistles and weeds, or\nany rubbish he can pick up on the roadside; he is an aristocratic\ndonkey, and eats, and sleeps, too, sometimes, in a lordly dining-hall,\nwhere kings and princes have dined. And where does he live? you will\nask. In a beautiful old ruined castle in the Isle of Wight--Carisbrook\nCastle, the place of imprisonment of poor King Charles I., and the scene\nof his gentle daughter Elizabeth's early death. Within the ruined walls\nof that grand old castle does my friend, the donkey, live.\n\nMany must have heard of the wonderful well at Carisbrook, which is so\ndeep no one can draw the water up, so that they are obliged to have a\ndonkey to do it. And it is done in this way: there is an enormous wheel,\nwith steps inside, and the donkey goes in, and by walking continually up\nthe steps turns the wheel, and so draws up the water. And this was the\nwork Jacob, for that is the donkey's name, had to do for many years. But\nhe has long since retired from public life, being very old, and his\nplace has been supplied by a younger donkey; Jacob having nothing to do\nnow but eat, sleep, and amuse himself.\n\nWe were having a little picnic at Carisbrook, the children and I, not\nlong ago, and Jacob took an immense interest in all our proceedings. The\nchildren were greatly delighted with his friendly way of receiving us,\nand fed him with biscuits and buns, which he seemed to enjoy very much.\nHe even drank some tea out of a saucer, and ate up all the pieces of\nbread we left. In fact, Jacob's and our own appetites were so good that\nthere was nothing left of our feast, excepting half of a large pat of\nbutter, which we never supposed Jacob would touch, and were much amused\non looking round to see him quietly eating up that, too, and licking the\nplate well afterwards so as not to lose a bit.\n\nHe is a very fat little creature, and his hair has grown quite long and\nsoft, like a young donkey's. Evidently his lazy life agrees with him,\nthough, I have no doubt, he has done his fair share of work, and quite\ndeserves to pass a peaceful, happy old age.\n\nAs I am on the subject of donkeys, I must tell about a very clever one I\nheard of a few days ago. She lives somewhere in Ireland, and she and her\nlittle foal were turned into a field where a very deep ditch had been\ndug. And one day some men who were at work in the next field saw Viva,\nthe mother donkey, come toward them in a great hurry. She came close up\nto the hedge, braying loudly, and seeming much distressed. At first they\ntook no notice of her, but she would not go away, and continued to bray\nuntil one of the men went to her, and then she started off in the\ndirection of the ditch, and there he found the poor little foal, which\nhad tumbled in. Fortunately it was not hurt; but if the mother had not\nbeen so sensible, it must have died, for it could not possibly have got\nout.\n\nIt is the fashion to consider donkeys stupid, ill-tempered, and\nobstinate, which I do not think quite just. They are often obstinate,\ncertainly, but they are generally made so by constant ill-treatment.\nHow often one sees a poor little donkey staggering along with a load a\ngreat deal too heavy for him, and being beaten and abused the whole time\nbecause he can scarcely draw it! Donkeys after a time get so accustomed\nto being incessantly beaten that it has no effect, excepting to make\nthem turn obstinate and sulky. And I do not believe they are either by\nnature; for a donkey that is really well brought up, and has always been\nkindly treated, is not at all obstinate. He will trot or canter when he\nis required to do so, just like a pony, is good-tempered and gentle, and\naltogether a different animal from his unfortunate poor relation, who\nhas been kicked and beaten and dragged at from his babyhood upwards.\n\nAnd to say that donkeys are _stupid_ is quite a mistake, for many are\nextremely clever. I knew an old one--I think he must have been thirty at\nleast--that could never by any means be kept _in_ any field or _out_ of\nany garden that he chose to enter. And as he much preferred nice green\nvegetables to his legitimate food, he was constantly trespassing, and\nhis owners were continually in trouble about him. He would always find\nsome means of either opening a gate or getting over the hedge. The only\nplace he could be kept in was the village pound, to which he often paid\na visit. He was, as may be fancied, quite a nuisance in the village, and\nevery one was truly thankful when he was found dead one morning. It was\nsaid he died of old age; but as he had made many enemies by his numerous\ndepredations, I should not wonder if some of them had to do with his\nsudden end.\n\n\nHOUNDS.\n\nTwo hounds belonged to a gentleman in Lancashire, and he, wishing to\nmake them a present to a friend, sent them to Kilkenny, the place where\nhe lived in Ireland. But the hounds apparently did not like their new\nquarters, and, no doubt, missed their old master; for after a few days\nthey disappeared, and could not be found or heard of, until at last\ntheir master got a letter from their former owner in Lancashire to say\nthat the hounds had returned to him. It was afterwards discovered that\nthey had gone to the North Vale in Dublin, jumped on board a steamboat,\nwhich fortunately was going to England, and had found their way to their\nold home.\n\nSome dogs take offence very easily. I know one absurd, diminutive\ncreature, who has the greatest dislike to being talked about, and\ndirectly he hears any one mention his name even, he gets up and walks\nout of the room in the most dignified way possible, looking round all\nthe time, as much as to say, \"How dare you talk about me?\"\n\nAnother dog belonging to a friend took great offence because he could\nnot have his own way. He is a nice old dog, very old and quite blind,\nand has always lived with the same master, to whom he is quite devoted,\naccompanying him everywhere, and at night keeping guard on the mat at\nhis bedroom door. A short time ago his master went on a visit to a\nhouse about sixty miles distant from his own home, and as usual his old\nfavorite went with him. When night came, the old dog, having found out\nhis master's room, posted himself, as he had always been accustomed to\ndo, at his door. But the servants of the house, not knowing his ways,\ndrove him downstairs. The next day the dog was gone; but was heard of\nsoon afterwards, having returned to his own home. He had taken offence\nat not being allowed to sleep where he liked, and had found his way\nback, in spite of the distance and his blindness.\n\n\nTHE CALIFORNIA ROADRUNNER. (_Geococcyx Californianus._)\n\nA very singular and yet a very little known bird is the roadrunner\nchaparral cock, or, as it is known in Mexico and the Spanish sections of\nthe United States, the paisano.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nIt belongs to the cuckoo family, but has none of the bad habits by which\nthe European cuckoo is best known. It is a shy bird, but is not by any\nmeans an unfamiliar object in the south-western portions of the United\nStates and in Mexico. Sometimes it wanders up into middle California,\nbut not often, seeming to prefer the more deserted, hotter, and sandier\nparts of southern California, and from there stretching its habitat as\nfar east as middle Texas.\n\nIt is not by any means a brilliantly colored bird, although some of its\nhues are very beautiful. The prevailing color of the roadrunner is olive\ngreen, which is marked with brown and white. The top of the head is blue\nblack, and is furnished with an erectile crest. The eyes are surrounded\nby a line of bare skin.\n\nIt is not a large bird, being seldom twenty-four inches long, with a\ntail taking more than half of that length. The tail, indeed, is the most\nstriking feature of the bird, being not only so very long, but seemingly\nendowed with the gift of perpetual motion, since it is never still, but\nbobs up and down, and sidewise, too, into every possible angle, and\nalmost incessantly.\n\nBut while its tail is most striking, its legs are most remarkable, being\nnot only long and stout, but wonderfully muscular, how muscular nobody\nwould be able to imagine who had not put them to the test.\n\nA traveller in Mexico tells of going out with his ranchero host to hunt\nhares with a brace of very fine hounds. Going over a long stretch of\nsandy plain, relieved only by pillars and clusters of cactus, the\nMexican called the attention of his guest to an alert, comical-looking\nbird, some distance from them.\n\nWith the remark that the gentleman should see some rare coursing, the\nMexican slipped the leashes of the straining hounds, which sprang off as\nif used to the sport, and darted after the bird. For a moment it seemed\nto the stranger a very poor use to put the dogs to, but he was not long\nin changing his mind.\n\nInstead of taking wing, the bird tilted its long tail straight up into\nthe air in a saucily defiant way, and started off on a run in a direct\nline ahead. It seemed an incredible thing that the slender dogs, with\ntheir space devouring bounds, should not at once overtake the little\nbird; but so it was. The legs of the paisano moved with marvellous\nrapidity, and enabled it to keep the hounds at their distance for a very\nlong time, being finally overtaken only after one of the gamest races\never witnessed by the visiting sportsman.\n\nThe roadrunner, however, serves a better purpose in life than being run\ndown by hounds. Cassin mentions a most singular circumstance among the\npeculiarities of the bird. It seems to have a mortal hatred of\nrattlesnakes, and no sooner sees one of those reptiles than it sets\nabout in what, to the snake, might well seem a most diabolical way of\ncompassing its death. Finding the snake asleep, it at once seeks out the\nspiniest of the small cacti, the prickly pear, and, with infinite pains\nand quietness, carries the leaves, which it breaks off, and puts them in\na circle around the slumbering snake. When it has made a sufficient wall\nabout the object of all this care, it rouses its victim with a sudden\npeck of its sharp beak, and then quickly retires to let the snake work\nout its own destruction, a thing it eventually does in a way that ought\nto gratify the roadrunner, if it has any sense of humor. Any one\nwatching it would say it was expressing the liveliest emotion with its\nconstantly and grotesquely moving tail.\n\nThe first impulse and act of the assaulted snake is to coil for a dart;\nits next to move away. It quickly realizes that it is hemmed in, in a\ncircle, and finally makes a rash attempt to glide over the obstruction.\nThe myriad of tiny needles prick it and drive it back. The angry snake,\nwith small wisdom, attempts to retaliate by fastening its fangs into the\noffending cactus. The spines fill its mouth.\n\nAngrier still, it again and again assaults the prickly wall, until,\nquite beside itself with rage, it seems to lose its wits completely, and\nwrithing and twisting horribly, buries its envenomed fangs into its own\nbody, dying finally from its self-inflicted wounds. After the\ncatastrophe, the roadrunner indulges in a few gratified flirts of its\nlong tail and goes off, perchance to find its reward in being run down\nby hounds set on by men.\n\n                  JOHN R. CORYELL, in _Scientific American_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMan is hard to satisfy. Poverty is the only thing he can get enough of.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nPOWER OF THE \"LORD'S PRAYER\" AND THE \"HAIL MARY.\"\n\nIn 1836, while connected with the Church of St. Roque, I was for a long\ntime engaged in giving catechetical instruction to the children; not\nonly the ordinary catechism, but what we called, and what is still\ncalled, catechism of perseverance, at which young persons of both sexes\nattended until their marriage.\n\nOne day I was called upon to solemnize the marriage of one of these\nyoung persons, who was very pious; she had most assiduously followed our\ninstructions until the hour of this great engagement; her betrothed was\na practical Catholic, so that it was one of those marriages which we can\nbless with hope and consolation.\n\nOrdinarily an exhortation is given on these occasions; I said a few\nwords according to the custom, and I still remember that while speaking\nI had a distraction; it was caused by a tall man, at least six foot\nhigh, who stood erect while every one else was seated, looking at me\nwith a fixed, intense gaze, and, as he was one of the first witnesses at\nthe ceremony, he stood scarcely three steps from me. This proximity, his\ngreat height, his original manner, and his fixed look, had, as you may\nreadily understand, attracted my attention, for a moment, and then I\ncast the impression aside. After the ceremony all retired, and I thought\nall was finished; far from it. At five o'clock the next morning my bell\nwas rung by the bridegroom, who came in great haste to summon me to a\ndying man, his uncle, the same tall man who had so singularly distracted\nme the previous evening. He was quite aged, seventy-four years old; he\nhad taken cold at the wedding ceremony, and the physician declared he\ncould not live. I started immediately, and as we went along the street,\nI asked, \"Was your uncle a good Christian?\"--\"He was a good man; but we\nfear that he neglected his religious duties.\"--\"Has he any idea of his\ndangerous condition?\"--\"Yes, he is fully sensible of it.\"--\"Does he wish\nto see me?\"--\"Yes, when we saw that he was struck by death, we asked him\nif he would not like to see a priest, and he did not refuse. After a\nmoment he said 'bring me the one I heard yesterday; he pleased me, and\nhe will arrange my affairs.'\"\n\nThe bridegroom informed me that his uncle had come from the country to\nattend his wedding, and he was then at a hotel in a cross street. (I\nhave never since passed that hotel without emotion.) We entered, and I\nwas left alone with him. Before me lay this poor old man dying. I\napproached, and he immediately held out his hand. There was something\nvery frank and noble in his manner. \"I am going to die,\" he said, \"and I\nwish to do whatever is done at such a time. I am seventy-four years old,\nand for sixty years I have not been to confession. At fourteen I\nenlisted; I have been in all the wars of the Revolution and the empire;\nI have never thought of God during all the time, and I know not why. I\nnow feel that I ought not to leave the world before being reconciled to\nHim, just as if I had always known Him.\" Touched by his frankness and\nhis extraordinary sincere expression, I replied, \"I will aid you to know\nHim, and God will aid us; such things are easy for those of an upright,\ncandid heart.\" But it was not so very easy, after all, and you will\nreadily perceive. When, by the assistance of many questions, I had\nfinished his confession for him, \"Now,\" I said, \"I'll give you a\npenance.\"--\"What is that? I have not the least idea of it.\" And, in\ntruth, he had not the first idea of religion, of the Sacrament of\nPenance, or any other Sacrament.... A poor, dying man, whose hairs were\nbleached by the snows of fourscore winters, was passing from earth\nwithout having a single idea of Christianity; merely an instinct\nprompted him to wish for a reconciliation with God before his death.\n\nI explained the meaning of penance and said: \"You suffer very much;\noffer your sufferings to our Blessed Lord, and that will enable me to\ngive you an easy penance; you need only say the 'Our Father' and the\n'Hail Mary.'\" He looked at me for a moment with the most intent and\npiercing gaze, for, although so exhausted by age and sickness, he had a\nmost extraordinary energy in his eye, and said \"'Our Father,' 'Hail\nMary!' What do they mean? I have never heard anything about them.\" Yes,\nthis was the state which the poor miserable man had reached;\nseventy-four years old and he had forgotten even the prayers that\ninfants in their mothers' arms lisp in childish accents. Religion was\nutterly obliterated from his soul! There remained nothing, nothing! I\ncast a look toward heaven, and I felt that a miracle was needed to bring\nback the pastor to enlighten his darkened soul.\n\n\"You ought to know, that those prayers are the most beautiful in\nreligion. I will assist you; I will say them myself; you will say them\nafterward with me, and then you will find all you have lost.\"\n\nKneeling down by his bedside, and holding his hand in both of mine, I\ncommenced. He let me say the two or three first invocations of the \"Our\nFather,\" but when I said, \"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them\nwho trespass against us,\" he suddenly pressed my hand, and as one\narousing from a long sleep he exclaimed, \"Oh! I remember that. Yes! I\nthink when I was a little boy my mother taught me something like that.\nWill you please commence it again?\" I recommenced it and then\ninstantaneously, from the depths of his soul, across his darkened mind,\nand from far away in his early childhood--across seventy-four\nyears--across all those wars and all those battle-fields which had\npassed over his life and effaced from his soul all ideas of religion,\ncame back to this old soldier the remembrance of his mother, and the\nprayers she had taught him when a little boy, and he commenced unaided\nto recall the words. One by one I saw them leave his soul, as if they\nhad all been engulfed, and were now rising to the surface. At each\nsentence he interrupted himself: \"Oh!\" he exclaimed, \"I remember--'Our\nFather who art in heaven'--yes, indeed, that is it--'Hallowed be Thy\nname'--that is it again!--I remember it all now!--'Thy Kingdom\ncome.'--Yes, yes, I remember I used to say all that--oh! isn't that\nprayer beautiful!\" And when he came to the words \"Forgive us our\ntrespasses,\"--\"Ah,\" he cried, \"above all the rest, I remember\nthat--those are the words that brought all the rest back to me; my\nmother used to make me say that whenever I did anything wrong.\" And in\nthis manner he finished the \"Our Father;\" then he asked to say it with\nme, and seemed never weary in repeating it over and over.\n\n\"But,\" he exclaimed, \"is there not another? Oh! yes, now I remember, my\nmother said there was a Blessed Virgin--stop--I must find that prayer\nalso! But it won't come back. Say it to me so that I can remember, all\nabout it.\" And when I repeated the first words, he interrupted me with a\njoyful cry, \"Oh! yes, that is it, 'Hail Mary!'\" And then, without\nwaiting for me to take the lead, he continued, \"full of grace, the Lord\nis with thee,\" and all the words seemed to flow miraculously from his\nsoul, and with tears flowing down his cheeks, he repeated, \"Holy Mary,\nMother of God, pray for us poor sinners, now and the hour of our death.\"\n\nBehold in this old man the power of the prayers which a pious mother had\ntaught him in his childhood! Precious germs deposited in his soul, and a\nlong time deposited there--but, thank God, they were there--and at the\nsupreme moment, under a favorable ray of Divine grace, they burst forth\nto support him in his last hours, and to open for him the gates of a\nhappy eternity! He never wearied in saying them, but continued\nconstantly repeating them.\n\nFinally, seeing that he was fatigued, I left him promising to return as\nsoon as he had taken some repose. And I did return very soon, for I was\nmost anxious to give him Holy Communion. He received the Viaticum with\nthe most lively faith: all had been revealed with those two prayers. I\nhad nothing more to teach him.\n\n                                           BISHOP DOUPANLOUP\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"In this world there is nothing dearer to God Himself than the soul of a\nlittle child made to His own likeness and to His own image, born again\nand sanctified by the Holy Ghost. Innocent, those little ones are the\nnearest to Him of His servants upon earth, numbered among His saints.\nAnd they are the most exposed to all manner of peril in this loud and\nlordly world that passes them by, and accounts them to be cyphers in its\nreckoning, and legislates for them as if they were flocks in a field, or\nchattels, or property. Precious in God's sight, little barefooted,\nbareheaded children that pass through the streets have each an Angel\nGuardian, and yet they are surrounded by all the perils that prowl and\nmake havoc in the cities where we dwell. The offspring of all the\nanimals of the lower creation, almost as soon as they come into this\nworld, are able to care for themselves; but man, who is the highest, and\nnoblest, and like a god himself, is the most helpless. And, therefore,\nin that helpless infancy and tender childhood, those who cannot care for\nthemselves, are committed to our guardianship.\"--_Cardinal Manning._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nUneasy rests the foot that wears a corn.\n\n\n\n\nLenten Pastorals.\n\n\nIn Dublin, on Sunday, March 7, Archbishop Walsh said: With singular\nunanimity the leaders of all parties in the State have come at length to\nrecognize the pressing need of a substantial construction of that system\nof government under which we at present live. So much is certain; but\nbeyond this all is shrouded from our view in the uncertainty of the\nfuture. The minds of many among us are agitated. All around us are heard\nexpressions of anxiety, and the fears and hopes of those who speculate\nas to what the next few weeks may bring forth. Amid all this uncertainty\nit is our special duty to turn to the throne of the Almighty and\nall-wise ruler of the universe in earnest supplication, that the light\nof the heavenly wisdom, by which kings reign and lawgivers decree just\nthings, may not be wanting to those statesmen and public men by whom the\nmomentous issues now raised will have to be decided, and on whose\nprudence in council, or action, in the public Senate of the empire\nprovision to be made for the future protection of so many and such vital\ninterests in spiritual, no less than in temporal, order must so largely\ndepend.\n\nFrom Galway it is learned that the pastoral read there contained this\nexpression: \"Let us ask that wretched tenants who find it impossible to\nmeet their engagements at the present, and who are threatened with\neviction from their humble homes, may be allowed at least a few months'\nrespite until they can profit by the legislation which just and\nenlightened statesmanship will devise for their relief, and for the\nlasting peace and prosperity of Ireland.\"\n\nSpeaking at Lismore, Archbishop Croke said, that when he next had the\npleasure of passing through the town, he hoped that the Irish cause\nwould have wonderfully progressed, and that the great statesman, Mr.\nGladstone, would have not only permanently and satisfactorily settled\nthe land question, put an end to evictions and restored the Irish soil\nto the Irish people, but would have also carried through Parliament the\nchanges now at hand, which would lead to the restoration of an Irish\nParliament.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE WORKING MEN.--_New York Sun_: \"Never before in the history of labor\nin this country was it so united, and, consequently, so powerful. Its\ncohesion and unity of action are unexampled in the annals of trade\norganizations. Therefore, at this, of all moments, we say beware! Be\nmoderate and be temperate. The true interests of the employer, if he be\nwise, are identical with your interests, and see to it now that no\nmisuse of victory lead you to change places with the oppressor.\"\n\n\n\n\nDONAHOE'S MAGAZINE.\n\nBOSTON, APRIL, 1886.\n\nNOTES ON CURRENT TOPICS.\n\n\nTHE LARGEST DONATION YET.--Fifteen thousand people attended two concerts\ngiven by Patrick S. Gilmore at Madison Square Gardens in aid of the\nParliamentary fund. The two concerts netted $6,000. This beats all the\nIrish millionnaires of New York City.\n\n\n_Springfield Republican_: No Irish patriotic movement before has\napproached the present one for unity and constancy of purpose, and it\nhas been due to Parnell's cold temper and iron resolution, sustained by\nhis steady success in his own clear-headed plan of advance.\n\n\nOUR CARDINAL.--_Lake Shore Visitor_: The question of the Cardinalate is\nsettled. If now some of the papers don't openly assert that there is a\nmistake somewhere the matter will very likely die out. In the meantime\neverybody seems to be satisfied. Cardinal Gibbons will be an ornament to\nthe Church as its American Cardinal.\n\n\nPARNELL.--_Dublin Freeman's Journal_: If there ever was a time in the\nhistory of this country when a leader of the people was entitled to all\nthe confidence that it is possible for the people to repose in him, that\ntime is the present. Confidence in Mr. Parnell has never been misplaced\nby the inhabitants of this country. He has not only never led them\nwrong, but he has, on the contrary, surpassed all former Irish leaders\nin soundness of judgment and accuracy of prevision. The Irish people\nrecognize the fact, and place full confidence in Mr. Parnell. The Galway\nincident affords a proof of this, of which the partisan press of England\nshould make a note.\n\n\nTHE IRISH BISHOPS TO GLADSTONE.--The bishops met, on the 18th inst., in\nArchbishop Walsh's residence in Dublin, and drew up a statement of their\nviews on the Irish question, which they sent to Mr. Gladstone. The\nbishops say to the Premier that they consider that the result of the\nelections has answered Mr. Gladstone's appeal to the Irish people to\n\"speak out.\" They add that the bishops believe that Home Rule would not\naffect the union or the supremacy of the Crown, and urge the suspension\nof evictions until the land question has been settled.\n\n\nThe Mayor of New York lectured for the benefit of the Carney Hospital,\non Sunday evening, February 21. The theatre was crowded, and the Mayor\ndelivered a very interesting lecture. The hospital will probably realize\nsome fifteen hundred dollars from the lecture. _New York Sun_: His Honor\nMayor Grace has been to Boston and has had a magnificent boom there. He\nmade several speeches and impressed the Bostonians. We have never had a\ncivic magistrate who could beat Mayor Grace in speaking. Boston always\nwakes up when a powerful New Yorker goes over there.\n\n\nAt the Recent Meeting of Englishmen and Scotchmen in London to form a\n\"Home Rule Association,\" to assist the cause of Irish Home Rule, Lord\nAshburnham took the chair. Lord Clifton, the son of the Earl of Darnley,\nspoke of \"that great statesman, whom I am proud to call a near relation,\nmy cousin, Mr. Parnell.\" The Irish leader is a cousin of Lord Darnley\nand Lord Clifton. The latter's words are remarkable at a time like the\npresent.\n\n\nMessrs. M. A. Ring & Sons, dealers in paper stock, Boston, who failed\ntwo years ago, compromised with their creditors in full, for twenty\ncents on the dollar, and continued their business without serious\ninterruption. Meeting with fair success, the firm have voluntarily paid\nall their merchandise creditors the other eighty cents, with one\nexception, and that will be paid in full at an early date. It is seldom\nthat so honorable a course of action is adopted after parties are\nreleased from all legal obligations, and it reflects credit on the\nhonesty and energy of the young men composing the firm.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFIVE-DOLLAR PARLIAMENTARY FUND.\n\nAddress to the Liberty-Loving People of New England.\n\nTo the men and women of Boston and New England who love the cause of\nLiberty: At a meeting held in Union Hall, Boston, on the evening of\nFebruary 16, the undersigned were appointed an executive committee and\nempowered to issue an address to the liberty-loving men and women of New\nEngland, in aid of the five-dollar parliamentary fund voted to be raised\nat the above meeting to uphold the constitutional efforts of Charles\nStewart Parnell and his patriotic coadjutors in the British House of\nCommons, and their grand struggle for home rule for Ireland.\n\nTo the native and adopted citizen alike we appeal, and earnestly request\nthat in every town and city of New England immediate action be taken to\nmake this fund a success, and that the proceeds be sent through one\ncommon channel to Mr. Parnell. We hope the fund thus created will prove\nworthy of New England, whose people are largely composed of the Celtic\nrace, and that free New England's tribute to struggling old Ireland will\nbe such that its example will be followed in other sections of the\ncountry.\n\nLet us make the five-dollar subscription list of New England to the\nIrish parliamentary fund famous in the history of this struggle of the\nIrish race.\n\nWe request that all who sympathize will add their names to the patriotic\nlist, and that committees similar to that of Boston be formed in every\ntown. Asa P. Potter, president of the Maverick National Bank, Col.\nCharles H. Taylor, editor of the _Boston Globe_, and J. B. Hand, Esq.,\nhave been appointed trustees of the fund, and we request that all\nmoneys collected be sent to Mr. Parnell through them. We further ask\nthat all newspapers in New England in sympathy with this movement kindly\ncopy this address, and that those who wish to subscribe shall send their\nfive dollars to the trustees or to either of the undersigned.\n\n    HUGH O'BRIEN,\n        _Mayor of Boston_,\n    EDWARD RILEY,\n    JOHN E. FITZGERALD,\n    JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY,\n    DOMINICK TOY,\n    T. M. BRADLEY,\n    PATRICK MAGUIRE,\n    JOHN R. MURPHY,\n    JOHN MILLER,\n    W. W. DOHERTY,\n        _Executive Committee_.\n\nT. J. MURPHY,     } _Secretaries._\nWILLIAM FERGUSON, }\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGRADUALLY FALLING INTO OUR HANDS.--There is not a diocese in the Union\nwhich has not profited by sheriff's sales of Protestant educational\nproperty. The great seminary at Troy was once a Methodist college. Last\nmonth Archbishop Ryan bought out a Protestant college building and gave\nit over to the Sisters of the Good Shepherd. For thirty-five years it\nhad been the _Alma Mater_ of a local Protestant body. The Baptist\nCollege at Chicago will soon have a cross upon it. So the story\ngoes--Protestantism receding and the Church making progress on every\nside. Next? Many of the school houses.\n\n\nThe Misses Drexel, the three daughters of the late F. A. Drexel, the\nPhiladelphia banker, have purchased two hundred acres near Bristol upon\nwhich they will establish an industrial home and school for orphan boys\nto be placed under the care of the Christian Brothers.\n\n\nAnother proof has been given, if proof were wanting, of the influence\nwhich the Freemasons possess in ministerial circles in Italy, by the\nappointment of the Cavaliere Sisca to the post of Secretary of the\nCommission for Ecclesiastical Property. This Sisca is an apostate\npriest, who has gone through the form of a civil marriage. The\nappointment, therefore, is one more deliberate insult to the bishops and\nclergy of Italy, and is, in fact, one thoroughly worthy in all respects\nof the usurping government which has made it.\n\n\nThe restriction as to the days of the week (Monday and Tuesday) on which\npriests could heretofore celebrate the two weekly Requiem Masses allowed\nthem, has been abrogated, and they are now free to suit their\nconvenience as to the days they may prefer to select.\n\n\nThe charter of Brown University, Providence, R. I., requires that the\npresident of that institution \"must forever be of the denomination\ncalled Baptists.\" Forever! There won't be a live Baptist a hundred years\nhence. Then what will become of that charter, asks the _Catholic Union_\nand _Times_.\n\n\nDuring the darkest hours of the Revolutionary War, when the finances of\nthe Colonies were at the lowest ebb--when the Continental troops were\nactually suffering from the want of necessary food and clothing--the\nmerchants of Philadelphia displayed one of the noblest acts of\npatriotism recorded in the annals of American history. In June, 1780,\nninety-three of them subscribed three hundred thousand pounds \"to\nsupport the credit of a bank to be established for furnishing a supply\nof provisions for the armies of the United States,\" and of these\nninety-three subscribers, twenty-seven were members of the Friendly Sons\nof St. Patrick, and these twenty-seven sons of Ireland contributed one\nhundred and three thousand pounds--more than one-third of the total\namount. Among the records of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick (now in\npossession of their successor, the Hibernian Society of Philadelphia),\nis subscribed to its By-Laws the autograph signature of Geo. Washington,\nan adopted member of the society.\n\n\nTHE ONLY MEN WANTED WEST.--Mr. F. A. Carle, the managing editor of the\nSt. Paul _Pioneer Press_, said of the prospects of a young man in the\nWest: \"There is money for the young man who will go out there and\n'hustle.' Those who don't want to do that can get along just as well in\nthe East. If you go West with energy and perseverance and make up your\nmind to take what comes during the first few years without making a\nface at it, you will do well--much better than here. Those are the only\nkind of people that we want out here.\"\n\n\nA NOBLE WORK.--The Catholics of Pittsburgh, Penn., have begun a good\nwork which should be taken up and developed all over the country. They\nhave instituted a \"Catholic Prisoners' Reform Association,\" the objects\nof which are to instruct the convicts during their imprisonment, provide\nthem with good books, and to assist them to a new start in life when\ndischarged. Bishop Phelan gives his countenance to the new society, and\npromises it a chaplain.\n\n\nThe Catholic total abstinence societies are not only doing a good work\nfor the Irish in America, but they are not wanting in forwarding the\nwelfare of the Irish in Ireland. The Catholic total abstinence societies\nof Philadelphia have just raised $8,500 for the Irish Parliamentary\nfund.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA GREAT UNIVERSITY.--According to the annual statistics just issued, the\nCatholic University of Louvain had a much higher number of students\nduring the academical year just closed (1884-85) than ever before--the\ninscriptions reaching a total of 1,638, as against 1,555 in the\npreceding year. Some idea of the rapid growth of the _Alma Mater_ may be\nobtained from the following figures, showing the number of students\nregistered:\n\n    1834-35 (first year)     86\n    1844-45       \"         777\n    1854-55       \"         600\n    1864-65       \"         764\n    1874-75       \"       1,160\n    1884-85       \"       1,638\n\nAgain, to show the influence which the University has had upon the\necclesiastical and professional life of Belgium, we may remark that,\nsince its establishment in 1834, no less than 3,942 candidates have\npassed through the faculty of theology; 10,746 through that of law;\n9,563 through that of medicine; 7,406 through that of science; and 5,762\nthrough that of philosophy and letters (our \"arts\"). Again, during last\nyear, the _Alma Mater_ gave to Belgium 49 _avocats_, 15 notaries, 44\nmedical practitioners, and 39 engineers. Nearly all civilized countries\nare represented among the students; among the rest three English and one\nIrish.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA Protestant Clergyman, formerly American Consul at Amsterdam, says:\n\"During the last thirty years the Roman Catholic Church has been\nextending its influence in Holland, until to-day the Romanists command\nnearly one-half of the population, and have, to a great extent, the\ncontrol of the public schools and of popular elections.\"\n\n\nThe Perils and sufferings of missionaries in Manitoba are probably not\ngreater anywhere else in the world. They undergo almost incredible\nhardships in following the Indians from place to place (the only way of\ngaining a lasting influence over them); travelling in dog-sleighs or on\nfoot, their food often consisting of only dried fish unsalted. In past\nyears two were drowned while crossing ice; their dog train also\nperished. Another missionary was drowned by the upsetting of a skiff in\na squall whilst trying to save an Indian boy, who was his guide. Three\npriests were also frozen to death in a blizzard on the prairies.\n\n\nCATHOLIC CONGRESS.--An interesting Congress is to mark next year. The\nrecent Catholic Congress of Normandy appointed a section for Christian\nApologetics, and this section has just decided to summon for 1887 a\ngreat \"International Congress of Catholic Savants,\" to be held in Paris.\nThe organizing committee, nominated at Rouen, met for the first time in\nParis on December 28th, under the Presidency of Mgr. de Hulst, Rector of\nthe Catholic Faculty of that city. The committee now consists of\ntwenty-seven members resident in Paris, and twenty-eight in the\nprovinces or abroad. Among these we may mention the eminent Bollandist\nand historian, Pere de Smedt, S. J.; Professors Gilbert and de Harlez,\nof the University of Louvain; Kurth, of Liege; de Lapporent and\nDuchesne, of Paris, de Margerie, of Lille; Valson, of Lyons; Duilhe de\nSt. Projet, of Toulouse; de Nadaillac, de Beaucourt, de l'Epinois, Paul\nAllard, and many other names illustrious in science, history,\nliterature, and other departments of learning. The work of the Congress\nwill fall into three divisions: 1. Philosophical and Social Sciences; 2.\nExact and Natural Sciences; 3. Historical Sciences; and each division\nwill comprehend five sections. The President will shortly issue a\ncircular describing in detail the organization and plan of work, and\ninviting all the Catholic savants of Europe to participate in the\npreliminary labors, principally by the drawing up of memoirs, and fixing\nthe actual state of science in regard to the various questions affecting\nChristian Faith.\n\n\nHIGH AND LOW LICENSE.--City Collector Onahan, of Chicago, in connection\nwith his annual report to the city council, has prepared an analytical\ntable showing the amount of revenue derived from licenses of all\ndescriptions from 1879 to 1885 inclusive. The increase is something\nextraordinary being over one and one-half million dollars for the six\nyears; the exact figures being, for 1879, $214,218; and for 1885,\n$1,916,820. A careful examination of the table shows that this immense\nincrease is due entirely to the increase in the saloon license rate of\nChicago, which is now $500. In 1883, with low license, there were 3,777\nsaloons in the city, and the revenue derived from them amounted to only\n$385,864; while with high license in 1885 there are only 3,075 saloons,\nyielding $1,721,474 annually. This report of Collector Onahan's is one\nof the most forcible arguments in favor of high license that it is\npossible to make, and deserves the earnest attention of all thoughtful\ncitizens.\n\n\nThe Corsicans are not contented with the glory of having given the world\none great man, Napoleon; they are now claiming--and according to the\n_Figaro_, have established their claim--no less a personage than\nChristopher Columbus. Abate Casanova had already endeavored to prove\nthat the Father of the New World was born at Calvi, in the northwest\ncorner of the island; and only last year a hot controversy raged on the\nsubject. The Corsicans believe they have carried their point, and Calvi\nintends to celebrate with unusual solemnity the fourth centenary of her\nillustrious son's first voyage (1492).\n\n\nTIGHT LACING.--The great naturalist, Cuvier, was walking one day with a\nyoung lady, who was a victim of tight lacing, in a public garden in\nParis. A lovely blossom upon an elegant plant drew from her an\nexpression of admiration. Looking at her pale, thin face, Cuvier said:\n\"You were like this flower once: to-morrow it will be as you are now.\"\nNext day he led her to the same spot and the beautiful flower was\ndying. She asked the cause. \"This plant,\" replied Cuvier, \"is an image\nof yourself. I will show you what is the matter with it.\" He pointed to\na cord bound tightly around the stem and said: \"You are fading away\nexactly in the same manner under the compression of your corsets, and\nyou are losing by degrees all your youthful charms, just because you\nhave not the courage to resist this dangerous fashion.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Christian Brothers have opened a school at Portland, Oregon. The\nBrothers are to take charge of St. Michael's College in that city.\nReverend Brother Aldrich of Mary, of Sacred Heart College, has been\nappointed Director; Rev. Brother Bertram, of St. Joseph's Academy,\nOakland, Sub-Director; and Rev. Brother Yvasian Michael, of Martinez,\nAssistant.\n\nThank God, the light of Christian education is spreading! The aggregate\nnumber of pupils under direction of the Brothers on the Pacific coast,\nincluding those at St. Mary's and the Sacred Heart colleges, and St.\nPeter's Day School, in San Francisco, St. Joseph's Academy and three\nparochial schools in Oakland, and the Sacramento Institute, at the\ncapital, is 1,965. The number at St. Michael's college will add nearly\ntwo hundred more to this phalanx of Catholic youth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nO'GLADSTONE.--_Philadelphia Press_: If the Grand Old Man keeps on his\npresent course a little while longer, we shall insist upon being\npermitted to call him Mr. O'Gladstone.\n\n\nFATHER TOM.--The mother of the late Fr. Burke did not spare the rod in\nthe management of her son. Mrs. Burke, before applying her cane, recited\na particular prayer, and it is perhaps venial to recur to it, at least\nonce, in writing the life of a man who himself in after life continually\nharped upon it. This collect--better known as \"Prevent, O Lord\"--entered\ninto some prayers which Dominicans repeat before Mass. Father Burke said\nat Tallaght, with his usual humor, that he never heard it recited\nwithout feeling a cold thrill between his shoulders. Mrs. Burke would\nkneel down and command Nicholas to repeat after her the words of this\ncollect.... He would even smile through his tears like a sunbeam in\nshowers, and while Mrs. Burke sonorously repeated, \"Prevent, O Lord, we\nbeseech Thee all our actions,\" he would pray in another sense, \"Prevent,\nO Lord;\" but as he often told his brother priests, \"it never did\nprevent,\" and the lash continued to fall.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nParliamentary Fund.\n\nA grand scheme was inaugurated at a recent meeting of the friends of\nIreland in Boston. It is to raise several hundred thousand dollars by a\npopular subscription of five dollars each. This amount will not distress\nany friend of the good cause, and it will enable Mr. Parnell to carry on\nthe work of the redemption of Ireland to final success. So far, the\nfives are pouring into the committee. Several hundreds have already been\nreceived. Mr. Donahoe will cheerfully hand in any subscriptions\nintrusted to him to the treasurer. The subscription is not confined to\nany part of the country, but friends of Ireland everywhere are asked to\ncontribute. Now is the time to strengthen the hands of Parnell and his\npatriotic band of lieutenants.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE JUBILEE FAST.--On account of the difficulty in preparing food in\naccordance with the rules of the black fast prescribed by the Jubilee,\nthe Holy Father, by a decree of January 15th, 1886, empowers Ordinaries\nto dispense the faithful in the aforesaid fast, so that they may use\neggs and white meats, though bound to observe in all else the laws of\nfasting. When this dispensation is granted by the bishop of any diocese,\nthe use of flesh meat is forbidden; but butter, milk, eggs, cheese, may\nbe used on the days on which the fast is made to gain the indulgence of\nthe Jubilee.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWelsh Lying.\n\nAt Bangor County Court recently, the Judge, during the hearing of an\naction, said:--\"I must observe that there is hardly a single case heard\nin this court in which there is not deliberate perjury committed. Look\nat the last case--look at this frightful lying. I do not meet with such\na state of things out of Wales. Other people have said this thing\nbefore, but hitherto I have kept quiet. During my whole life I have\nheard nothing to approach what it is in this part of the world. There is\nnot a case heard in which people do not think it necessary to lie. It\nis most demoralizing. I do not think it is in human nature to stand many\nyears of it. I have had my turn of it. I appeal to every disinterested\nperson to give his opinion as to what the feature of the country is. I\ncan try in Cheshire ten cases while I try one here, because in Cheshire\nthey do not lie.\" It is worth while to remark that Wales is the most\ninveterately dissenting place in Great Britain, and the most difficult\nto convert. Evidently history must be rewritten bit by bit. We always\nthought it was only Papists and Irishmen who did not know there was any\nobligation to speak the truth.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe High License Bill, now pending in the New York Legislature, provides\na fee of $1,000 for distilled spirits in cities of 200,000 people or\nover, and a fee of $500 for beer.\n\n\nThe Total Population of Canada is 4,324,810. Of this 1,299,161 are\nFrench, 957,403 Irish, making together 2,256,564, and there are of\nEnglish, Scotch and Welsh, 1,592,604. The whole purely English\npopulation amounts to only about 882,894. Indians, Germans and other\nnationalities make up 475,000. It is thus seen that the Irish and French\ncombined are in a clear majority over all other races. They are apt to\nmaintain this lead. The Catholic population of Canada is 2,168,748, or a\nlittle more than a majority.\n\n\nSome one once spoke of Col. Burke as Father Tom's cousin. \"He is no\nrelation of mine,\" said the friar. \"My people had no military title\nbeyond corporal. My father was a well 'bread' man and had the civil\ntitle of 'master of the roll.'\"\n\n\nNO OLD MAIDS.--One never hears of \"an old maid\" in Mexico, and to remain\nforever unmarried entails upon the luckless spinster no such stigma of\nreproach as the epithet so common in our country; but if her lonely\ncondition is alluded to at all, they good-naturedly say of her that she\nis \"hard to please.\" The aged are universally treated with the greatest\nrespect and every mark of deference. It is considered more courteous to\naddress even elderly married ladies as Senorita (Miss) instead of Senora\n(Mrs.) and the lady of the house is always affectionately called by her\nservants _la nina_ (the little girl), though she may have attained the\nmature age of 80. Beggars upon the streets and venders in the market\nplaces address all ladies, young and old, as _ninas_--children; or, when\nparticularly importunate, by the more respectful and endearing term,\n_ninita_--dear little girl.\n\n\nTHE MAN FOR GALWAY.--Capt. William O'Shea, selected by Mr. Parnell as\nthe Home Rule candidate for Galway City, was triumphantly elected.\nO'Shea contested one of the Liverpool divisions as a Liberal at the\ngeneral election. He was supported by Gladstone and also by Parnell, but\nwas defeated by a majority of ninety. He has somewhat of a history. He\nis said to be a strikingly handsome man. When an army captain he married\none of the daughters of Lord Hatherly, a former Lord Chancellor of\nEngland. He made some indiscreet financial investments and lost his\nfortune, and lately has figured as promoter of colonial and insurance\ncompanies. It was he that negotiated the famous \"Kilmainham treaty\"\nbetween Parnell and Gladstone. He is a very useful man at this time, no\ndoubt. His usefulness will be enhanced by his having a seat in\nParliament. He will be the diplomat of the Irish party.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nActive Parnellites.\n\nThe Irish party will hold a meeting at the Cannon Street Hotel, London,\non St. Patrick's Day. Mr. Parnell will preside. The object of the\nmeeting will be to issue to England the ultimatum of the Irish\nconcerning Home Rule. As the date selected for this event precedes by\nbut five days the 22d of March, the date set by Mr. Gladstone for the\ncommencement of the government's work on Irish legislation, it is\nbelieved that the Nationalist leader means to force a crisis on the Home\nRule question. Mr. Parnell has also arranged to have his party hold\nfifty meetings throughout Ireland simultaneously with the one he will\npreside over. The ultimatum will also be announced at these meetings.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGen. W. T. McMahon, of New York City, will lecture in Tremont Temple on\nthe evening of St. Patrick's Day, for the benefit of Father Roche's\nWorking Boys' Home, now drawing to completion in Bennett Street.\n\n\nWHAT TWO JUDGES SAY.--Worth noting at the present moment are the\naddresses delivered by two County Court Judges, Judge Waters in\nWaterford, and Judge Darley in Wexford. In the latter place Judge Darley\ntold the Grand Jury that Wexford was the last of six towns he had\npresided in, and in every one of them the list of criminal cases was the\nlightest he ever remembered; while Judge Waters stated that for the\nentire county of Waterford there had been during the past six months\nonly seven criminal cases. He added:--I also administer the criminal law\nin Cavan and in Leitrim. In Cavan, which is more populous than\nWaterford, there was at the recent sessions only one case of rescue,\nwhich should not have been sent forward at all. In all Leitrim I had\nonly three cases, two of petty larceny, and the third a trivial assault\narising out of a dispute between two boys over a game. That was the\namount of crime I had to dispose of in these counties in three different\nprovinces representing a population of about three hundred and thirty\nthousand souls. On the face of the globe, I may safely say, I do not\nthink that there is any country that could show a record similar to that\nI have just laid before you, which is, as I have said, in every way a\nremarkable one.\n\n\nTHE KNIGHTS OF LABOR.--The Knights of Labor do themselves great credit\nin refusing to draw the color line in their organizations. The negroes\nin the employ of the Mallory Steamship Company, who were opposed by the\nTexas knights, might, it would seem, have become knights if they had\nwished. The only disqualifications for membership in the Knights of\nLabor are those laid down in article I, section 3 of their\nconstitution--a clause which is so interesting that we give it\nentire:--No person who either sells or makes a living, or any part of\nit, by the sale of intoxicating drink, either as manufacturer, dealer or\nagent, or through any member of his family, can be admitted to\nmembership in the order; and no lawyer, banker, professional gambler or\nstock broker can be admitted.\n\n\nA REBELLION INCIDENT.--During the Rebellion Major Burke of New Orleans\nwas in command of a detachment that captured a part of the Sixth\nMassachusetts Regiment. He treated the prisoners as kindly as the\ncircumstances would permit, and parted from many of them with\nexpressions of courtesy and regret. Years passed and he heard not a word\nfrom any of them. But at the time of the great flood, when the whole of\nSouthern Louisiana lay prostrate and helpless under the sweep of\nturbulent waters, Major Burke, as chairman of the Relief Committee,\nreceived one day a dispatch from Boston authorizing him to draw at sight\nfor $10,000. This was one of the earliest responses to the pitiful cry\nthat had gone up from a stricken community for help, and it touched and\nencouraged the Major and his associates. Two hours later came another\ndispatch from Boston authorizing the committee to draw for another\n$10,000, and in a few hours came a third dispatch donating another\n$10,000. With these dispatches, or in some way to connect the statement\nwith them, came the flash from Boston, \"The Sixth Massachusetts\nremembers the kindness of Major Burke.\"\n\n\nOUR COLORED BRETHREN.--Congressman O'Hara, of North Carolina, is a\nmember of the coterie of educated colored men in Washington; but\nsingularly enough he and his wife are Catholics and attend St.\nAugustine's Church. Mrs. O'Hara is one of the loveliest ladies in\nWashington, and were it not for the slight trace of negro blood in her\nveins she would be a leader in white society. Like Mrs. Bruce, who is\nalso beautiful, she is a highly educated and accomplished woman, speaks\nFrench, plays Beethoven, paints pictures, and is up in art and\nliterature to a degree that would make some of her white sisters blush\nfor envy. Both Mrs. Bruce and Mrs. O'Hara are very nearly white, and it\nwould be difficult for a stranger to detect their relation to the\nAfrican race. Mrs. O'Hara has a white governess for her children, and\nintends that they shall be as accomplished as herself. These people have\ntheir own society, give balls, dinner parties, receptions and other\nentertainments.\n\n\nPARLIAMENTARY FUND.--At the meeting of the Irish Parliamentary\nAssociation at the Hoffman House, New York, Banker Eugene Kelly stated\nthat the fund was in need of no more money at present. When the books\nare all in, it is expected that the fund will amount to about seventy\nthousand dollars. Mr. Kelly stated that while the association had all\nthe money it needed now, the time might come when its services would\nagain be required. The association, after winding up its present\naffairs, will not be dissolved, but will simply adjourn to meet at the\ncall of the chairman.\n\n\nTHE CENTENARY OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.--Corsica is preparing to\ncelebrate on a grand scale the fourth centenary of the death of\nChristopher Columbus. It was at Calvi, in Corsica, that the illustrious\nnavigator was born in 1441, as has been proved by the Abbe Cuzanova,\nafter considerable research. The Genoese governor at Calvi, he says,\nstruck with the precocious intellect of the child, sent him to Genoa. At\nfourteen, he evinced a decided taste for a sea-faring life. He was\naccordingly sent to the University of Pavia, where he learned geography,\ncosmography, geometry, astronomy, and the nautical sciences. In 1470, we\nfind him at Lisbon; in 1477 in Iceland; five years later he embarked at\nPalos, on the celebrated voyage which ended in the discovery of America.\nThe great navigator, we are told, spoke of Corsica, which he called his\nnative island, in the narratives of his adventures at sea, and to which\nhe made some touching allusions.\n\n\nCATHOLIC UNIVERSITY.--Two-thirds of the money necessary to start the\nCatholic University has already been raised.\n\n\nSOCIALISM.--Mr. Hyndman, the guiding spirit of the Social Democratic\nFederation, has hitherto had a considerable amount of public attention\npaid to the theories he has advanced. No matter how jejune and\nimpracticable his views might have been when closely examined, he has\nendeavored to explain them with some show of reason, and accordingly\ninfluential politicians have treated him as a man who might be led by\nthe force of logic to abandon Utopian schemes. Mr. Hyndman, so far from\nbeing convinced that he has been treading a dangerous path, has taken a\nfurther stride in the direction to which it tends. Within the course of\nsome days past two meetings of the unemployed, largely promoted by the\nSocial Democratic Federation, have been held in London, and at each the\ndoctrine of force was freely spoken of as the only remedy for the\npoverty-stricken. Mr. Hyndman, at the first gathering, gave the keynote\nto his associates and followers. \"All we see,\" said he, \"is the\nemployer and the employed, the wealthy and the destitute, the robber and\nthe robbed.\" He openly proclaimed himself the advocate of a revolution,\nfor which he urged the unemployed to prepare quickly.\n\n\nThe bishops of Australia have petitioned the Holy See to declare St.\nPatrick's Day a holyday of obligation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Orangemen in 1798.\n\nThe Orangemen were now on hand to follow up the vanquished, whom they\nvaliantly slaughtered without mercy--this being always their well chosen\navocation in war, for the grim fraternity were never soldiers to fight\non equal terms. A regiment of them raised from Bandon Orangemen, and\nknown as the North Cork, became notorious for the ingenious tortures\nthey inflicted on those who fell into their hands. This regiment was in\nCastlebar when the few Frenchmen that landed under Gen. Humbert advanced\non that town. There were six thousand British troops in Castlebar at the\ntime, including the North Cork, when, according to the historian\nPlowden, Humbert attacked it with nine hundred Frenchmen and fifteen\nhundred of the Mayo peasantry, making twenty-four hundred in all; and\nthese, it is an historic fact, drove the six thousand out of the town\nlike so many sheep. The North Cork, true to their fighting qualities,\ngallantly ran away, never halting till they reached Tuam, forty miles\nfrom the scene of action, and yet, for further safety, started for\nAthlone. This incident is still remembered as the \"Castlebar races.\"\nThese runaways were part of the army that Gen. Abercrombie declared\n\"dangerous to everybody but an armed foe;\" and well they proved the\ntruth of this saying.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPRESIDENT EGAN.--At the National Convention of the Irish National League\nof America, in Boston, a resolution was unanimously passed directing\nthat a sum of $3,000 shall be annually appropriated out of the funds of\nthe League to indemnify the President of the League for his time and\nservices in the interest of the cause. Mr. Egan, when elected President,\ninformed the committee of his intention not to accept any compensation\nfor his services; but notwithstanding this the National Executive\nCommittee of the League, at their recent meeting in Chicago, insisted\non voting the $3,000 due under the resolution up to August last, and\ndirected the Treasurer to remit the same to the President. The check for\nthe amount reached Mr. Egan on the 12th inst., and he at once indorsed\nit back to Rev. Dr. O'Reilly, the Treasurer, as his personal\ncontribution to the League funds.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nParnell and Healy.\n\n_Milwaukee Catholic Citizen_:--The English press for some time has been\nholding up T. M. Healy as a rival to Parnell. The English are quick to\nsow seeds of dissension and to hammer in wedges of discord wherever\nthere is opportunity. This was done in Davitt's case, but it availed\nnothing. The Irish ranks remained unbroken.\n\nThe Galway episode, where Messrs. Healy and Biggar, with the support of\na dozen Irish members, sought to defeat Capt. O'Shea, Parnell's nominee\nfor a vacant seat, indicates that the English scent for _divida et\nimpera_ has been keen. The episode ended happily by the withdrawal of\nMr. Lynch, the contra-Parnell candidate, but it leaves an unpleasant\nimpression.\n\nThe \"old guard\" are with Parnell, Biggar alone (and strangely) excepted.\nHealy seems to have regretted his course when across the Rubicon. So far\nas leadership goes, he merely furnished an occasion for Parnell to\ndemonstrate his superior qualities of management in a brilliant manner.\nHealy is too serviceable a man to lose from the Irish ranks, yet his\nretention at the price of disunion is not to be contemplated.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGreat Temperance Gathering.\n\nThere was a great demonstration of the Catholic Total Abstinence\nSocieties of Suffolk County (Boston) at Tremont Temple, on the evening\nof January 15, to hear the Rev. Joseph B. Cotter, of Minnesota, who has\nbeen appointed Union lecturer by the Catholic Total Abstinence Union of\nAmerica. Mr. P. J. Guerin presented as the presiding officer of the\nevening the Rev. E. V. Boursaud, S. J., President of Boston College, who\ncongratulated the societies represented upon the large numbers present\nand the brilliant outlook for the temperance cause as thus indicated. He\nspoke of the vice of intemperance as one to kill both body and soul. The\ntemperance cause was one of the highest that commanded the attention\nand interest of men.\n\nFather Cotter received an ovation of applause. He delivered an eloquent\naddress on temperance, and said that the great apostle of temperance in\nAmerica, Bishop Ireland, of St. Paul, was likely soon to speak in\nBoston. The lecture was able and argumentative as well as pathetic, and\nstrongly patriotic. At the conclusion the pledge was given to a great\nnumber of people.\n\nFather Cotter is in excellent health and may well be styled the Apostle\nof Temperance in America. Since September last Rev. J. B. Cotter has\nadministered the pledge to nine thousand persons. Bishop Ireland was\nrecently asked, \"What was the Pope's action on the temperance decrees of\nthe Plenary Council?\"--\"They were indorsed entirely,\" replied the\nbishop. \"The Church from this time places itself on the highest ground\non the temperance question. The council took an extremely strong stand\non the closing of saloons on Sunday, indirectly putting the ban on the\nwhole liquor traffic by stating, in these words, that 'Catholics engaged\nin it should seek a more honorable mode of gaining a livelihood.' It\ncondemned selling liquor to minors and habitual drunkards, and proclaims\nagainst blasphemy and improper language in saloons. It forbids the sale\nof liquor, beer, and wine in any connection with the interests of the\nChurch. It solemnly approves of total abstinence societies, and requests\npastors to encourage them.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPAULISTS IN SOUTH AMERICA.--Rev. Edmund Hill, now associated with the\nRev. Father Fidelis (Dr. Kent Stone) in the Passionist monastery at\nBuenos Ayres, had the happiness of seeing his brother, Percival G. Hill,\nreceived into the Church in that city. Father Hill was formerly a member\nof the Paulist community in New York city. Recently the Passionists\nFathers opened their new monastery in Calle Cariaod, Buenos Ayres. They\nhave now in South America a retreat which will stand comparison with the\nhouses of their North American province, and is worthy to be numbered\nwith those they possess in Italy, France, Spain, Belgium, England and\nIreland.\n\n\nRev. James Keegan, of St. Louis, Mo., in a late article in the _Western\nWatchman_, says of the peasant dwellers among the hills of Connaught:\n\"They have a higher civilization than perhaps any Teutonic people can\never attain. Yet they live in mud-wall, clay floor cabins, and many of\nthem even out of doors--being evicted. How is their civilization higher?\nThey live continually in the presence of God, realizing this fact as no\nother people do; so they enjoy the best of company; they act up to the\nspirit of Catholicity better than any other people, and so have the best\ncode of manners in the world; they are a most polite and chivalrous\npeople, never offending strangers by word or deed, if the strangers\nbehave properly. They have a most beautiful and refined national music\nand poetry, which all know and thoroughly appreciate; they are all\npoets, inasmuch as they perceive and enjoy the poetry of nature as no\nother people but the old Athenians ever did.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMothers and Daughters.\n\nThe _London Tablet_ has a lengthy review of Most Rev. Archbishop\nO'Brien's book, \"After Weary Hours,\" from which we make the following\nextract: After describing St. Agnes, and her short but brilliant career,\nhe sets her before us as a model worthy of our imitation, though he\nexpresses some doubt as to whether her example will be likely to excite\nmuch emulation among young ladies of these days. Among modern young\nladies whose sense of womanly delicacy is not startled by being\nfrequently, and for long hours, alone with \"that most useless and\nuninteresting of the human species, a moon-struck lover.... Young ladies\nwho have had day dreams of matrimony while yet in short clothes.\" While\non this topic we may as well give the reader the benefit of the\nfollowing remarks, which the Archbishop makes a little further on, and\nwhich, we regret to say, are almost as applicable in England as in\nAmerica. \"How many young Catholic girls and boys hang entranced over a\nfilthy tale--love tale. They experience no sense of shame in reading\nvile books, or in flaunting in a ball-room where youthful charms are as\nreally prostituted as in any den of iniquity, and where even aged women\nexpose their scraggy necks and freckled shoulders to the unspeakable\ndisgust of all right-thinking men.... It is true that custom may excuse\ncertain modes of dress not openly immodest; but no custom can excuse\ncertain ball-room toilets; and no girl ever appeared for the first time\nin one of these diabolically suggested dresses without experiencing a\nthrill of shame, and showing a conscious flush of outraged modesty.\" Let\nCatholic mothers take these words to heart, and when bringing out their\ndaughters or chaperoning them to balls and parties, let them show an\nexample more worthy of that Virgin Immaculate whom they profess to\nimitate then at present contains.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMgr. Healey, Bishop of Portland, Me., was received in private audience\nby his Holiness the Pope, recently.\n\n\nPadre Protasi, S. J., is dead. His name is well known in Piedmont. When\nthe Jesuits were attacked in 1848, and in 1860, he was cast into prison.\nCavour sought him, and asked him to reveal the secrets of Jesuitism. He\nreplied that the \"Spiritual Exercises\" contained all their secrets. In\n1866 he was again arrested, and exiled to Elba. His end was tranquil,\nand amidst his brethren he passed away.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNew Carpet Warehouse.\n\nMessrs. Thomas O'Callaghan and Lucius Howard, both of whom were recently\nconnected with one of the largest carpet houses in the city, composing\nthe firm of Thomas O'Callaghan & Co., are showing a very fine line of\ncarpetings, rugs, mats, etc., at their store, 601 Washington Street.\nSince their opening day, the store has been visited by a large crowd of\nbuyers, attracted by the bargains offered and the novelty of their\ncarpet designs. In moquettes and draperies they are carrying a large\nline of entirely new patterns, designed expressly for them. Among the\nthings sought by the purchasers are a fine lot of Smyrna rugs, reduced\nfrom $5 and $6 to $2.90. Several hundred of these were sold on the\nopening day. Linoleum floor matting, manufactured from cork shavings and\nother materials, and destined to be widely used when its merits become\nmore generally known, is kept in stock. It is very soft, and comfortable\nfor the feet, but very durable. The firm also shows a large and\ndesirable line of oil cloths. It is proposed by Mr. O'Callaghan to\nextend his quarters to the store adjoining, now occupied by a crockery\nfirm, as soon as their lease expires, thus making very large and\nconvenient warerooms. Give the new firm an early call.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPope Leo XIII. celebrated the seventy-sixth anniversary of his birthday\nand the eighth of his coronation on the 2d of March, by an address to\nthe members of the Sacred Congregation.\n\n\nThe late Dr. Hyndman left behind him the best mixture for coughs, colds,\nand consumption, to be had in the country. Dr. P. Morris is the only\nsure manufacturer of the article in this city. All others are spurious.\nThe doctor can be found opposite the Cathedral of the Holy Cross.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGen. Hancock and the Irish Brigade.\n\nIn our next issue we will give an article on the late Gen. Hancock and\nhis relations with the Irish Brigade.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nRIEL.--In his annual report on Indian affairs, Sir John Macdonald\nasserts that the recent uprising in the Northwest was due to specious\ninducements held out to the Indians by Riel, and argues that the\nhalf-breed leader was responsible for the whole trouble. The\nexpenditures in the field and for transport services were nearly\n$4,000,000.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMontgomery Light Guard Veteran Association.\n\nThis spirited organization celebrated its twenty-first anniversary on\nthe 25th of February, at the Quincy House. It was one of the most\nenjoyable banquets that we have attended for a long time. Capt. Thomas\nF. Doherty presided, and performed the duties of the chair to the\nsatisfaction of all. The association numbers one hundred and fifty of as\nfine fellows as ever handled a knife and fork. Speeches, songs, etc.,\noccupied the attention of the evening to a late hour. A uniform is being\nprepared for the members, and we may expect a parade of this Veteran\nAssociation the coming season.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nRETURNS TO HIS FIRST LOVE.--The good tidings have been received of the\nreturn to the faith of Professor Benedict Pollio, of Naples, who, for\nthe past thirteen years, has been one of the pillars of the Italian\nEvangelical Methodist sect, and has become notorious as the author of a\nblasphemous pamphlet against our Blessed Lady. He now publicly abjures\nand retracts his errors and writings, and humbly craves re-admission\ninto the Church.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMUSIC.\n\n     _From White, Smith & Co._\n\n_Vocal_: \"Peasant's Wooing,\" Song, by Koschat. \"Love's Dream is Past,\"\nDuet, words by F. N. Scott, melody by Ascher. \"Only a Face in the\nMoonlight,\" by Chas. H. Gabriel. \"Moonlight on the Rhine,\" Duettino,\nwords by Eleanor Darby, music by W. Newland. \"No Home Like a Mother's,\"\nby Jno. F. Leonard. \"Evening Bells,\" trio for female voices by Gabriel.\n\"How Long Wilt Thou Forget Me, O Lord,\" Quartette and Chorus by Carl\nPflueger. \"Consider the Lilies,\" Solo and Chorus, by W. A. Springer.\n\n_Instrumental_: \"Sleep, my Angel,\" Nocturne by Wachtmann. \"Sang Froid,\"\nby Beaumont. \"Romance,\" for pianoforte by Helen Hopekirk. \"Angelo\nWaltzes,\" by A. Czibulka. \"La Bella Amazone,\" by Lolschorn. \"Movement a\nla Pavane,\" by Calixa Lavallee. \"Gavotte in G. Minor,\" by Bach. No. 1,\n\"Valse de Salon,\" by Calixa Lavallee. \"Whitsuntide in Florence,\"\nPotpourri by C. D. Blake. \"Valse Brilliante,\" by Lysberg. \"Mandolin et\nCastagnettes,\" \"Valse Mexicaine,\" by L. Meyer. \"Hearts First Love,\" by\nEilenberge. \"Nightfall in the Forest,\" Fantasia de Concert, by A. W.\nHolt. \"Chole,\" Danse Africaine, by Geo. C. Dobson. \"Mystere,\" for piano,\nby Byron C. Tapley. \"Alpine Horn,\" Transcription by H. Schirmer.\n\"Whitsuntide in Florence,\" by A. Czibulka. Piano score of opera.\n\n     _R. A. Saalfield, 12 Bible House, N. Y._\n\n\"Little Ah Sid,\" Chinese song and dance, by J. P. Skelly. \"Mikado\nWaltz,\" by Bucalossi. \"Mary, Darling, Must you Leave Me,\" words by J. B.\nFerguson, music by H. P. Danks.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nArchbishop Gibbons of Baltimore was in Washington lately, and went over\nthe grounds that have been selected as the site of the National Catholic\nUniversity, which the recent Plenary Council decided to establish. It is\nstill uncertain when the work on the building will be begun; but there\nis a general understanding as to some of the persons who will compose\nthe faculty. It is practically settled that Bishop Spalding, of Peoria,\nIll., will be the rector, and it was long ago decided that Dr. Chapelle,\npastor of St. Matthew's Church in that city, should be professor of\nhistory.\n\n\n\n\nPERSONAL.\n\n\nThe Marquis of Ripon and Mr. Russell, Q. C., are the first Catholics who\nhave held the posts of First Lord of the Admiralty and of\nAttorney-General.\n\n\nCharles Russell, Esq., Attorney-General for Ireland, is the brother of\nthe Rev. Mathew Russell, S. J., editor of that excellent and popular\nmagazine, the _Irish Monthly_, and is married to a sister of Rosa\nMulholland, the gifted Irish poet and novelist.\n\n\nRight Rev. Thomas A. Becker, Bishop of the diocese of Wilmington, Del.,\nhas been transferred to the vacant See of Savannah, Ga. Bishop Becker\nwas consecrated on August 16, 1868, having previously taught in the\nCollege of Mount St. Mary's, at Emmittsburg, Md. He is distinguished for\nhis skill as a linguist, being a master of more than half the modern\nlanguages of Europe. He is about 50 years of age.\n\n\nPresident Cleveland has expressed himself emphatically in favor of the\nenforcement of the eight-hour law in the government departments. He is\nreported to have said, with reference to the subject, that it ill became\na government to evade the spirit and the letter of its own enactments.\n\n\nThe Right Rev. Stephen V. Ryan, Bishop of Buffalo, has gone on a health\nvisit to Florida. There is not, probably, in the whole United States, a\nmore beloved bishop, than this modest, hard working and most\nheavenly-minded spiritual father. Despite the heavy cares of an\nextensive diocese, Bishop Ryan has found time to make some valuable\ncontributions to doctrinal and ascetic literature. His great work, \"The\nApostolic Succession,\" which has gone through several editions, is a\nstandard authority on that important question. Bishop Ryan is a\nPennsylvanian (Canadian by birth), of direct Irish descent; of a family\nwhose very name is a synonym of piety and patriotism. Before he was made\nbishop, he was a prominent member of the Congregation of the\nVincentians, better known in America as the Lazarist Fathers.\n\n\nThe Venerable Rector of the Irish College at Rome, celebrated, on New\nYear's Day, his 86th birthday. High Mass was pontificated in the Church\nof St. Agatha, attached to the college, by the Archbishop of\nCincinnati, U. S. A., after which Bishop Kirby entertained at dinner\nCardinal Howard, the Archbishop of Cincinnati, the Bishops of Galloway,\nArgyll and the Isles, and Davenport, U. S. A., Mgr. Stonor, Abbot Smith,\nO. S. B., the Rectors of the Foreign Colleges, the Priors of the\nNational Institutes, the Very Rev. Father Lockhart, Mgr. O'Bryen, and\nseveral other dignitaries. The Holy Father sent his congratulations and\napostolic benediction, in honor of this anniversary of his old and\nhighly valued friend.\n\n\nThe veteran leader of the Centre Party in Germany, Dr. Windthorst, has\ncompleted his seventy-fourth year. Like so many aged Ministers and\nleaders of political parties, the \"little excellency\" is as full of\nenergy and strength as the youngest of his followers. We heartily join\nour fellow Catholics in Germany in wishing their distinguished chief\nmany years of health and strength in which to continue to labor for the\ngood cause.\n\n\nThe Rev. Dr. Ullathorne, Lord Bishop of Birmingham, England, will enter\nhis eightieth year on the 7th of May next, and we find it suggested in a\nSydney contemporary that his work as a pioneer Australian priest should\nbe commemorated on that occasion by a presentation from the Catholics of\nAustralia. In an address his Eminence Cardinal Moran describes his\nLordship as \"the living link of the present with the past.\"\n\n\nThe Rev. James Keegan, of St. Louis, Mo., is a contributor of graceful\npoems and interesting prose sketches to DONAHOE'S MAGAZINE, _The\nCurrent_ and other publications. He is also an enthusiast in the\nmovement for the study of the Irish language, and is well versed in the\nancient literature of Ireland. At a late meeting of the council of the\nGaelic Union, in Dublin, Mr. John Fleming, editor of the _Gaelic\nJournal_, presiding, a letter from Father Keegan was read, in which he\nremitted $5, and promised to contribute the same sum monthly, and\nchallenged all Irish clergymen, lawyers and other professional men, who\ntake any interest in their native country, to contribute towards the\njournal fund initiated by him.\n\n\n\n\nNOTICES OF RECENT PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n     _Thomas B. Noonan & Co., Boston._\n\n     CATHOLIC DIRECTORY FOR THE ARCHDIOCESE OF BOSTON, AND THE\n     ORDER OF THE FORTY HOURS DEVOTION, A. D. 1886.\n\nThis little book gives the churches, churches building, chapels and\nstations, secular and regular priests, students in philosophy and\ntheology, seminaries, colleges, etc. The number of scholars in Catholic\nschools is stated to be 20,000. The population is put down at 350,000.\n\n\n     _P. O'Shea, New York._\n\n     TALES OF TRUTH AND TRUST. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton. Price,\n     75 cents.\n\n     ROSEMARY: A TALE OF THE FIRE IN LONDON. By Lady Georgiana\n     Fullerton. Price 75 cents.\n\nEverything from the pen of Lady Fullerton is sure to find readers. Those\nwho have not read these books should furnish their libraries with copies\nof them.\n\n\n     _Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame, Ia._,\n\n     THE LEPERS OF MOLOKAI. By Charles Warren Stoddard. Price, 10\n     cents.\n\nThose who wish to read the history of the poor creatures afflicted with\nthe dread disease of leprosy should get this book. The author\ngraphically describes the terrible scenes as enacted in this\nlazor-house. It is sad and yet not sad to state that the Rev. Father\nDamien, the self-sacrificing priest, who, for more than twelve years\npast, has ministered to the unfortunate lepers in the solitary island of\nMolokai--their pastor, companion, and friend--has at last fallen a\nvictim to the most dreadful of all scourges. A death awaits him as\nfearful to contemplate as that which every day confronts those stricken\noutcasts of the Kingdom of Hawaii. He fears it not, but there is a touch\nof pathos in the request with which he closes a letter announcing his\nfate: \"Pray for your afflicted friend, and recommend him and his unhappy\nflock to all servants of our Lord.\"\n\n\nAll of the above books may be obtained of Messrs. Noonan & Co., as well\nas of the publishers.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS.\n\nPOPE LEO XIII. TO THE REV. DR. MORIARTY.--The following letter from\nRome, written by order of the Holy Father, Pope Leo XII., has been\nreceived by the Rev. Dr. J. J. Moriarty, pastor of St. John the\nEvangelist's church of Syracuse, N. Y.:\n\n                                         ROME, Feb. 7, 1886.\n    _Dear and Reverend Father_:\n\nI had a long audience with the Holy Father last evening. He was\ndelighted to hear of your zeal and your works. He accepted with the\ngreatest benevolence your latest work, \"The Keys of the Kingdom,\"\nseveral pages of which I translated for him, while he held in his hands\nyour beautiful presentation copy. You may imagine the good impression it\nmade upon him. Whilst admiring your beautiful book, he charged me to\ntell you how highly he appreciates your gift and that he blesses, with\nthe most ample benediction, you, your flock, your societies and your\nworks, encouraging you to continue your labors so useful to the church.\nYou may publish this benediction with the words as related.\n\n                    Yours most affectionately,\n\n                          GRASSELI, _Archbishop of Golossi_.\n\n     To the Rev. J. J. Moriarty, doctor of laws and pastor of St.\n     John the Evangelist's church, Syracuse, N. Y.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nVIENT DE PARAITRE.--Approuve par Mgr. l'eveque de Rochester et Mgr.\nl'archeveque de Baltimore, et publie avec l'Imprimatur de Mgr.\nl'archeveque de New York. Un Catechisme de doctrine Chretienne. Prepare\net ordonne par le Troisieme Concile Generale de Baltimore. Traduit et'\npublie par l'autorite ecclesiastique. Par 100, $3.00. Un Abrege du\nCatechisme de Doctrine Chretienne. Prepare et ordonne par le Troisieme\nConcile Generale de Baltimore. Par 100, $2.00. Benziger Brothers, New\nYork, Cincinnati and St. Louis.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nROBERT EMMET.--The 108th anniversary of the birth of Robert Emmet was\nappropriately observed in various parts of the country. In Boston and\nvicinity meetings were held in commemoration of the event. In Faneuil\nHall, Mayor O'Brien presided at a very enthusiastic gathering.\n\n\n\n\nOBITUARY.\n\n\"After life's fitful fever they sleep well.\"\n\n\nCARDINAL.\n\nTHE LATE CARDINAL M'CABE.--The first anniversary of the interment of his\neminence Cardinal M'Cabe (who died in Dublin on the 11th of February,\n1885), an Office and Pontifical High Mass were solemnized for the repose\nof the soul of the deceased Prince of the Church at the Cathedral,\nMarlborough Street. The Most Rev. Dr. Walsh, Archbishop of Dublin, a\nlarge number of other dignitaries, and over two hundred priests,\nassisted at the solemnities.\n\nA cablegram from Rome, date of the 2d, announces the death that day of\nCardinal Jacobini. The deceased dignitary was born April 25, 1825, and\nwas created cardinal Nov. 10, 1884. He should not be confounded with\nCardinal Luigi Jacobini, papal secretary of state.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nBISHOP.\n\nRt. Rev. Peter Joseph Baltes, second Bishop of Alton, Ill., died on\nMonday morning, February 15th. The deceased prelate had been ill for\nsome time from congestion and inflammation of the liver. Bishop Baltes\nwas born at Ensheim, Bavaria, April 7, 1827, came to the United States\nin 1833, was ordained, March 21, 1853, and consecrated, January 23,\n1870. May he rest in peace.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nPRIESTS.\n\nWe regret to announce the death of the Abbe Henri de Segrave, which took\nplace at Nemours, in France, on January 25th. Father de Segrave, who was\nthe last member of the branch of the old Irish family of the Segraves of\nCabra, near Dublin, was cure of Nemours and canon of Sens in the diocese\nof Meaux. His grandfather had emigrated to France during the last\ncentury, was naturalized in that country, and rose to the rank of\nColonel in the Guard of the unfortunate Louis XVI. The abbe was born at\nFontainbleau, but, though his mother was French, he was always very\nproud of his Irish descent. He was a devoted priest, and spent his life\nand fortune in the service of his ministry. The church at Nemours was\nbeautifully restored by him, and he repurchased the property belonging\nto it which had been confiscated during the revolution.\n\nRev. J. B. McNally, late Rector of Chattanooga, Tenn., died at his old\nhome in Ireland. He resigned his charge early last summer, and went to\nIreland to endeavor to recruit his health, but, alas! he was doomed\nnever to return to his first mission. He was a native of County\nLondonderry, and made his ecclesiastical studies in the Missionary\nCollege of All Hallows, Dublin, where he was ordained in 1876 for the\ndiocese of Nashville. On the death of the lamented Rev. P. Ragan, during\nthe yellow fever of 1878, Father McNally was appointed to succeed him.\nHe served in Chattanooga until his health failed, when, as it seems, he\nwent home to die. He was a well-read, genial, and very efficient priest,\nand acted as temporary Administrator of Nashville after Rt. Rev. Bp.\nFeehan's promotion to Chicago.\n\nRev. Father Tabaret, principal of the Ottawa University, Canada, died\nsuddenly Feb. 28, immediately after having said grace, while dining with\nthe faculty. He was one of the oldest theologians of the Church, and\nrecently received from the Pope the pallium and degree of doctor of\ndivinity.\n\nThe Rev. Joseph F. S. Gallagher, pastor of the Church of the Holy Name,\nCleveland, Ohio, and for twenty-one years one of the most prominent\npriests of that diocese, died of pneumonia at the age of forty-nine\nyears, on January 30.\n\nRev. Joseph Keller, S. J., assistant for the English-speaking Jesuits,\ndied at Fiesoli, Italy, on February 4th. Father Keller was a prelate of\ngreat talent and well known in the United States. He was formerly\nProvincial of the Jesuit Order for the Province of Maryland. He held the\nposition of Rector of the great Woodstock Seminary, where he displayed\nmarked talent. He also filled the position of Rector of the St. Louis\nUniversity, Mo., was sent to Rome as deputy at the election of the\nGeneral of the Order, which resulted in the unanimous choice of Very\nRev. Anthony Anderledy as General Superior of the Society of Jesus, with\nheadquarters at Fiesoli. Here Father Keller was elected to the\nresponsible position of Adjutant-General for the English-speaking\nProvinces.\n\nThe Rev. James B. Donegan, pastor of the Church of the Immaculate\nConception, Marlboro, Mass., died on February 26. Father Donegan was one\nof the best known priests in New England. He was born in County\nLongford, Ireland, about forty-eight years ago. He received his clerical\neducation at All Hallows' College, Dublin. He came to America some\ntwenty years ago, and had served as curate in Taunton, and in the\nCathedral and St. James Church, Boston. Deceased went to Marlboro in\nApril, 1876, and he had resided there ever since, having served on the\nBoard of School Committee for about nine years, filling this position at\nthe time of his death. Father Donegan was a zealous priest, and was\nbeloved by all who knew him. He was an ardent advocate of the cause of\nIreland. The funeral services were held on Monday, March 1, at his late\npastorate in Marlboro, and were attended by the archbishop, large\nnumbers of the Rev. clergy, and by a large congregation. The remains\nwere interred in the cemetery at Marlboro. May he rest in peace!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nBROTHERS.\n\nOn Tuesday, February 23d, there passed through Philadelphia, _en route_\nfor Montreal, Canada, the body of the Rev. Brother Stanislaus, who died\nat the Christian Brothers' Normal School, Ammendale, Md., on the 18th of\nFebruary. Although but thirty-three years of age, Brother Stanislaus had\nfilled into this small compass the deeds of a long life. Born in\nMontreal, he possessed the characteristic activity and intellectual\ngrasp of the Northern mind. Much mental labor shattered his never\noverstrong constitution. Brother Stanislaus was quite an adept in the\nfield of literature; as a teacher he had no compeer in Canada; he was,\nin addition to these, an expert geologist, having made a thorough study\nof the science while directing the scientific department of the\nBrothers' Academy, Quebec. He is a great loss to the Canadian Province,\nas he filled for the last three years the position of Inspector-General\nof the Schools.\n\nBenoit Robert, or Brother Facile, the founder of the Christian Brothers'\nschools in New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis, New Orleans, and\nother cities in this country, died in Marseilles on April 2, 1877. He\ndesired to be buried in the land in which he had labored so long and\nwell. After the lapse of nine years his desire is to be complied with.\nHis body will arrive on the next French steamer, and a permit for its\ntransfer to Amawalk, Westchester County, New York State, has been\nobtained. Brother Facile lacked but a fortnight of being seventy-seven\nyears of age when he died. He was born in Cublize, France, and became a\nBrother before he attained his majority. He came to America in 1848. He\nwas a friend and assistant of Archbishop Hughes.\n\nBrother John Augustine Grace, who died at the Christian Brothers'\nNovitiate, Marino, Clontarf, Ire., on January 25th, in his 86th year and\nthe sixty-third of his religious profession, was one of the foremost\neducators of the century. He entered the congregation of the Christian\nBrothers, founded in Ireland by his eminent countryman, Edmund Ignatius\nRice, at Waterford, in 1823. Thenceforth, throughout his long life, he\nfilled many important positions in the various Houses of the Brotherhood\nin Ireland and England, everywhere inculcating in the minds of his young\ncharges an unswerving devotion to the cause of Ireland and the Church.\nAmong his eminent friends may be named Daniel O'Connell, Father Mathew,\nG. Griffin, Lord O'Hagan, Dr. Murray, Dr. MacHale, the two Irish\nCardinals, as well as the most gifted of the patriotic spirits that gave\nour country so great a name from 1843 to 1848.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nSISTER.\n\nThe first member of the Community of the Sisters of the Holy Family of\nSan Francisco, Cal., has gone to her reward. Sister Mary Magdalen Javett\ndied at the Day Home on Hayes Street, on the 28th ult., of consumption,\nto which she had been a martyr for many months. The deceased Religious\nwas a native of Ireland, and came from a family notable for its\npractical Catholic faith. From her earliest years she was always deeply\ndevoted to her religious duties, and was among the first five novices\nreceived into the Order by Very Rev. J. Prendergast, its founder.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nLAY PEOPLE.\n\nWe regret to have to announce the death, at Sydney, New South Wales, of\nMr. William Dargan Gray, M. D., brother of Mr. E. Dwyer Gray, M. P.\n\nWe regret to announce the death of Mr. Hubert Sarsfield Burke, which\noccurred on Wednesday. Mr. Burke was a frequent contributor to the\n_Dublin Review_ and _Catholic World_, and is well known as the author of\n\"The Women of the Reformation\" and \"Historical portraits of the Tudor\nDynasty,\" works which brought him more honor than profit, as readers of\nFather Bannin's recent letters in our columns are aware. At the time of\nhis death he was engaged in sketching the lives of the Irish viceroys,\nwith the view of showing the inutility of that high post.\n\nJohn B. Johnston, the animal painter of this city, died at his home, in\nDorchester, on Sunday, February 14, of pneumonia, after a short illness.\nHe was a little over forty years of age, and belonged to a family of\nartists, his father, D. C. Johnston, having been a famous caricaturist\nin his day, his brother Thomas a very talented figure painter, and his\nsister, Miss S. J. F. Johnston, who survives him, is also an artist. His\ndeath causes a shock to the artistic fraternity of Boston such as has\nnot been experienced since George Fuller passed away, for he was a great\nfavorite among all who knew him. As an animal painter, Johnston was very\nstrong in color and characterization, and it would be difficult to find\nhis equal in this specialty among American artists. He produced but few\npictures, working slowly and with great care, most of his time during\nthe past few years having been devoted to teaching. He was a pupil of\nthe late William M. Hunt, and afterwards studied in Paris. He was of an\namiable and cheerful disposition, full of vigor and liveliness, and was\nalways exceedingly loyal to his friends and to his convictions. His\nfrank and hearty manner and blunt honesty were prominent traits in a\ncharacter which contained no guile. The funeral took place from the\nChurch of the Immaculate Conception. The members of the Paint and Clay\nClub, in which he always took a great interest, attended the funeral in\na body. No man could be more sincerely mourned by his associates in art\nthan \"Johnny\" Johnston, as his friends affectionately called him.\n\nAn Irishman, brilliant and useful in his day, Dr. R. R. Madden, has\npassed away from among us at the age of eighty-seven. Though best known\nin Ireland as the author of the \"Lives of the United Irishmen\" and the\n\"History of Irish Periodical Literature,\" Dr. Madden was author of many\nvaluable works of travel, etc., and that which some consider his best,\nthe \"Life and Martyrdom of Savonarola.\" Apart from his authorship, Dr.\nMadden led a busy and useful life, having spent some years as special\nmagistrate in Jamaica, and worked in concert with Wilberforce, Buxton\nand Clarkson, for the abolition of slavery. He also, later, held\nsuccessively the posts of Superintendent of Liberated Africans at\nHavana, under the British Colonial office, and of Acting Judge Advocate\nin the Mixed Commission Court, under the Foreign Office. In 1841 he was\nchosen by Lord John Russell a Commissioner of Inquiry on the Western\nCoast of Africa, and in 1847 was appointed to the Colonial Secretaryship\nof Western Australia. In a memoir of Dr. Madden's life and labors,\npublished in the _Dublin University Magazine_ for March, 1876, the\nauthor remarks: If Dr. Madden had never written a line, his services in\nconnection with the abolition of the slave trade would entitle him to\npublic gratitude. If in the fearless discharge of his duty Dr. Madden\nexcited the enmity of the slave interest, he also won golden opinions\nfrom those who were really the negro's friends. Not only abroad, but in\nhis own country, men of the very highest eminence were foremost in\nrecognizing his signal abilities and services. It is seldom that a man\nsucceeds in winning the unreserved approbation of such men as Lords\nGlenelg, Palmerston, Russell, Derby and Normanby, as well as eliciting\nadmiration of such members of his own profession as Gregory, Cooper,\nBrodie, Johnson, Crampton, Kirby and O'Reilly. But perhaps the most\nvaluable tribute came from the lips of Buxton and Clarkson, two of the\nfinest champions ever furnished by humanity to the oppressed colored\nrace. With these men, as also with William Wilberforce, must be linked\nthe name of our countrymen.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nObvious spelling and punctuation errors were repaired, but unusual\nspellings and grammatical uses were retained (vender, millionnaire, both\nindorse and endorse, academical, clock times using periods rather than\ncolons, etc.). Both prophecy and prophesy, snowdrops and snow-drop,\ntraveller and traveler, were used in this text.\n\nDouble quote marks within quote marks were standardized to single quote\nmarks. Hyphenations were standardized.\n\nBeginning P. 385, \"Notes on Current Topics\" through the end of the text,\nthe original placed minor (shorter) thought breaks between each separate\nentry, including single paragraph entries. Transcriber has retained only\nthe major thought breaks, and thought breaks indicating the beginning\nand end of multi-paragraph entries.\n\nP. 368, \"will be number of other deaths\" is faithful to the original.\n\nThe following changes from the original were made:\n\n    P. 315, \"McGuillicuddy\" to \"McGillicuddy.\"\n    P. 328, \"irreconciliable foe\" to \"irreconcilable foe.\"\n    P. 341, \"maccaroni\" to \"macaroni.\"\n    P. 343, \"lucid internal\" to \"lucid interval.\"\n    P. 391, \"Engene\" to \"Eugene.\"\n    P. 397, \"Hawii\" to \"Hawaii.\"\n    P. 397, first use of \"Troisieme\" was originally \"Troisieme.\"","title":"Donahoe's Magazine, Volume 15, No. 4, April, 1886","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":51893}