Chapter 3

"Every nation," it has been said, "makes most account of its own, and cares little for the heroes of other nations. Don John of Austria, as defender of Christendom, was the hero of all nations." He was the hero of "the battle of Lepanto which," as Alison remarks, "arrested forever the danger of Mahometan invasion in the south of Europe." As De Bonald adds, it was from that battle, that the decline of the Turkish power dates. "It cost the Turks more than the mere loss of ships and of men; they lost that moral force which is the mainstay of conquering nations."

It is not necessary in this sketch of the life of Don John, to enter into any details about the tedious negotiations which preceded the coalition of the naval forces of Spain, Venice, and the Pope. Suffice it to say, that repulsed from Malta by the heroism of the Knights of St. John, the Turks next turned their naval armaments against Cyprus, then held by the Venetians. Menaced in one of her most valuable possessions, the Republic of Venice, too long the half-hearted foe of the Turks, turned in her distress, for help to the Vatican and to the Escorial. St. Pius V. sat in the See of Peter. He turned no deaf ear to an appeal that seemed likely to bring about what the Roman Pontiffs had long desired--a new crusade against the Turks. Philip the Second, ever wary, ever dilatory, more able than the Pope to assist Venice, was less ready to do so. Spain would willingly have done what she could to destroy the Turkish power, but her monarch was not sorry to humble Venice, even to the profit of the infidel. So diplomatic delays and underhand intrigues delayed the relief of Cyprus, and the standard of the Sultan soon was hoisted over the walls of Famagusta--to remain there until replaced in our times--thanks to the wisdom of a great statesman--by the "meteor flag of England."

The terror caused by the fall of Cyprus, brought about after many negotiations, a league between the Republic, the Papacy, and the Spanish monarchy. A mighty naval armament was to be gathered together, and its commander was to be Don John of Austria. His success in subduing the Moriscoes naturally designated him, in spite of his extreme youth, for this high command. His operations, indeed, had been so far chiefly on land, but in the sixteenth century, a man might one day command a squadron of cavalry and on the next, a squadron of galleys. General and admiral were convertible terms. There was, indeed, some division of labor. Sailors navigated and soldiers fought the ship. And, as there is more resemblance between the row-galleys of Don John's epoch and the steam driven vessels of our times than there is between these and the ships which Nelson and Collingwood led to victory, perhaps we shall return to the old state of things and again send our soldiers to sea!

To return, however, to our hero, who has meanwhile subdued the Moriscoes and returned to Madrid before setting out to take command of the great fleet at Messina. One, however, there was who did not return with the Prince to Madrid, one who was no longer to be his "guide, philosopher, and friend." The faithful Quijada had been struck by a musket-ball in a fight at Seron, in which Don John himself, in rallying his troops, had a narrow escape. After a week of suffering, the brave knight expired in the arms of his foster-son, February 24, 1570. "We may piously trust," says the chronicler,[A] "that the soul of Don Luis rose up to heaven with the sweet incense which burned on the altars of St. Jerome at Caniles; for he spent his life, and finally lost it, in fighting like a valiant soldier of the faith."

Before relating the episodes of the great victory of Lepanto, it will not be inopportune to glance at one of the great evils, that of slavery, which the Turkish power entailed on so many thousands of Christians. Nowadays, thousands of travellers pass freely, to and fro, from the Straits of Gibraltar to the Suez Canal, and from one part of the Mediterranean to another. Our markets are supplied with fruits and vegetables from Algiers. Our Sovereign has no fears, except as to sanitary arrangements, when she sojourns on the northern shores of the Mediterranean. A cruise in an unarmed yacht on its waters is the pleasantest of pastimes. It is, therefore, hard for us to conceive what three centuries, nay, even three generations since, were the fears of those who dwelt along the coast of Southern France, of Spain, and of Italy, or, who, as pilgrims, merchants, or sailors navigated the blue waters of the inland sea. Every year, even after the battle of Lepanto, and still more before it, the corsairs of the northern coasts of Africa scoured the Mediterranean and carried into captivity hundreds of Christians, of all ages, nations, and of both sexes, from vessels they encountered or from villages along the shores of France, Italy, or Spain. Hence it is, that to this day, those shores are studded with the ruins of castles and forts, erected as defences against those corsairs. So great was, however, their boldness that even as late as the seventeenth century, Algerian pirates ventured as far as "the chops of the Channel."

When we read the annals of those religious orders devoted to the redemption of captives, we can more fully realize the terrible extent to which the Christian slave trade was carried by the infidels. As Englishmen, we do well to cherish the memory of Wilberforce. As Catholics we should not forget the religious men who risked all, slavery, disease, and death, to rescue Christians from the chains of slavery. Let us recall to mind a few facts about them. One single house of the Trinitarians, that of Toledo, during the first four centuries of its existence, ransomed one hundred and twenty-four thousand Christian slaves. The Order of Mercy, during a similar period, procured freedom for nearly five hundred thousand slaves. As to the number of slaves in captivity at one time, it may be mentioned that Charles the Fifth released thirty thousand by his expedition against Tunis, and about half as many were set free by the battle of Lepanto. It was estimated that in the Regency of Algiers, there was an average of thirty thousand slaves detained there. As late as 1767, in Algiers itself, there were two thousand Christians in chains. Of such slaves many were women, many mere boys and girls. And as late as 1816, Lord Exmouth, after the bombardment of Algiers, set many Christian slaves free. It is, as we said, hard to realize that in times almost within the memory of living men, Christians toiled in chains for the infidel, in the way some may have seen depicted by pictures in the Louvre. Similar pictures are kept in the old church of St. Giles, at Bruges, where a confraternity existed for the redemption of captives. This association is still represented in the parochial processions, by a group of children. Some are dressed as white-robed Trinitarians, leading those they have redeemed from slavery. Others are gorgeously attired as Turkish slave owners; others represent Turkish guards, leading Christian slaves, coarsely garbed and bound with chains. Happily Lepanto made such sights as these the processions of Bruges commemorate, of less frequent occurrence, until at length they have been relegated to pageantry, and the once powerful Turk is simply suffered to linger on European soil, because the jealousies of Christian nations will not allow of his expulsion.

Salamis, Actium, Lepanto and Trafalgar are the four greatest naval battles of history and of these Lepanto was perhaps the greatest. Salamis turned back the invasion of the East; Actium created the Roman empire; Trafalgar was the first heavy blow dealt against a despotism that threatened to strangle Europe. Lepanto, however, saved Europe from a worse fate--the domination of the Turk. The name of this great victory is derived from the picturesque town, with its mediæval defences still left, of Naupaktos which the modern Greek designates as Epokte, and the Italian as Lepanto. The engagement, however, was in reality fought at the entrance of the Gulf of Patras, ten leagues westward from the town.

The facts of the fight of the seventh of October--a Sunday--of the year 1571, are so well-known, that we need merely recall to the memory of our readers the leading features of the contest. Spain, Venice, Genoa, Malta, and the Papal States were represented there, but "the meteor flag of England" was not unfurled in sight of the Turkish, nor were the fleurs-de-lys to be seen on the standards that gaily floated from the mast-heads of the great Christian armada. England, alas! was in the clutches of a wretched woman, and France was on the eve of a St. Bartholomew's Massacre, and for all that France and England cared, at that time, Europe might have become Mahommedan.

Don John led the centre of the long line--three miles in length--of galleys, while on his right, Doria the great Genoese admiral, from whose masts waved the cross of St. George; and on the left, the brave Barbarigo, the Venetian, his flank protected by the coast commanded. Against the wind, the sun shooting its bright rays against the ships, the Turkish fleet, in half-moon formation, two hundred and fifty great galleys and many smaller craft, carrying one hundred and twenty thousand men, slowly advanced "in battle's magnificently stern array." The brave Ali Pacha led the van.

As the hostile fleets met, the two admirals exchanged shots. At noon, the Christians, among whom was one of the greatest soldiers and one of the ablest authors of that age--Farnese and Cervantes--knelt to receive absolution from their chaplains, and then rose up to fight. In many a quiet village away in the Appenines, or in the Sierras of more distant Spain, the Angelus was ringing, and many a heartfelt prayer was aiding the Christian cause, then a wild cry arose from the Moslem fleet and "from mouth to mouth" of the cannon the "volley'd thunder flew." The combat deepened and became hand to hand. The two admirals ships grappled together in a deadly struggle. Don John, foremost in the fray, was slightly wounded. At a third attempt, Ali Pacha's galley was boarded, captured, himself slain, and the Standard of the Cross replaced the Crescent. Victory! Victory! was the cry from one Christian ship to another. In less than four hours, the Turkish ships were scattered, sunk, or burning, until darkness and storm drove Don John to seek shelter in port, and hid the wreckage with which man had strewn the sea. The Christian loss was eight thousand, the Turkish four or five times greater. Don John hastened to console and comfort his wounded. Did he not, perchance, visit, on his bed of suffering, the immortal Cervantes? After the wounded, he turned to his prisoners, whom he treated with a generosity to which the sixteenth century was little accustomed.

One there was, let us not forget it, who not bodily present, had a lion's share in the victory. A second Moses, with uplifted hands, St. Pius V., had prayed God and Our Lady, to aid Don John's arms. "The night before the battle, and the day itself, aged as he was, and broken with disease, the Saint had passed in the Vatican in fasting and prayer. All through the Holy City the monasteries and the colleges were in prayer too. As the evening advanced, the Pontifical treasurer asked an audience of the Sovereign Pontiff on an important matter. Pius was in his bedroom, and began to converse with him; when suddenly he stopped the conversation, left him, threw open the window, and gazed up into heaven. Then closing it again, he looked gravely at his official, and said, "This is no time for business; go, return thanks to the Lord God. In this very hour our fleet has engaged the Turkish, and is victorious." As the treasurer went out, he saw him fall on his knees before the altar in thankfulness and joy."

The great writer, from whom we have taken the above account of St. Pius the Fifth's supernatural knowledge of the victory, remarks "that the victories gained over the Turks since are but the complements and the reverberations of the overthrow at Lepanto."

Here we may take leave of the hero of Lepanto, leaving him in the midst of his glory, receiving the thanks of Christendom, from the lips of a Saint--its Supreme Pontiff. We need not follow Don John of Austria on his expedition against Tunis--a barren conquest his too imaginative mind dreamed of converting into a great African empire. Nor need we follow him when he goes, disguised as a Moorish page, accompanied by a single cavalier, to undertake the bootless task of pacifying the revolted Netherlands. The incidents and intrigues of this task rather belong to the history of the Low Countries than to the story of our hero. In the midst of them, worn out by too ardent a spirit, or stricken by an epidemic, Don John expired, in his camp near Namur, at the early age of thirty-two, on October 1, 1578. The task of saving a part of the revolted provinces to the Spanish crown, he left to the strong arm and genius of his cousin Alexander Farnese.

Don John's desire was to be buried beside his father in Spain. His body, says Strada, was dismembered and secretly carried across France, onwards to Madrid, where it was, as it were, reconstructed and decked with armor to be shown to Philip, who might well weep at such ghastly display. The heart of the hero is kept, to this day, behind the high altar of the Cathedral of Namur.

Generous, high-spirited, courageous, he was a true knight-errant, the "last Crusader whom the annals of chivalry were to know; the man who had humbled the crescent as it had not been humbled since the days of the Tancreds, the Baldwins, the Plantagenets." Endowed with a brilliant imagination, he dreamed of founding an African empire, and it faded away as the mirage of some oasis amid the deserts of the dark continent. With his sword, he thought to free, some day, Mary Queen of Scots, from her prison, and to place her on the throne held by Elizabeth. But the object of his ravings died on the scaffold, while he himself passed away, leaving behind him little more for history to record than that he was the brilliant young soldier--the Hero of Lepanto.

W. C. R. in _Catholic Progress_.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Hita, "Guerras de Granada," quoted by Prescott, "Philip" II., III., 133.

The Church and Progress.

One of the favorite mottoes of revolutionists consists in the formula, "The Catholic Church is opposed to the progress of the age;" and the general tone of the day's literature, apt in adopting popular cries, criticises the Church as the arch-opponent of every effort of the human intellect. The foundation of this charge may be broadly rested on two counts, radically differing in their nature, and which I may be allowed to state thus: First, there is a large class nowadays, and this genus is always especially rampant and noisy, that uses the current shibboleths, "Civilization," "Liberty," "Equality," "Fraternity," etc., either with sinister designs beneath them, or, if dupes,--and it amounts to the same in the long run,--then without at all knowing what those words mean. With that large vision that usually characterizes her in matters even not of faith, and which makes her hated by political quacks and mad sciolists, the Church detects the real objects and aims of these innovators, and is not afraid of facing obloquy by condemning them in spite of their false banners. For this attitude we have no excuse to offer; we glory in it, and regard it as a sign of that innate divine energy and life imparted to her by the source of all life and power. The second count on which this charge is based may be found in the utterance of private Catholics, or in that of prelates and bodies, in the latter of whom is lodged a power that extorts obedience, it is true, and ought always to be treated with respect, but which can claim to act in no infallible manner, and which, in pronouncing on matters outside the domain of faith, must rest upon the suggestions of reason and external evidence alone. For instance, Catholics are often confronted with extracts from this or that author, or the pronouncements of this or that provincial council, and asked to say whether, after that, the Church may pretend not to be opposed to the natural aspirations of man? These objectors do not, or will not, see that the Church, by enlarging the domain of her teaching to cover all things with the mantle of infallibility, would most effectually crush the action of the human intellect, which was meant for use, not rust, which must be allowed something to act upon, and which in independent action is bound to rush into a variety of differences according to the bent of the individual mind. However, to answer thus merely opens up a multitude of questions, and launches one into a sea of chaos, across which he will have to sail without chart or compass. Accordingly, I usually answer that these various utterances of individuals and provincial bodies are not infallible; that the only utterance absolutely binding on the conscience of the Catholic is that of a general council with the Pope at its head, or that of the Pope speaking _ex cathedra_; and that all the other acts of men or bodies, high or low, are subject in their degrees to human infirmity, though we are to receive them with respect and judicious obedience, and that at most they are but temporary in time and limited in space.

No idea could be more extravagant or more unjust than that usually entertained by Protestants on our doctrine of the Pope's infallibility.

They imagine that a Catholic dares not utter a word upon any subject until the Pope has spoken. Or, if they advance beyond this, that he dares not say anything about religion except what comes direct from Rome. Or, if they can stretch their imagination to realize that the Pope speaks only after discussion, that we must look to have our every word snatched at, and a damper put upon us, before we have well begun. This last is the central objection of intelligent Protestants, who know well that it will never do to fly in the face of facts like their more ignorant neighbors. They have taken the trouble to examine the definition of the dogma; and it cannot be denied that to their minds it does bear this sense. Any one familiar with the minute despotism of those thousand little Protestant Popes, the reverend offspring of the "Reformation," would see at once what a charter such authority would put in the hands of a set of Chadbands only too eager to use it. Enlightened Protestants have begun to feel the burden of this one idea, dead-dragging officialism, and to kick against it. They are probably religious men, by which I mean men with devout minds, who earnestly feel the need of belief. They become inquirers, run through the sects nearest at hand, and finally come before the Church and gaze upon her. Written on her front they see "Infallibility." Here lies their stumbling-block. They begin to question. Arguments are exhausted on each side, and if they be deeply imbued with the knowledge that there is a God, with the consciousness thence following of their fallen nature, and with an ardent hope to re-unite themselves to God, they will admit, perhaps, the truth of the dogma, viewed in the abstract. But they will say, how will it work in practical affairs? Judging by their former experience, they will picture the Pope as a thousand Protestant preachers rolled into one, and invested with an authority undreamed of before, and using that authority to tyrannize over the least thoughts of men. What room, they will exclaim, will men have to advance in the arts and science, not to speak of development of doctrine, if this incubus is to rest upon them, and weigh them down, and terrify them into silence and inaction?

The best answer to this is doubtless an enlarged view of Catholic Christendom, from the earliest times down, for in that period the Pope did possess the prerogative of infallibility, though it has only recently been defined as a dogma. Here it must be recollected that I am not arguing; it would be mere presumption in me to attempt a scientific exposition altogether out of my power. Suffice it to say, that theologians have exhausted the inward reasonings upon it, and though I am not able to set them forth, I am at least convinced by them. Still the concrete world remains, and things are to be seen in them from historical and exterior aspects. It is this last which strikes the imagination most, and to all men a ready test. Minds have various ways of approaching the truth; and right reason has a way of arguing and apprehending simply impossible to men in bulk and to myself. For which I have thought it not unuseful to draw out my way of viewing the historical aspects of the Church in relation to the progress and freedom of man; and perhaps many will look at the subject from a similar standpoint.

Why I believe in God I cannot express in words. Only I know there is an inward monitor constantly reminding me of that fact, vividly impressing it on my imagination, and punishing me with the lash of remorse when I do wrong. I have never doubted when the matter was brought home to my mind. Still, there are periods when this intense conviction has been clean wiped out of me; else, how could I have sinned, as I know I have done, and feel this keen remorse? I do not see how men can sin with the full consciousness that a God of truth, purity, and justice is looking upon them with terrible eyes. This is the reason for my faith; conscience is the charter of my belief. Far be it from me to deny the arguments drawn by great intellects from the outward course of events, and which appeal, perhaps, to most minds, as evidence of a Creator and Sustainer of the universe. I can only say they do not touch me, nor cause the revivified life to relieve the winter of my desolation, and the leaves and buds of the new spring to bloom within me. For when I look forth into the world, all things--even my own wretched life--seem simply to give the lie to the great truth which possesses and fills my being. Consider the world in its length and breadth, its contradictory history, its blind evolution, the greatness and littleness of man, his random acquirements, aimless achievements, ruthless causes, the triumph of evil, the defeat of good, the depth and intensity and prevalence of sin, the all-degrading idolatries, the all-defiling corruptions, the monstrous superstitions, the dreary irreligion--is not the whole a picture dreadful to look upon, capricious as chance, rigid as fate, pale as malady, dark as doom? How shall we face this fact, witnessed to by innumerable men in all ages and times, as the natural lot of their kind? Much more so when suffering falls upon us, as it does inevitably on all, and forces upon us an attempt to solve the riddle of our chaotic existence?

There is only one way out of the difficulty. If there is a God, the source of all truth and goodness, how else can we account for this desperate condition of his highest creation, except we admit man's fallen condition? It is thus that the doctrine of original sin is as clear to me as is the existence of God.

But, now, supposing that God intended to interfere with this state of things, and to draw his prodigal children to Him again, would it not be expected that He would do so in a powerful, original, manifest, and continuous new creation set amid His old? So intensely is this felt, that atheists have drawn an argument from it against the Creator, and their feeling is expressed by Paine, when he says, that if there be a revelation from God, it ought to be written on the sun. So it should; so it is. So was it gloriously shining forth once, in a city set upon a hill, full of noon-day splendor, and visible to the eyes of all. Still is it there, discernible to the eye of faith; but clouds obscure the sun on occasions, and the miserable doings of the sixteenth century have hid its light to uncounted millions.

And, now, where shall I find that shining light, that overcoming power, which my reason tells me to expect? I quote the words of one who sought for many years and at last found:--

"This power, viewed in its fulness, is as tremendous as the giant evil which has called it forth. It claims, when brought into exercise in the legitimate manner, for otherwise, of course, it is but dormant, to have for itself a sure guidance into the very meaning of every portion of the Divine Message in detail, which was committed by our Lord to His Apostles. It claims to know its own limits, and to decide what it can determine absolutely and what it cannot. It claims, moreover, to have a hold upon statements not directly religious, so far as this, to determine whether they indirectly relate to religion, and, according to its own definitive judgment, to pronounce whether or not, in a particular case, they are consistent with revealed truth. It claims to decide magisterially, whether infallibly or not, that such and such statements are or are not prejudicial to the Apostolical _depositum_ of faith, in their spirit or in their consequences, and to allow them, or condemn and forbid them accordingly. It claims to impose silence at will on any matters, or controversies, of doctrine, which on its own _ipse dixit_ it pronounces to be dangerous, or inexpedient, or inopportune. It claims that whatever may be the judgment of Catholics upon such acts, these acts should be received by them with those outward marks of reverence, submission, and loyalty, which Englishmen, for instance, pay to the presence of their sovereign, without public criticism upon them, as being in their matter inexpedient, or in their manner violent or harsh. And lastly, it claims to have the right of inflicting spiritual punishment, of cutting off from the ordinary channels of divine life, and of simply excommunicating those who refuse to submit themselves to its formal declarations. Such is the infallibility lodged in the Catholic Church, viewed in the concrete, as clothed and surrounded by the appendages of its high sovereignty; it is, to repeat what I said above, a supereminent prodigious power sent upon earth to encounter and master a giant evil."[B]

Such is the weapon placed by divine power in the hands of the Church for her conflict with the world. And this being so, the inquiring Protestant, after realizing its tremendous nature and scope, will draw back perplexed, imagining that a weight like it would crush the human intellect. He does this only because he loses sight for the moment of the terrible power of the earth giant. The human intellect is no baby, weakening under every stroke; it is a tough, wild, elastic energy, struggling up in every direction, and is never more itself than when suffering beneath the blows of heaven. Moreover, its natural tendency is to explain away every dogma of religious truth, from the lowest to the highest. In that old pagan world this natural process is to be seen. Everywhere that human genius opened up a way for itself, and had a career, the last remnants of primeval truth were well-nigh banished. Look, too, at the educated intellect of the non-Catholic world to-day. Genius, talent, eloquence, and art, what are they in England, Germany and France, if we may not describe them as simply godless? Why is this?

Now turn your gaze on the Middle Ages, and observe the difference. It is scarcely necessary to say that in those times the Church was pre-eminent, not only having the spiritual power, but often also the secular. If she had wished it, she could have crushed out every form of inquiry, and firmly established herself as the one and only source of all truth. But she did not do it. Never since the world began were such daring inquiries set on foot, such subtile propositions offered, such a vast and varied display of the human intellect in all the departments of theology. The office she claimed was that of arbiter; and surely nothing was more reasonable. A man would work out some original view or deduction; he hoped it was true, but could not be certain; he would put it forth; it would be taken up by an opponent, come before some theological authority of minor note, pass on to some university, be adopted by it and opposed by some other; higher authorities would be appealed to, and at last the subject would appear before the Holy See. Then, perhaps, no decision would be made, or a dubious one, or minor details would be rectified, and so the whole matter sent back for a new discussion. Years and years would pass before anything like a final decision would be reached; and then, when every defect had been rubbed off, and every minute bearing of the matter evolved, the Church would either reject it, or adopt it, and stamp it with the seal of dogma. I say this is an epitome of doctrinal development in the Catholic Church. If there is any one thing more manifest in her ecclesiastical history than others, it is her extreme slowness and caution in final pronouncement, and the general wise treatment with which she has fostered the growth of mental development, so excellent in itself, so erratic in its courses, and so needful of her strong guiding hand.

Indeed, it has been used as a reproach against her that Rome has originated nothing. It is true. It was not her function. She was instituted as the guardian of the Apostolical _depositum_ of faith, over which, of course, her control was supreme; and her jurisdiction was to extend over all other subjects, because they necessarily touched this. But without citing other names, St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas stand forth as the formers of the western intellect. Men saintly in character they were, but they had no special relations to the central See, and were only fallible mortals like the rest of their fellows; yet, as I say, they are to be counted the very originators of modern Christian thought. Rome did nothing but stamp their teachings with the seal of her approval. So was it throughout. Her work has been to check and balance the erratic courses of the human mind, allowing it free play within certain limits, but firmly preventing its suicidal excesses. How tenderly has she dealt with schismatics; how forbearing has been her conduct in regard even to the worst heretics; patiently hearing all they had to say, allowing the force of their plea where it was possible, and only casting them out when they proved incorrigible.

Most Protestants suppose that whereas there are two religious principles at work in Christianity, private judgment, and authority, they have all the private judgment, while we are weighed down by an unmitigated authority. Nothing could be more false. This aspect of Christianity is complete without them; they represent simply a negation, and no positive force at all. Show me the doctrine that Protestantism has originated, and it will then deserve to be treated in a philosophical manner. It has had no innate life, nothing to develop from, and has simply withered down from the first, until now the advance guard of it has reached the shadowy ground of natural religion, and Mr. James Antony Froude, its special champion in its past acts, can write that it is dead. On the contrary, when I view the external aspect of Catholicism as a whole, I behold within it the active forces of life at work from the first. The human intellect is no passive instrument, merely being filled by the reception of faith, but a living organism, feeling a void in it for faith when it has it not, and eagerly receiving and digesting it when it comes. Forthwith it begins a process of development, explaining, proving, modifying, enlarging, in all the various ways that suit the multiplicity of man's nature. This process is observable in all times and places, as the inevitable outcome of civilization. Barbarous nations do not reason, but receive their religion as an outer cloak; as they stagnate in all things else, so also in their creeds. Witness the Turks. Intellectually, morally, religiously, they are the same as they were six hundred years ago; and unless overthrown from the outside, they will probably so remain to the end of time. No heresy has arisen amongst them; no progress in civilization is to be marked; no change even in decline; for power is relative, and the Moslem empire is weak now only in comparison with the vigorous young empires of the West. But the action of civilization is different. Under its influence States are in constant movement, changing from day to day. The change may be good in this detail, and bad in that; it may on the whole be for the good, or it may on the whole be for evil. But what I say is the distinct mark of civilization, as contrasted with barbarism, is emphatically and simply change; change, in the natural order, is its law. For the intellect is alive and vigorous, seizing on everything within its scope, shaping it by its individual bent, and, hemmed as it is by walls of sense, naturally rushing into error on every side. These are effects of private judgment, and they are not less to be seen in the whole Catholic world, from its beginning until, to-day, than anywhere else; but Catholics have had a safeguard against the rebellious and suicidal excesses of fallen reason, and this safeguard is the infallibility of the Church.

The meaning and scope of that infallibility has been given in words fitter than mine. Viewing the nature of things on the whole, and then taking it for granted that God has made a revelation, and intended it to be set up and maintained alongside of and within a civilization anxious to get rid of it, what more reasonable to be expected than that an infallible abiding authority should be His human instrument. It is a thing we should be led to expect if it did not exist; as is fully proved by Paine's saying about its being written on the sun. How convincingly, then, is the truth forced home on us, when we do learn that there is an institution that exactly fulfils our foregone conclusion!

So far as theory goes, the infallibility of the Church can be a burden to none; so far as actual facts go, it has not demonstrably, to my knowledge, acted as a damper on intellectual effort, but merely as the restrainer of its excesses.

I shall be quite candid in giving my views on this inexhaustible subject, merely letting them stand for what they are worth, and knowing full well that there are depths in it, as in all things else, not to be sounded by me. And I shall now go on to state what are the real difficulties and burdens to me, as to many other Catholics perhaps, in this doctrine of infallibility; always premising that ten thousand difficulties do not make one doubt. And here some may be inclined to say that, as touching the papal headship of it, the evil deeds of many Popes and their apparently immoral lives, do inevitably tend to throw discredit on it as being lodged in them. But let all that can be said be admitted; what then? Why, I answer, David was a man after God's own heart, and stood nearer to Him as being inspired than any Pope as being infallible; yet one of God's Prophets could say to him, "Thou art the man!" The lesson of which is not to judge men's inner lives entirely by outward facts, as the young and inexperienced are too apt to do. Our Blessed Lord foretold scandals to come in the very sanctuary of His dwelling, and we know the doom pronounced upon those by whom they come. And if we view the action of these individuals in relation to the Apostolical _depositum_, we can actually draw thence an argument awful as it is startling. These Popes, so frail as men, were yet wise as the Vicars of Christ; never have they dared lay hands on the faith committed to their care.

The difficulty lies in another direction. As has already been explained, the Church claims infallibility only in matters of faith; but a little reflection will show us that there are many things not coming directly under this head yet appertaining to it. In these latter she claims unquestioning outward obedience at least. Thus she has the right to determine when any scientific theory or other controversy bears upon matters of faith, or has a dangerous tendency to do so; also to check the usurpation of State, when they begin to reach in this direction; and in the exercise of this prerogative she is not guarded from error. I have already shown how slow, cautious and gentle, has been her dealing on the whole with controversies that do relate to faith; much more so has she been in the kindred but outer domain. Still, to our fallible reason, it may sometimes appear that she acts hastily and wrongly in forbidding certain things. She forbids at one epoch what she allows in another; tacitly withdrawing the former condemnation. This, I repeat, _is_ a difficulty, and, stated baldly thus, must often perplex even Catholics.

But let our opponents be as candid as I have been. Let them admit--what is no more than a fact--that this prerogative of the Church has been exercised very seldom; and that even on the most of these occasions, the Church has in the end proved to be in the right, and the supposed martyr in the wrong. Things are not to be judged simply in themselves, but a course of events prove them; and there is a season for all matters, and a season when they are not in order. This right or power is a necessity to every constituted body of whatever kind. A State, for instance, may wrongly condemn a man for some offence; but that is no argument against the State having the right of judging in such matters, even if it must incur the danger of wrong judgment once more. If this prerogative were taken from the Church, all outside the simple domain of faith would fall into a mere chaos. Now, let the man who holds that this would be as it should be, let him consistently carry out his doctrine into all the concerns of life, and a hideous chaos would be the result. Has not such been the result in religious matters outside the Catholic Church? And as chaos has resulted there from revolt against the constituted authority, so would it be in society at large, were the theory consistently carried out. To say that non-infallible exercise of authority should, on account of occasional error, be resisted and overthrown, is simply suicidal; and an objection founded on it is no more than an objection founded on the fact of evil in man's nature, of which it is a necessary part. And into this bottomless pit of doubt I for one do not purpose to fall.

Let the problem, then, be fully grasped. It is to secure sufficient liberty and a stable authority. Freedom in itself is a good; but such is man's fallen nature, that it cannot be enjoyed without a partial sacrifice of itself, which it yields up to authority. This becomes the domain of authority, and the two interact on each other. So much is clear; but conflicts arise, and the precise issue is, not exactly between the two, but as to where their boundaries meet. We Catholics believe that we hold the solution in our hands, and I shall now merely state how I look at it, admitting, of course, that I may be in incidental error.

The conflict is supposed to lie now between science and the Church. Well, stated simply I would say, let scientists become theologically founded, and let theologians become scientists. At first blush this may sound like a paradox; but it is not. If theologians would honestly strive to master scientific theories, there would be less danger of hasty action on their part. Many of them would not stand committed, as they do, to a condemnation of evolution, while on the other hand it was not their business to sanction it; and if scientists had not allowed themselves to become narrow-minded in their studies, they would not have similarly placed themselves in a false position by trying to make their legitimate discoveries bear upon matters not within their range. The point is, that a Catholic, whether scientist or theologian, should not allow himself to be alarmed by the rash utterances of individuals; but, conscious of a right purpose and true faith, pursue his track to the end, knowing that natural truth cannot clash with supernatural; if at times it appears so, then he knows that this is only temporary, and that in the end difficulties will clear away. Charity on each side will go a long way. However, I think the Church has forborne remarkably in these matters, not committing herself to any precise attitude, but awaiting the issue of the struggle. No idea could be falser than that the scientist would hamper himself in submitting to the Church. Quite otherwise. He would, by this step, secure a central pillar of support, and thence venturing could go further than any of them now dream of. The separation of science and the Church is the distinctive evil of the day. Both would gain, in strength and freedom, by a union, and the progress of the next century would thus redouble that of this.

HUGH P. MCELRONE.

FOOTNOTES:

[B] Newman's "Apologia," pp. 274, 275.

Honor to the Germans.

Letters from those missionaries in Annam, who have escaped the fate which has befallen so many of their flocks, agree in charging the representatives of France with a negligence, which, under the circumstances, assumes the very gravest aspect. Père Dourisboure, for instance, writing from the Seminary at Saïgon, where he has taken refuge, declares that the presence of French vessels at some of the ports, and the firing of a few shots without hurting any one, would have been the means of saving the lives of some thirty thousand Christians, and securing their homes and possessions against injury. Formerly, he says, the mandarins contented themselves with putting missionaries and the leading converts to death; but this time, the persecution and hatred of France, rather than of Christianity, has been the cause of what can only be called a war of extermination, and France has done nothing for those who have suffered for their supposed loyalty to her. When the news of the massacre at Qui-Nhon, where there were seven thousand Christians, reached Mgr. van Camelbeke, he at once requested the commandant of the _Lyon_, which was lying at that port, to see to the safety of Father Auger and Father Guitton; but that officer replied that his instructions would not allow him to fire a single shot in defence of the missionaries or the native Christians, and all representations and entreaties on the subject proved ineffectual. In this difficulty aid came from an unlooked-for quarter. Deserted by their own countrymen, the missionaries applied to the captain of a German merchantman, which was in the port, and the request being acceded to, two of the Fathers and five German sailors rowed ashore, armed to the teeth, to arrange for the escape of as many Christians as possible. They were met by three mandarins, one of whom was the bitterest enemy of the Christians. These the sailors captured and put in irons on board their vessel, and secure in the possession of these hostages, they proceeded to bring off some seven hundred Christians, the utmost number which the ship could contain, forcing the natives to assist in the work. One of the mandarins was then sent ashore charged with a message that any act of violence against the Christians would be visited upon the two who remained in the custody of the Germans. Père Dourisboure's narrative ceases with the safe arrival of the seven hundred Christians at Saïgon; but we may well hope that the brave Protestant sailors on their return to Qui-Nhon found that their device had proved effectual.

* * * * *

A WRITER in the _New York Commercial_ gives facts and figures to prove that there is no quarter of the globe so much in need of missionary enterprise as New England. The Puritans have ceased to be a churchgoing people.

Vindication.

From the German of Reinick.

"Why lingerest here in the greenwood, All day in a childish dream, Toying with leaves and flowers, Watching the wavelets gleam, While a world grown old and hoary With the spirit of change is rife, And the outworn past and the present Are grappling in deadly strife?"

Still here will I dwell in quiet, Tho' without the tempests rave; And while all things reel and totter, Will seek me an oaken stave, Plucked from a tree that has weathered The storms against it hurled, While into the dust are crumbling The props that uphold the world.

Yes, I'll choose this silent garden Tho' around me deserts lie, And bask in the ancient glories Of earth and sea and sky. While alone on dark thoughts of ruin Your pulseless bosoms brood, I'll build me a bower of roses, And rejoice in my solitude.

"Rejoice! Verily we've forgotten The sound of so strange a word; Nowadays notes of scorn and anger May well in youth's songs be heard; For the woes of our earthly existence Should find a voice in your rhyme, Since the word of the poet is ever The mirror of his time."

No, no, in the heart of the poet Can no scornful spirit live-- He is wroth at human baseness, Can over the sorrows grieve That round this old earth are woven Like some fateful web of doom, And he weeps that bright gleams of radiance So seldom pierce the gloom.

But whenever a ray out-flashes, Drink it in with heart and mind, And a hopeful premonition Of the future in it find:-- Rejoice, when the sun is shining! Joy purifies the breast, And whoso with pure heart rejoiceth, Even here below is blest!

"What! you believe in the bliss of Heaven In a happiness yet to be? Your faith, like your other emotions, Is mere childish fantasy. Remain as you have been ever, A child from your very birth, Unworthy with men to hold counsel On the woes and the welfare of earth."

Yes, I believe in the word of promise, I believe in each holy word, In the power that clothes the lily, And that feeds the nestling bird; "Be like unto children, of such is God's Kingdom." Ah! well, in sooth, If all were as little children In purity and in truth!

To the weal and the woe of the nations I do not seal my breast, Tho' my Motherland is dearer To me than all the rest. If to fold universal being, 'Neath its wings the mind aspires, Still the heart needs narrower limits For the growth of its sacred fires.

REV. JOHN COSTELLO.

* * * * *

JULES JANIN, a witty French writer, nicknamed lobsters "Naval Cardinals." He probably imagined that lobsters in the sea are as red as they are when served on our tables or placed in the windows of our fishmonger's shops. Curiously enough sailors call the ships used to carry our red-coated soldiers from one part of the world to another, lobster-boxes.

Tracadie and the Trappists.

The flourishing village of Tracadie, in the county of Antigonish, Eastern Nova Scotia, well sustains for its French inhabitants, the prestige, as industrious husbandmen, which their ancestors' contemporaries established in Western Nova Scotia--the land sung of by Longfellow in his "Evangeline;" and the much-vaunted superiority of the Anglo-Saxon, reads like a melancholy sarcasm, in the face of the fact that the lands from which the inoffensive Acadians were mercilessly hunted, are, to-day, far, very far, removed from the teeming fertility, which charmed the land-pirates in the last century. Simple-minded folks are wont to say, that the lands of the dispersed Acadians, languish under a curse, nor need we, of necessity, dissent from this theory, if we consider the manifestation of the curse to be shown, in a lack of skill, or industry--or mayhap both--in the descendants of those who profited by that infamous transaction. Certain it is, that these lands are now much less fertile than of yore.

Arriving at Tracadie, as we drive from the Eastern Extension Railway Station, we notice as a curious coincidence of alliteration, the sign,--

+-------------------+ | HALF-WAY HOUSE. | | H. H. HARRINGTON. | +-------------------+

and remark that with the super-addition of "_Halt Here_," the signboard would be an unique curiosity.

Leaving the hospitable farmhouse of Mr. DeLorey, on a bright October Sunday, after hearing Mass in the neat and commodious parish church dedicated to St. Peter, a pleasant drive of three miles, bring us to the Trappist Monastery of _Our Lady of Petit Clairvaux_, the buildings of which are of brick, and form a quadrangle, of which one side has yet to be erected.

Ringing the porter's bell we are admitted and handed over to Brother Richard, the genial and amiable guest master, who is most assiduous in his attentions to us.

The monastery was founded as a Priory, early in the present century by Father Vincent, a native of France, and was raised to the dignity of an abbey nine years ago, when the present Abbot, Father Dominic, was consecrated. The community at present number thirty-seven, of whom sixteen are priests and choir-religious, the remaining twenty-one being lay brothers; the monks being chiefly Belgians, with a few from Montreal, and a few from this vicinity.

The abbey is surrounded by four hundred acres of land, tolerably fertile, though rough in part, and has excellent limestone quarries--the monks burning as much as one hundred barrels of lime at once in their kiln; they also manufacture all the bricks required for the multifarious works which are incessantly in progress. Their domain is well watered by a stream upon which the indefatigable monks have had a mill erected. At the date of our visit, they had just finished a new dam composed of immense blocks of limestone, and had almost completed a new and larger mill--to supersede the old one--and which in addition to the ordinary grist grinding will also be utilized, simultaneously, for carding, sawing boards, and sawing shingles. The new mill has dimensions of 150 x 40 ft., and the main barn 220 x 40 ft. The latter building now accommodates fifty heads of horned cattle, including some Jersey thoroughbreds and Durhams and six horses. We were also shown some Berkshire thoroughbred pigs, enormous, unwieldy brutes, one rather youthful porker being estimated to weigh nearly six hundred pounds.

The monks make a large quantity of butter, all the year round, the sale of which forms an important item of their revenue. The abbey has made its repute all through the surrounding country, and it is scarcely possible to over-estimate the benefit of this _model_ farm to the inhabitants of adjacent lands; combining as it does the latest improvements in agriculture with the untiring industry of the Trappist Monk. For several years, their grist-mill was the only one for a great distance, and even now wheat is brought in, for grinding, from a radius of fifteen miles.

The monks contain among themselves all the trades necessary to their well-ordered community, _ex-gr_ two blacksmiths, two tailors, two millers, a baker, shoemaker, and doctor, not forgetting the wonderful Brother Benedict, who is at once architect, carpenter, mason and clockmaker. In the last-mentioned capacity his ingenuity is shown by a clock which has four faces; one visible from the road approaching the abbey, the second from the chapel, the third from the infirmary, and the fourth from the refectory, where the modest table service of tin plates and wooden spoons and forks, offer but few attractions to those who overlooking the final end of all created things, look at life from the animal point of view.

We are also taken to the dormitory, and look into the narrow compartments, where the good brothers sleep, with easy consciences, upon their hard beds; and are also shown the _discipline_, which, though no doubt a wholesome instrument of penance, does not in any way resemble the article of torture under which guise it masquerades in the average anti-Jesuit novel.

Descending again we are taken to the neat cemetery where the brothers are deposited in peace after life's course is run, covered only by their coarse serge habits, and without coffins. Every grave has painted in white letters, on the black ground of a plain, wooden cross, the name in religion once borne by him, whose mortal remains rest below.

In the centre of this final resting-place stands a tall cross, and near by we observe a bare skull, whose mute lips powerfully preach the folly of worldliness, and like an accusing spirit warns all beholders of the dread day when every wasted minute, as well as every useless word, must be strictly accounted for.

The costume of the monks, in its coarseness and simplicity, would not commend itself to our modern dudes; but, then, life is a terrible reality to these brothers, who, hearing the voice of God, have hastened to follow his call, fully realizing, that without the one thing necessary, all else is vanity.

These reflections are interrupted by the abbey bell, calling us to Vespers, which are chanted by the monks (the music being supplied by the organist Father Bernard), upon the conclusion of which, we take our departure, deeply and favorably impressed with our visit to this monastery, which stands alone, in the Maritime Provinces of the Canadian Dominion, and sincerely grateful, for being enabled to see with our own eyes the works of those much-abused monks, who in general are so frequently defamed by the thoughtless boys who write for the secular press, and by the equally empty-headed old women--of both sexes--who write for that class of periodical which by a curious misnomer is designated _religious_. These are the people, who, it is to be feared, shut their eyes to the truth, lest they should be compelled to acknowledge it.

In the face of so much prejudice, it is pleasant to be able to record that quite recently some Protestant clergymen visited the monastery, and did not refrain from expressing their honest and undisguised admiration for what they beheld.

J. W. O'RYAN.

Gladstone at Emmet's Grave.

HOW THE UNMARKED TOMBSTONE OF THE MARTYR LOOKED.

The day Mr. Gladstone went to Dublin to receive the freedom of the city, which the town council had unanimously agreed to confer upon him, he spent a day in the docks and courts and in visiting St. Michael's Church--a place full of historical interest. On the vestry table lie two casts of the heads of the brothers Shears, who were beheaded in the rebellion of 1798. Such are the properties of the soil in the cemetery that the bodies of those are as perfect as the day on which they were hanged.

The church itself is eight hundred years old, having been built by a Danish bishop during the ascendency of his race.

Mr. Gladstone examined the communion plate, some of which came out of the spoils of the Spanish Armada.

But these were light trivialities! The grave of Robert Emmet is here. "Let no man mark my tomb," said he, "until my country takes her place among the nations of the earth."

Mr. Gladstone stood beside the rough granite, unchiselled, unlettered, silent slab. No name, no date, no word of sorrow, of hope. The sides are clipped and hacked, for emigrants have come from afar to take to their home in the new world bits of the tomb of Robert Emmet. How he comes to lie here is simply said. When his head was cut off in Thomas Street, his body was taken to Bully's Acre,--what a name!--and buried.

Rev. Mr. Dobbyn, a sympathizer in the cause, was then Rector of St. Michael's; he ordered the body to be disinterred that night, and he placed it secretly in St. Michael's church-yard. A nephew of Robert Emmet, a New York judge, corroborated this statement some years ago. But Emmet is not the only rebel that lies here in peace.

Oliver Boyd sleeps here, with God's noblest work, "an honest man," written on his tombstone. Here, too, is the grave of the hero, William Jackson, who was tried, convicted and sentenced to death. While the judge was still pronouncing the awful doom, the man grew faint and in a few minutes fell down dead. He had swallowed poison on hearing the verdict from the jury. In this vault, over which Mr. Gladstone peers anxiously, you can see a group of heads, all of 1798 men and there on one of them, is the hangman's crape as it stuck in the wounded neck since the day on which it and its owner parted company. Mr. Gladstone is silent as he sees all this and at last mournfully moves away.

Is there ever a tragedy in which clown is wholly absent? As he steps over the graves, up comes a man as drunk as a goat, and cries out, "Ah! Mr. Gladstone will you take the duty off the whiskey?" Upon which he of Hawarden Castle turns him round and says slowly--"My friend, the duty does not seem to stand much in your way."

JOHN W. MONAHAN.

Gerald Griffin.

That part of Limerick formerly known as Englishtown, and at present localized in city ordinances and surveying maps as King's Island, consists of a knot of antique houses crowding thick around a venerable cathedral. An ancient castle, its dismantled tower within easy bow-shot, overrun with weeds and ivy, overlooks the noble river, whose expansive sweep of waters is at this point of passage spanned by an old, but still substantial bridge. In the shadow of the cathedral and within hearing of the river, Gerald Griffin, dramatist, poet and novelist, was born on the 12th of December, 1803. His father, who had succeeded to a goodly estate, a considerable fortune and an honored name, sold the fee simple of his landed inheritance, and removed to Limerick, that his children might enjoy all the advantages of a good education, which at that period were best obtainable in large towns and great cities. He established himself in the business of a brewer; and, as in every speculative walk of life where personal energy is not well supplemented by judicious management and long experience, time alone was needed to diminish his capital by rewarding his unremitting industry with profitless returns. The natural disposition of this good man presented a medley of those attractive qualities which secure for their fortunate possessor an immediate share of the sympathetic good-will alike of the friend and the stranger. He had a kind heart and a winning manner. He could enjoy and exchange a good joke, and to the end of his life was a sterling and an uncompromising patriot. Yet his admiration for valor and virtue was circumscribed by no political limits, by no narrow-minded prejudices. An ultra-volunteer in '82, and an O'Connellite in '29, he was enthusiastic over the victory at Waterloo, and wept at the melancholy fate of Sir Samuel Romilly. Gerald's mother was a gentle and accomplished lady, whose affection for her child was tempered and regulated by the treasures of a refined and cultured mind, and by a sensitively religious disposition. When he was in his third year, Mrs. Griffin, with her family, removed to a country district, which, from local association with the escapades of lepracauns and phookas, had inherited the significative title of Fairy Lawn. The new home was romantically situated amid the umbrageous woods and pastoral meadow-lands through which the Shannon flows at its confluence with the little Ovaan River. His infancy thus cradled in a landscape rich in the diversified picturesqueness of storied ruin and historic tradition, what wonder that Gerald at a very early age should feel the inspiration of his poetic surroundings as he looked towards the winding river, the green fields, the islands mirrored in the tributary Fergus, and the solemn shade and cloistered loneliness of ruined abbeys and gray cathedrals. To the careful training of his good mother he was indebted for the exquisite taste and truthfulness with which he interpreted nature; for the nice sense of honor which distinguished him through life, and which often rose to a weakness; for the delicate reserve which made absence from home a self-imposed hermitage; and for the deep, devotional feeling and healthy habit of moral reflection which ever shaped and inwove the pure current of his thoughts and writings.

A visiting tutor gave Gerald an elementary knowledge of English until the year 1814, when he was sent to Limerick. He remained in the city attending a classical school till he had acquired a familiarity with the works of the great Latin authors. At an age when it is scarcely customary to emancipate children from the prim decorum and polite restraint of the nursery, young Griffin was pouring with unmixed delight over the pages of Horace, Ovid and Virgil. Of the three, he preferred the sweet pastoral of the gentle poet of Mantua, and to the end of his life retained this partiality. Inspiration caught from so pure a source wrought itself into innumerable songs and sonnets, which Gerald managed to write clandestinely, when some new frolic drew away the attention of his brothers and sisters, and left him in the enjoyment of a peaceful hour and a quiet corner. During these intervals of busy writing he was insensibly acquiring that light and graceful style, by the gentle charm of which the most sober strain of serious thought became the most acceptable kind of agreeable reading. Though still young, he could well realize how indispensable a good style is for literary success. He lived at a time when books were comparatively scarce, in a district remote from easy access to well-filled libraries; when the cost of transportation often equalled the advertised price for the newest canto of "Childe Harold," or the latest novel by the "Great Unknown." But what would have been disadvantages to many a beginner proved to have been of incalculable benefit to Gerald Griffin. His knowledge of books and authors was limited to the extent of his mother's library, and it contained, among other choice works, the writings of the inimitable author to whose graceful allurement Washington Irving owed half his fame and all the classic sweetness of his fascinating style. He copied out whole chapters of the "Vicar of Wakefield," and rarely went out of doors without bringing for a companion a copy of the "Animated Nature."

In the boy, pensive and serious beyond his years, might be traced the different characteristics of mind and heart which eventually made up the texture of his later manhood, the yearning desire for retirement, the habit of sober reflection, the trait of gentle sadness, and the passionate love for home and country. The years of his childhood passed unattended by a single sorrow. Time, however, brought a change, which broke rudely in upon the even tenor of his happy life. The pretty homestead on the banks of the Shannon was to be broken up, old poetic haunts had to be forsaken, and the sheep of the little fold were to be dispersed.

In the year 1820 his father suffered such heavy losses that a slender competency was all that remained at his disposal to resume, if he had been willing, a business which had hitherto been productive of only disappointments and regrets. The family, not wishing to run further risks, set sail for America, and settled in another Fairy Lawn, in Susquehanna County, Pa., leaving Gerald and two younger sisters to remain with their brother, a physician, who was at that time living in the town of Adare. Here Gerald remained for two years, pounding drugs and manipulating pills, ostensibly to study medicine, but in reality to devise plots for projected dramas, and to sketch character and incident for tales in prose and poetry. The pathway of his future career had already been carefully mapped out. He had long pined in secret for a literary career, and years only whetted his eagerness to put his unspoken wish into practical execution. Like poor Kirke White, he felt the irresistible influence of an unmistakable destiny drawing him, as he fancied, from lowly walks to ways of loftier prospect and more uncertain enterprise. In the prophetic fervor of anticipated triumph, he foresaw himself the lion of the literary coterie, the courted favorite at titled levees and fashionable dinner parties. He occasionally contributed short essays and fugitive poems to the _Limerick Reporter_, a sheet of news on which were wont to be chronicled the gossip of the city, critiques of provincial dramas, statistics of the Baldoyle steeplechases, or the latest speech by the Liberator. Sometimes he ran into the city to have a chat with a young man, who had begun to be recognized in the circuit of provincial journalism as a literary star of rising magnitude. The young man was John Banim, whose noble services under trying circumstances Gerald had reason some years later to experience and appreciate. During the two years immediately preceding his departure for London, he devoted his attention almost exclusively to dramatic composition. Banim's "Damon and Pythias" appeared in 1821, and the success which had at once raised its obscure author into prominence, must have had no slight influence in confirming the resolution which Gerald had already made. A religious motive, too, entered into the spirit and outlined the object and policy of his work. His plays, when they should be produced, were not to terminate with uproarious applause and calls for the "gifted author" at the fall of the curtain. The spirit of the drama had at this time wofully departed from the sphere of its legitimate function received from historic tradition. The design of the great dramatic master had been in his own words to hold the "mirror up to nature." The interest of London stage-managers led them to pander to public taste, and crowd the boards with sensational makeshifts and spectacular unrealities. Otway's "Venice Preserved" and Heman's "Vespers of Palermo" could not attract a pit full; while scenes introducing battlefields, burning forests, and cataracts of real water crowded the houses to overflowing. It was at this juncture that Griffin hoped to bring about his dramatic revolution. It was with this object in view that he composed a tragedy and read it for his brother, who, seeing that it contained much that was excellent and much that gave evidence of future success, no longer withheld his permission for Gerald to try his future in the heart of the English metropolis.

One cold morning, in the autumn of the year 1823, Gerald Griffin found himself a bewildered stranger in the streets of London. The sense of utter loneliness, the feeling of timid embarrassment, which overpowered him in the bustle and uproar, amid the winding streets and smoky labyrinths of the densely populated Babel, had been experienced by many another aspiring adventurer, whom the glitter of a great name and the hope of literary preferment had drawn from happy retirements to battle through adversity to fame and fortune. His first object on his arrival in town was to seek the shelter of respectable lodgings; his next, to introduce himself, to explain his projects and to submit his tragedy to the manager of a London theatre. The manuscript was returned after some months delay, with the intimation that it was too poetic and too didactic, and would require extensive revision before it could be brought upon the stage. Accident, rather than good luck, threw Banim across his path, and he proved to be a valuable and a faithful friend. In the little sanctum at the rear of No 7 Amelia Place, Brompton, where Curran had written his speeches and Banim had composed his tragedies, Gerald sat down to reinspect the returned work, and at the suggestion of his friend to omit whole scenes, to substitute others, to lop off epithets which were too glaringly poetic, and to abbreviate speeches which were too discursively long. But despite all the author's revision and Banim's abler experience "Aquire" was fated never to occupy the boards. No amount of labor could redeem the fault of a drama which conveyed moral precepts in the classic solemnity of select and studied periods. Despairing, at length, of ever having it produced, Gerald withdrew it in disgust; but what he did with the manuscript, whether it was purposely destroyed, or accidentally lost, we are unable to say. "Aquire," however, must have contained many excellencies, judging from other poetical work of the author written at the same time, and from the testimony of his accomplished brother, whose excellent literary taste made him a competent judge. "Gisippus," a tragedy written at this period, was produced with great success two years after the author's death, Macready sustaining the title rôle. A series of continued failures to satisfy the wants of exacting stage managers, slightly altered the plan, though not the purpose, of the work which Griffin had set himself to accomplish. He was compelled to give up writing tragedies, and write for a livelihood; but London was overcrowded with impecunious journalists, and he received the merest pittance in return for the most arduous species of literary drudgery. The author of "Irene," on his arrival in London, was not more incontestably the literary helot at the mercy of Cave, Millar, and Osborne, than was Gerald Griffin the typical booksellers' hack amid shuffling reviewers and extorting publishers. Johnson at the outset of his literary career received but five guineas for a quarto English translation of "Lobos Voyage to Abyssinia." Griffin, after working for weeks received two guineas for a translation of a volume and a half of Prevot's works. But he was not to be easily dismayed by first reverses of fortune. He had long ago made himself familiar with the catalogue of miseries in the literary martyrology beginning with Nash and Otway, and ending with his friend Banim. Early intimacy with distress and disappointment would but stimulate him the better to conquer both. He would sacrifice everything, consistent with a stainless name and an honorable career, in the attainment of his cherished end--the society of friends, the little luxuries of a frugal table, the modest though comfortable room in which he had hitherto lived and toiled. Poor Gerald! he had yet to learn when his most ambitious yearnings had been fully realized, that worldly honors do not satisfy the cravings of a Christian heart, that the most imperishable coronal of true success is woven of deeds little, lowly, and seemingly contemptible, and that labor spent in purely secular pursuits is labor spent in vain. But the nobler promptings of his nature were as yet unheard amid the discord in which he lived.

He now removed to a miserable garret in a lonely corner of a lonely street in the loneliest part of London. The forlorn solitude of his dreary room was, however, somewhat cheered by the thought, that in such dizzy eeries, amid the eccentric gables and rheumatic chimney pots of great capitals, works were often composed which were destined eventually to confer lasting honors on their obscure authors. Goldsmith had written his "Vicar of Wakefield" in the memorable, dingy eminence at the head of Breakneck Steps. Pope, walking with Harte in the Haymarket, entered an old house, where mounting three pair of creaking stairs he pointed to an open door and said: "In this garret Addison wrote his 'Campaign.'" Gerald Griffin, however, had yet to experience all the hardships which were endured by Goldsmith before his landlady threatened eviction, and by Addison before he received the fortuitous visit of Henry Boyle, Lord Chancellor of the Exchequer. He wrote prose and poetry for which he was often glad to get sufficient money wherewith to purchase a cup of coffee and a crust of bread. He studied Spanish, and when he had so mastered the language as to be able to translate fluently, his publisher said that on second consideration he would prefer to receive original contributions. And now commenced a period in Griffin's life, which, for exceptional want and misery, might claim a certain pre-eminence in the long list of hapless victims, who made up the literary hecatomb of the Johnsonian era. Without the grosser elements, which enter into their methods of living and disfigure their character, the abject squalor of vulgar surroundings, the love for pot-houses and low companionships, the utter disregard for personal respect, he otherwise underwent all the pain, the want and uncertainty of their impoverished condition. But the roughness of the road was unthought of in the anticipation of a rich reward at the end of his journey. He would redouble his efforts to ensure its nearer approach. He abandoned old companionships; invitations to dinners and literary soirées, which came from his friends Banim and McGinn, were politely declined. He locked himself in his lonely room and wrote through the hours of an unbroken day. Only at night when the lamps were lit, and the crowds had left the street, would he venture out of doors, and then merely to take a ten minutes' walk to ease his aching head, and to rest his wearied eyes. Once he remained three whole days without tasting food, till a friend accidently came to see him and found him pale and faint but still writing. Yet in all the sunless gloom of this dreadful time his letters home were most cheerful. The want of actual nourishment he felt, the evil influences by which he was surrounded, the chances of certain success which awaited him if he would but do violence to a certain portion of his scrupulous orthodoxy, counted for nothing with one whose good sense could see no grave inconsistency between temporary poverty and the first efforts of struggling genius. Nor is poverty so fatal to the efforts of genius as a superficial thinker would suppose it to be. To a noble nature it presents no feature of degradation or terror. Its supposed evils are, for the most part, begotten of the pride of those who are its victims.

If it forbade Griffin to ask or receive favors from those who were able and willing to help him, it thereby conferred self-independence and ceaseless energy, the constant forerunners of inevitable success. His industry was speedily rewarded, and in a manner which seemed the result rather of good luck than of strenuous effort or personal merit. One day Gerald made bold to write an article after the manner of those in the great reviews. He sent it anonymously to the proprietor of a leading periodical, and in return received unsolicited a cheque for a handsome sum of money, with an invitation to continue sending contributions of a similar kind. This was the first hopeful speck in the horizon of a brilliant future. The benevolence of the kindly publisher did not end here. He sought out the anonymous writer, invited him to dinner, treated him handsomely, and obtained for him the editorship of a new publication. "It never rains but it pours," is a true old maxim attributable with equal propriety to good and evil happenings. Hitherto he had been unable to make his time profitable either in a literary or pecuniary sense. His later contributions had all at once begun to attract attention, and the amount of time at his disposal seemed too short to enable him to satisfy all the requirements of numerous engagements. He was employed as a parliamentary reporter and as a writer of short plays for the English Opera House. He reviewed books which were published, and revised books which were unpublished. He contributed essays, stories and poetry to the _News of Literature_, the _European Review_, and the _London Magazine_, for the smallest one of which he received more money than for the huge translation of Prevot two years previous. He was now enabled to take more comfortable chambers; but he miscalculated his powers of endurance; when in such a stage of mental anxiety and mental application he would remain up at literary work till he heard the church clocks strike four in the morning. The evil results of this abuse of health soon made themselves manifest. He had lost all appetite for food. His rest was broken by fits of insomnia, during which his heart would beat so loud as to be distinctly heard by his brother in the same room. In the streets he would be suddenly attacked by swooning fits, during which he would have to support himself by leaning on gate posts and sitting on door-steps. At the earnest solicitation of his good brother he set out for Ireland with the hope of recruiting his failing energies by a few months' leave of absence. His vacation was productive of literary as well as of sanitary results.

He returned to London with a volume of stories for the press, and sold the copyright to the Messrs. Simpkin Marshall & Co., for £70. The work appeared in December 1826, under the title of "Hollandtide Tales." It was well received. The style was original, graceful and easy. The three novels, which comprised the series, were interesting and free from the taint of grossness and immorality, so erroneously deemed essential when describing the habits and customs of the poorer classes. It was an eloquent vindication of a much-wronged portion of the Irish peasantry, and like Banim's contemporary writings, it was hailed with universal exultation in Irish literary circles. The success of his first work was so immediate and decisive that he resigned his editorship, abandoned the magazines and reviews, and continued with few interruptions to appear annually before the public as a novelist. "Tales of the Munster Festivals," which appeared in two series, and for which he received £250, was the title of his next work. In 1858 appeared "The Collegians" which placed him with one bound in the fore front of the great writers of his country. It was not only the best Irish novel that had appeared previous to its first publication, but is admittedly the best that has ever been written since.[C] "The Invasion," "The Rivals," "The Duke of Monmouth," and others which he wrote subsequently, are all far inferior when placed side by side with this great master-piece of fiction. In it may be seen to best advantage the wonderful power and versatility of Griffin's genius as a great novelist, for within its single compass he has touched with a master hand the whole gamut of human passion and human affections. As a literary artist of the "dark and touching mode of painting," which Carleton has set down as the chief characteristic of his brother novelist, Griffin has few equals and no superior. To depict the more sombre tints of human nature, to trace the unbroken events linked together in a career of crime, from the first commission of evil till its last expiation in the felon ship, or on the gallows, he especially delights. He does not delay the progress of the plot to impress upon his reader the exact frame of mind in which his hero felt at certain trying conjunctures. This suggests itself unconsciously, in occasional snatches of vague and emotional distraction, in half uttered replies, in the joke that mechanically escapes the lips, in the capricious laugh that best discovers the anguish preying on the mind and the despair eating at the heart. But it is in the ingenuity with which he makes local surroundings play such an important part in the drama of human destiny, that Griffin excels to a remarkable extent. What reader of the "Collegians" has not realized all the perils of the windy night and the stormy sea with trepidation and horror scarcely surpassed by the occupants of the little craft tossing amid the boiling breakers--Eily, the hapless runaway, Danny, the elfin hunchback, and Hardress, the conscience-stricken victim of conflicting thoughts and passionate impulses? How much more tragic the finding of the dead body of Eily, the "pride of Garryowen," since it occurs on the hunting field, surrounded by the half maudlin squires, and before the bloodless face of the horrified murderer? But Griffin deserves mention other than as a dramatist and novelist. It is saddening to know that in an age where so much weak sentiment, scarcely discernible in its wealth of verbose ornamentation, is so easily imposed upon the public under the name of poetry, that so much really good poetry should be forgotten and unread. One is often provoked to regret that the scalping knife has become blunted in the hands of the "buff and blue," and that the race of useful parodists should seem to have expired with the wits of "Fraser." As a poet Griffin is comparatively little known; and yet, to make a seeming paradox, few poets have been more universally popular. The exquisite songs, "A Place in Thy Memory," "Schule Agrah" and "Aileen Aroon" have been read and sung wherever the English language is spoken. Yet very few young Irish ladies and gentlemen are aware that Gerald Griffin is the author. The religious spirit which exhibits its moral influence through the thread of his stories appears more extensively and more perceptibly in his poetry. If his shorter poems are the best of all he has written, the best of all his short poems are those which breathe a religious spirit. To verify our assertion we need only mention, "Old Times, Old Times!" "The Mother's Lament," "O'Brazil" and "The Sister of Charity." It is a matter for much regret that Griffin should have written so little poetry. Had he devoted more exclusive attention to this department of literature, he would undoubtedly have become the Burns of his country; for his muse had taught him a kindred song, and given him to write with equal tenderness and simplicity.

In the year 1838, Gerald Griffin had attained a popularity which would have satisfied the wishes of the most ardent literary enthusiast. He was no longer the literary hack, the despised minion, the swindled victim at the mercy of harpy publishers and newspaper knaves. He could now write at his leisure, and be handsomely rewarded for his labor. Positions from which much emolument might be derived were offered him, but he answered them with a polite refusal. Contributions were solicited to no purpose. The desultory articles written under pressure of hunger in the confinement of the garret near St. Paul's were hunted for by publishers, who were too happy to pay a handsome premium for any thing printed over the name of the now popular author. To those who have never tried to realize the working of divine grace in the hearts of the pure and virtuous, Gerald Griffin would now seem to have nothing more to wish for, no unacquired honor to enkindle a new aspiration, no need of money to compel him once more to write for a living. The wisdom of advanced years, and a religious discernment guided by the spirit of God, and becoming more devotional day by day, began at last to discover the sophistry and the deceit of human glory and human praise. He still yearned after a mysterious something which he began to realize could never be found amid the jarring discord and empty distractions of the secular world. A new light irradiated the thick gloom by which he had long been encompassed. Gradually the mist and shadow of doubt and difficulty rolled away, disclosing at length the gray walls of a silent monastery in spirit of unpretentious work and pious exercise, far sequestered from the busy haunts of worldly men. Step by step he was approaching the humble cell of recollection and prayer, in the religious solitude of which he was to find true peace and lasting happiness. From the cottage cradled on the Shannon's breast to his later home in the poetic solitude of sweet Adare; from the three-cornered garret in the London back street to the tables of the rich and the titled, he had experienced every vicissitude between the antithetical extremes of joy and sorrow. When, at length, the final step was taken, it was not the rash or eccentric choice of momentary impulse, but the matured result of wise and cautious deliberation. He prepared to enter the noble order of the Christian Brothers, whose humble office it is to instruct the children of the poor, and whose labors in the cause of Christian education have been of incalculable benefit to the Irish race. One morning previous to Gerald's final departure, an elder brother entered his bedroom. He found him in a kneeling posture holding the last fragment of a charred heap of manuscript over the blazing fire. He had made the final sacrifice to God of all that could wed his heart to future worldly honors. In the year 1838 he entered the Christian Brothers at Cork, and after a short novitiate received the habit and the vows by which these holy men consecrate themselves to the service of their Maker and the spiritual welfare of their fellow men. But the splendid genius of the new Brother was not destined to remain idle. It was now to be exercised more energetically than ever, consecrated as it had been to the service of religion and the glory of God. He had just completed a small number of Catholic tales, written in his happiest vein, when a fatal attack of malignant fever struck the pen from his hand. Every remedy that the skill of great physicians could devise, every attention that loving confrères could bestow was procured for him during his last illness. But the invisible decree had gone forth, and the near passing was inevitable. He lingered but a few days, edifying his attendants by his fervent piety and resignation under suffering. He died consoled by the rites of Holy Church on the 12th of June, 1840. In the humble cemetery, of the monastery at Cork, a modest grave, unnoticed amid rows of similar ones, is surmounted by a small cross. The cross bears the name of Brother Joseph, the grave holds all that was mortal of the good and gifted Gerald Griffin.

Oxford, N. J.

JAMES H. GAVIN.

FOOTNOTES:

[C] Mr. Justin McCarthy, speaking of "Irish Novelists" at Cork, in September, 1884, said: "We have some Irish novels which ought to be classic, and about which I have over and over again taxed all the critical experience I can summon up why they have failed to become classic in the sense of Sir Walter Scott's novels. I cannot understand why Gerald Griffin's 'Collegians' fails to take a place in the public estimation beside the best of the novels of Sir Walter Scott."

Rev. Father Fulton, S. J.,

Condescended to notice the ravings of Mr. Robert Ingersoll, at Boston College Hall, on the evening of the 11th of November. We should be pleased to publish a full report of the lecture, but our limits will not permit us to do so. We merely give a few extracts: "Once upon a time there was a person named Scholasticus, who suffered by death the loss of his child, to whose obsequies came the people in great throngs. But our friend, instead of receiving their expressions of condolence, hid himself blushing in a corner, and, on being expostulated with, and asked why he was ashamed, replied: 'To bury so small a child before so large an assembly.' This lecture is the child, and the concourse is the audience before me. I have been engaged on matters foreign to literary and scientific pursuits, and have had no time to prepare a regular lecture, but I think it will not need much time to demolish Mr. Ingersoll. I will take his book on 'Orthodoxy,' in which he declares that 'he knows that the clergy know that they know nothing.' Mr. Ingersoll is not a philosopher, nor a theologian, though he may be, as we hear, an orator of matchless voice and gesticulation. He is witty, as any one may easily be who attacks what we most revere. Let us look at his scholarship. He has no argument whatever, except the old objections brought up in the schools. In the whole book there have been no references nor authorities cited. His only method of reasoning is that by interrogation, why? why? why? Suppose I answer I don't know! The proper test of an argument is to put it in syllogistic form, which is impossible with Mr. Ingersoll's arguments. Again, the very importance of the subject demands a respectful and reverential treatment, which Mr. Ingersoll denies it. I will try to make a synopsis of the work. Mr. Ingersoll declares himself sincere in his belief, thereby insinuating that they who believe in Christianity are hypocrites. Then follows an examination of the Congregational and Presbyterian creeds, under the supposition, absurdly false, '_ex uno disce omnes_.' 'Infidelity,' says Mr. Ingersoll, 'will prevail over Christianity.' This does not prove that Christianity is not the true religion, for infidelity may triumph only because the intellect is obscured by passion. 'The Christian religion,' says he, 'is supported only because of the contributions of some men.' Would those men have supported it had they not firmly believed in it? Again, Mr. Ingersoll says the Christian religion was destroyed by Mohammed, and yet no one knows it. Nor were the crusades unjust and destructive wars, for the land which they fought for was one dearest to them; their Saviour died there. Was it not a just war? And this war saved all Europe, for the power of Mohammed was rising rapidly and was about to inundate all Europe. But the war was carried into the enemy's country, and by the attack all Europe was saved. Again, we were freed from the ignorance of the dark ages (dark, as I may say, only because we have no light on them), by the introduction into Italy of some manuscripts, according to Mr. Ingersoll. But the truth is, all the learning of that period was centred in the church, and by her alone were erected seats of learning. It was from the barbarian that this ignorance arose. Nor has the church been inimical to the sciences, more particularly to astronomy and its promoters, for among the most able astronomers of Europe are to be found Catholic priests." The lecture was delivered to a large audience completely filling the College Hall.

Private Judgment a Failure.

It is a common fallacy of Protestants that the scepticism, which is so prevalent, affects the Catholic Church equally with Protestant sects. Now, this is a great and pernicious error, for it tends to divert sincere inquirers from seeking true, infallible doctrine in the church. When I witness the strenuous efforts made by Protestant writers against scepticism, and their ill success, I am led to execrate the miscalled "Reformation." Had that horrible event not taken place, instead of the desultory warfare by detached guerillas, we should have had the full strength and power of an organized, disciplined, compact army, against scepticism. To speak even of the learning displayed by Protestant writers is to suggest how much more vast the learning, that would now be the portion of England, if the church property were in the hands of the Abbots of former days instead of being held by its present possessors. In force of reasoning, too, Protestant vindicators of religion are at an immense disadvantage. They are hampered by principles, which they should never have adopted. Private judgment is to them what Saul's armor was to David, ill-fitting, and cumbersome. To borrow an illustration from Archbishop Whately, "They are obliged to fight infidelity with their left hand; their right hand being tied behind them." One of the specialties of this age is "historical research." The application of the historical criticism inaugurated by Niebuhr has dealt Protestism a fatal blow, while, on the other hand, it has been favorable to the cause of Catholicity. This has happened for the reason that the Catholic Church is not founded exclusively on the Bible, as Protestantism is. Catholics take the Bible as an authentic history. This authentic history establishes the divine mission of our Lord, and the institution of the church by His divine authority. This church, "the pillar and ground of truth," attests the divine authority of Holy Scripture. There is no _circulus vitiosus_ in our argument. With us the individual must bow to the collective wisdom of the church, divinely established. Protestants cut a pretty figure with private judgment. In political elections, and in clubs, meetings, and so forth, the Protestant very properly allows that the voice of the majority must prevail. This is common sense; and yet in religious matters forsooth, the private judgment of an ignorant and illiterate individual must be permitted to overrule the decision of the collective wisdom of learned theologians. This shows how far men are liable to be blinded by prejudice. In fact, if men had an interest in denying that "two and two make four," they would unquestionably do so. We may also deduce from this violent aberration in religion an argument to prove the doctrine of original sin, and the existence of evil spirits exercising a malignant influence on the souls and minds of men.

Physicists experience that longing for religion natural to man; and hence they endeavor to patch up some sort of a religion from the shreds of truth that are found in physical science, "_rari nantes in gurgite vasto_." Unfortunately, they are unacquainted with Catholic doctrine, and they see in the conflicting sects of Protestantism no good ground to base their faith upon. Accustomed to deal with matter, they are unable to elevate their minds to the supernatural. They dissect the human corpse, and stupidly wonder that in a dead body they cannot discover a living soul; they search the empty tomb for the resurrected Saviour.

The minds of those men are set in a wooden, mechanical way. They are impervious to logic at the very time that they are asserting their loyal adherence to its rules. They have a horror of Catholic conclusions as, it may be also remarked, have Protestants likewise. On this account, both classes prefer rather to accept the most untrustworthy theories of physical science, even when they verge on gross and laughable absurdity, than to grant the conclusions of Catholic theologians.

It must be borne in mind that the Bible is not one book, as popular Protestantism regards it. It is seen now in the light of historical criticism, that the amount of knowledge requisite for the proper exercise of private judgment on the Bible is immense, and such as can only be acquired by a few, comparatively speaking. Protestantism is, therefore, moribund. Infidelity is to be combated by the church; by this only can it be conquered. Nor is it hard to conquer. We should see it disposed of very soon, if it ventured to put forth a system. But its strength lies in grumbling. It asks, like Pontius Pilate, What is truth? And goes away without waiting for an answer.

Burlington, N. J.

REV. P. A. TREACY.

* * * * *

HIS Holiness the Pope having written a letter to the Mikado of Japan thanking him for the kindness extended by him to the Catholic missionaries, his Majesty has replied in cordial terms, assuring the Holy Father that he would continue to afford them protection, and announcing the despatch of a Japanese mission to the Vatican.

Priests and People Mourning.

The Great and Gifted Redemptorist Father, Rev. John O'Brien, Deceased--Beautiful and Appropriate Tributes to his Memory.

A pillar of the Lord's temple, a lustrous light of faith departed, a glorious soldier of the church militant on earth, is the sorrowful, but withal grateful, subject of our memoir. Taken from this life suddenly in the very bloom of a magnificent manhood, and from the career of his saintly priesthood, fragrant with thousands of tests of the divinity of his ordination; aye, taken from the multitudes who so much needed his spiritual guidance and support, may we well exclaim that the ways of our Almighty Father are wondrously mysterious and hidden beyond the ken of our feeble understanding. The great and gifted young priest was truly of that royal race of him, Boroimhe, who was slaughtered by the hand of a desperate assassin, as he prayerfully knelt in his tent, on the battle-field, offering thanks to the Lord of Hosts for victory over the hordes of northern barbarian invaders. He of Clontarf was king, soldier and saintly Christian. His descendant, transplanted in his youth, as if by divine ordination, from Ireland to America, was soldier, Christian, king of hearts and saver of souls. Majestic in person, gentle in deportment, tender of heart, Rev. John O'Brien, C. SS. R. through wondrous graces of mind and soul won upon all; brought the wayward into the paths of holy places, and readily summoned sinners to repentance. He achieved miracles, temporal as well as spiritual. It will be recollected how agreeably our whole community was startled by the corroborated recital, not so very long since, that the young daughter of Col. P. T. Hanley, of Boston Highlands, was healed of her chronic lame infirmity through the efficacy of his ministrations and her own pure prayers and strong faith. How heroic he was in "apostolic zeal and saintly fervor," like one of those heroic, primitive soldiers of the Cross, the martyrs of the catacombs, his reverend and eloquent panegyrist attests, when he reminds us how little terrors for him and his pious associates had the murderously-inclined orangemen and other bigots of Newfoundland, when these Fathers were there not long ago on the mission.

Rev. Father O'Brien had been for some years connected with the Redemptorists' Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, at Boston Highlands. He was in his thirty-sixth year at the time of his decease, which occurred suddenly on November 8th, from rheumatism of the heart, at Ilchester, Md., the parent house of the order. He had, only a few days previous to his death, closed a most arduous but successful mission in Philadelphia, where, but a short time previously, Rev. Father McGivern was taken with his fatal illness through overwork in his missionary labors. The remains of Father O'Brien were conveyed here by Mr. Cleary, one of our undertakers, and reposed in the main aisle fronting the altar of the Tremont Street basilica, during the evening and night of November 11, where many thousands visited them in tears, and rendered upward their silent and heartfelt prayers for the purposes which animated his sanctified soul. The emblems of mourning in the edifice, the varied and beautiful and artistic floral tributes, the grief depicted on the features of young and old of the people, and many other evidences, attested most unerringly the great bereavement which the Catholics of Boston sustain by his death.

On the morning of the 12th, at 9 o'clock, the Redemptorist Fathers' Church was thronged with a great congregation, and hundreds were unable to get in when the office of the dead was recited. Over fifty priests participated in the sanctuary devotions. The clergymen offering up the Solemn High Mass of Requiem were as follows: Celebrant, Rev. Father Welsh, C. SS. R.; deacon, Rev. Father Wynn, C. SS. R.; sub-deacon, Rev. Father Lutz, C. SS. R.; master of ceremonies, Rev. Father Licking, C. SS. R.; Father Licking also preached the panegyric. The Reverend Father took for his text:

ECCLESIASTES xii. 5 and 7. "Man shall enter into the house of his eternity, and the mourners shall go roundabout in the street.... And the dust shall return to the earth from whence it was, and the spirit shall return to God who gave it."

He began most impressively and substantially as follows: "What shall I say to you on this sad occasion? How shall I find words to express the sorrow and sadness, which I see depicted on your countenances? The zealous, the learned, the whole-souled Redemptorist, Rev. John O'Brien, is laid low on the bier of death. A young warrior has fallen on the battle-field of duty. A strong worker has sunk beside the vines he was preparing for the heavenly kingdom.

"Oh, brother, if thou hadst not died in the prime of youth! If thou hadst not within thee the strength and energy to labor long and successfully in thy sublime vocation! If thou hadst grown gray in the service of God, I should congratulate you on this day, the day of thy espousals to Jesus Christ. I should say to thee: well done thou faithful servant, thou hast labored long and well in the service of thy maker. Thou hast gone to thy well-merited reward." Father Licking continued at some length in this strong strain of apostrophe to the name and memory of his beloved brother, and then entered into reminiscences, in which he said, "I remember well when first I met the departed. It was in the year 1870. We were then students at the preparatory college of the Redemptorist order. He was even then the picture of health, and a model for every student. Never was he known to infringe upon the slightest rule of the institute; never (and this is saying a great thing), never did he lose a single moment of time. Always at his books by day and by night, even stealing from his well-merited rest some hours in order to acquire knowledge which he might employ in after years in the service of God and for the good of souls. So well pleased were his superiors with his conduct, that they appointed him, together with the late lamented Rev. Father McGivern, overseer of the college boys in the absence of their superiors."

He received the habit of the order in 1875, with Rev. Fathers Beal and Licking. The panegyrist made most feeling allusion to the occasion, when the lamented dead took "the profession of those holy vows, those tremendous vows, those eternal vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.... Thank God, he kept those vows to the end."

Father O'Brien was next sent to the Redemptorist Theological Seminary of Ilchester, Md., to further pursue the great studies that fitted him for his calling.

"It often required an express command of his superiors to take him from his books that his body might not succumb, and the mind gain the necessary rest. So exact was he in all his ways, that we, his fellow students, could, at any hour of the day, point out the very spot where he might be found, either going through the Way of the Cross, or praying before the Blessed Sacrament, or reciting his rosary, or studying at his books. Is it a wonder, then, that God should allow him to die on a spot which had so often been the witness of so much piety and so many of his good works."

He was ordained priest in 1880, and the following February found him at the Boston Highlands in the Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Here he administered for the first time the Sacrament of Penance; here he preached from the pulpit of his panegyrist his first sermon; here he entered upon "that career of zeal and usefulness which made his name proverbial in every family of the parish." ... "He possessed a powerful and comprehensive mind, a prodigious memory, and a most fertile imagination; and, above all, a most generous spirit and tender heart. Graced besides with every form of manly beauty, strength and vigor, of a powerful frame, nothing seemed wanting to him. It might be said of him as the poet sang of the ancient hero:

"'He was a combination and a form indeed, Where God did seem to set his very seal, To give the world the picture of a man.'"

Father Licking dwelt at length upon the great extent of the work done in the parish by the beloved deceased. "Every interest in the large parish received his particular attention." All were participants of his zeal and charity. In 1883 he passed through his second novitiate after a retirement of six months, which fully equipped him for the missions. "And now his soul rejoiced, indeed, in the Lord."

"It is related," said the preacher, "of a Southern officer, that when he returned from a successful expedition, the first question he put to his general always was: 'Where is the next blow to be struck? Send me there!' So it was with the young warrior of the Cross, whose death we mourn. His zeal knew no bounds except those of obedience. Hardly had one mission been finished when he hastened to another.... North, South, East and West were witnesses of his Apostolic zeal and saintly fervor. The cold weather, the fierce storms, and still fiercer spirits of hostile sects in Newfoundland, had not terrors enough to deter him, and the hottest sun of July and August could not draw from him a single word of complaint, when engaged in arduous task of giving retreats. And though comparatively a young man, when only four years had elapsed since his ordination, his superiors trusting in his zeal, his prudence, and his wisdom, selected him, from out of many, to the important office of giving retreats to the clergy of the land." ... "I see among the floral tributes one bearing the letters 'Apostolic Zeal.' It shows me that you have understood his spirit."

In the panegyrist's recital it was told that six weeks before his death he was returning from missions in Pennsylvania. He saw in New York the very Rev. Provincial, who told him that the Fathers at work on the missions at Philadelphia were becoming exhausted, and that even then the Rev. Father McGivern was on a dying bed there. Father O'Brien stood up, and stretching himself to the full height of his massive frame, he exclaimed, "Look at me! Am I not a strong man? Send me. I'll do the work for them!" "Does it not remind you of the brave general who said, 'Where is the next blow to be struck. Send me there.'" When that, his last mission, closed, the Fathers had heard thirty-five hundred confessions, and he retired to Ilchester for a cursory visit, where the joy he experienced in meeting his old Alma Mater superiors was beyond description. While there he remarked: "Father, this would be a nice, quiet and holy place to die in." That night he was attacked with the fatal malady. His limbs became racked with pain. The rheumatism reached his great heart, and he is found at five o'clock in the morning insensible. The last sacraments were administered, and at seven o'clock his noble soul took its flight from its mortal abode.

With an eloquent peroration, Rev. Father Licking closed by craving the prayers of the faithful for the departed hero of the Cross.

The pathetic musical services were rendered by the regular choir of the church, and comprised the Gregorian Requiem Mass, Miss Nellie M. McGowan, organist. The twelve pall-bearers were Colonel P. T. Hanley, Frank Ford, John J. Kennedy, M. H. Farrell, Thomas Kelly, E. J. Lynch, James McCormack, Thomas O'Leary, James B. Hand, William S. McGowan, John Reardon and Timothy McCarthy. Mount Calvary Cemetery was the place selected for the interment. In His Grace Archbishop Williams' vault the body will repose until the completion of work now in progress on a lot specially intended for Father O'Brien. It is estimated that the services at the church were attended by over twenty-five hundred people, and the funeral was likewise largely attended. Every kind attention was paid to his bereaved mother, father, and sister, who came on here from New York State.

SLEEP ON.

In Memory of Father John O'Brien, C. SS. R.

How short is life, a flitting cloud Before the blast. The storm wind roars, the thunder rolls Then, peace at last.

Oh! Brother, life to thee was short; A summer's morn A floweret blooming in the sun, Then, left forlorn.

Thy heart was fired with zealous love, Thy courage high. But list! Thy Captain softly calls And thou must die.

No more thou'lt lead His forces on To victory grand; No more thou'lt join with beating heart That glorious band.

Thou'rt fallen on the battle field With burnished arms. O soldier, sleep in peace, secure From war's alarms.

O glorious life! Thy heart was free From aught of earth, From glittering gold, or bauble fair Of little worth.

Thy gaze was fixed on Heaven's courts, Thy heart's desire On Calvary's top where Jesus burnt In love's fierce fire.

O noble champion of the cross, Thy course is run. Like heaven's light, thy soul returns To heaven's Sun.

O beauteous death! No worldly grief Is blustering there, The Church's voice, her tender plaint Scents all the air.

How sweet to die, when voice of prayer Doth rend the skies. Released from earth, the soul ascends In glad surprise.

And what is left? The house of clay Where dwelt the soul. That temple grand, where hymns to God Did often roll.

Ah! guard it well, its blessed walls Will rise again. Again the soul in heaven will chant Its glad refrain.

His tomb will blossom fair with flowers-- A mother's tears. In memory's halls, his name will live Through countless years.

Sleep on, brave soldier, sleep And take thy rest. Like John thou sleepest now On Jesus' breast.

Crown and Crescent.

A great event was witnessed on the evening of Monday, November 23, when the new electric crown and crescent, which adorn the statue of Our Lady on the dome of the university, were lit up for the first time. There, lifted high in the air--two hundred feet above the ground--the grand, colossal figure of the Mother of God appeared amid the darkness of the night in a blaze of light, with its diadem of twelve electric stars, and under its feet the crescent moon formed of twenty-seven electric lights. Truly, it was a grand sight; and one, which, though it is becoming familiar to the inmates of Notre Dame, must ever strike the beholder with awe and reverence, realizing as it does, the most perfect expression, in a material representation, of the prophetic declaration of Holy Writ: _And there appeared a great wonder in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars._

It must, indeed, have been an inspiration, or a prophetic foresight of the great advance soon to be made in the domain of science, that, a few years ago, caused the venerable founder of Notre Dame to conceive the grand idea which to-day we see so perfectly realized. In 1879, when the new Notre Dame was being raised upon the ruins of the old, comparatively little progress had as yet been made in electric lighting. In particular, the great problem of the minute subdivision of the light remained unsolved. Edison had not then begun his experiments, and the incandescent light was not even dreamed of. To employ the arc light around the statue was out of the question, not only because the necessary appliances would detract from the beauty of the figure, but also on account of the daily attention which the lamps would require.

But the idea had taken possession of the mind of Very Rev. Father Sorin, and was tenaciously clung to, in spite of discouraging report through the years that followed, until, at length, the success of subsequent experiments, and the invention of incandescent electric lighting, revealed the complete practicability of carrying out the grand design of the venerable founder.

Now, twelve of the Edison incandescent lamps encircle the head of the statue, while at the base are three semi-circles of nine lamps in each, which form the crescent moon. These, together with the lights in the halls of the college, are fed with the electric current by a powerful dynamo, situated in the rear of the building. Thus the visitor to Notre Dame, as he comes up the avenue at night, or the wayfarer for miles around, can realize and revere that glorious tribute to the Queen of Heaven, the Protectress of Notre Dame, as he sees her figure surrounded with its halo of light, typifying the watchful care she constantly exercises, by night as well as by day, over the inmates of this home of religion and science, which has been specially dedicated to her honor.

_Notre Dame_ (Ia.) _Scholastic_.

Four Thousand Years.

Four thousand years earth waited, Four thousand years men prayed, Four thousand years the nations sighed, That their King delayed.

The prophets told His coming, The saintly for Him sighed, And the Star of the Babe of Bethlehem Shone o'er them when they died.

Their faces toward the future, They longed to hail the light, That in after centuries Would rise on Christmas nights.

But still the Saviour tarried In His Father's home, And the nations wept and wondered why The promised had not come.

At last earth's prayer was granted, And God was a child of earth, And a thousand angels chanted The lowly midnight birth.

Ah! Bethlehem was grander That hour, than Paradise; And the light of earth, that night, eclipsed The splendors of the skies.

ABRAM J. RYAN.

Abolishing Barmaids.

A bill "for the Abolition of Barmaids" sounds like a joke from "Alice in Wonderland," or from one of Mr. Gilbert's burlesques. Nevertheless it is a serious legislative proposal now pending before the Parliament of Victoria. It is actually in print, and makes it penal for any keeper of a public house to employ women behind the counter. Of course, the advocates of this astonishing idea have their arguments. They do not go quite as far as Sir Wilfrid Lawson, who would disestablish not only barmaids, but barmen and bars; they would not shut up all dram-shops; but they would make them as dreary as possible, so as to repel impressionable young men. In Gothenburg the spirit-drinker is served by a policeman, who keeps an eagle eye upon him that he may know him again, and refuse him a second glass if he asks for it before a certain interval has expired. The Victorian reformers have a corresponding idea of diminishing the attractions of intoxication by surrounding the initial stages with repellent rather than enticing accessories. Instead of the smiling Hebes who have fascinated the golden youth of the colony, men will serve as tapsters, and without note or comment hand across the counter the required draught. The effect may be considerable, as male drinkers do undoubtedly take a delight in the pleasant looks and bright talk of the young ladies who, as the French say, "preside" at these establishments. But should not the Victorian apostles of abstinence go further? It is well to replace girls by men, and thus subdue the bar to masculine dullness; but could not the Act of Parliament go on to declare that none save plain, grim-visaged males should be tolerated as assistants? The most inveterate toper might hesitate to enter twice if he were always met by the ugly aspect of some dark, forbidding countenance. A kind of competition might take place for the posts, which might be given to the most repulsive people the Government could select. Fearful squint would be at a premium; scowls would be valued according to their blackness and depth; a ghastly grin would be desirable; while a general cadaverousness might be utilized as suggesting to drunkards the probable end of their career. The gods of Olympus laughed loudly when the swart, ungainly Vulcan for once replaced Hebe as their cup-bearer; but it would be no joke for the young idlers of Melbourne to find stern, grim men frowning over the counters where once they were received with "nods and becks and wreathed smiles."

Christianity in China.

The arrangement which the Pope has made with the Emperor of China promises to be productive of the happiest results, and to open the Flowery Kingdom fully to the spread of the gospel. For many years the French assumed the position of protectors of Christian missionaries in barbarous countries. The first expedition to Annam was avowedly sent to put an end to the murders of missionaries and converts so frequent in that country; and for a time it did serve to put a check on the ferocity of government and people. In the treaty of Tienstin it was stipulated that the French Government should have the right to protect missionaries in China. For a time that seemed to work well. But the many complaints made through the French consuls, and the punishments inflicted on Mandarins at their demand, served to irritate the Mandarins and the populace. The indiscretion of some French missionaries, who interposed to protect converts not always deserving of protection, and who flaunted the flag of France in the faces of the Mandarins in their own courts, increased the irritation. Some of the missionaries boasted also in letters, which the Chinese saw when published, of the respect for France which they instilled into their converts. The consequence was, that, although the missionaries are from all nations, the Chinese learned to regard them as French; and when the French made the late war on China, to regard all Chinese Christians as traitors. Formerly the government persecuted the Christians. Latterly Chinese mobs massacred the Christians and destroyed their churches, convents, schools, etc., and the French scarcely made an effort to protect them even in Tonquin. The Holy Father, in the letter which we published some time ago, assured the Emperor that the missionaries who are of all nations are of no politics and desire only to preach the Christian religion, and begged the Emperor to protect them. It has now been arranged that the Pope shall hereafter be represented by a Legate at Pekin to whom the rank, etc., of an ambassador will be given, and who will receive any complaints the missionaries may have to make and will seek redress for them. Thus the interests of religion will, in the minds of the Chinese, be entirely dissociated from the interests of all foreign countries, and the feelings which now prevail will subside in time. The French Government infidel, though it is, will not like, it is thought, to be thus put aside; but if the missionaries cease to appeal to its agents it will be powerless.

"Faro's Daughters."

There was plenty of gambling in London at the end of the last century, and ladies took a prominent part in it. Faro was then a favorite game, and ladies who were in the habit of keeping a bank used to be called "Faro's Daughters." Of these, Lady Archer and Lady Buckinghamshire were the most notorious, and Mrs. Sturt, Mrs. Hobart, and Mrs. Concannon were also noted gamblers. The usual method was for some great lady to give an entertainment at which faro was played, when the lady who took the bank gave her £25 towards the expenses. St. James's Square was the scene of many of these revels. The _Times_ of April 2, 1794, stated that "one of the Faro Banks in St. James's Square lost £7000 last year by bad debts." The same number tells us that "Lady Buckinghamshire, Mrs. Sturt, and Mrs. Concannon alternately divide the _beau-monde_ at their respective houses. Instead of having two different hot suppers, at one and three in the morning, the Faro Banks will now scarcely afford bread and cheese and porter." The lady gamblers were considerably alarmed at certain hints they received, that they would be prosecuted; and in 1796 the _Times_ said, "We state it as a fact, within our own knowledge, that two ladies of fashion, who keep open houses for gaming at the West End of the Town, have lately paid large douceurs to ward off the hand of justice." But in the following year Lady Buckinghamshire, Lady Elizabeth Lutterell, and Mrs. Sturt were each fined £50 for playing faro at the house of the first named. The evidence proved that the "defendants had gaming parties at their different houses by rotation," and that they played until four or five in the morning. The fines seemed light enough, for an extract from the _Times_ in the same year says:--"The expense of entertainments at the Gaming House of the highest class, in St. James's Square, during the eight months of last season, has been said to exceed 6,000 guineas! What must be the profits to afford such a profusion?" In modern times backgammon is not usually associated with very desperate gambling; but a captain in the guards is said to have lost thirteen thousand guineas at that game at one sitting in 1796. He revenged himself, however, by winning forty-five thousand guineas at billiards in a single night shortly afterwards.--_Saturday Review._

* * * * *

NEVER use water that has stood in a lead pipe over night. Not less than a wooden bucketful should be allowed to run.

Juvenile Department.

A CHILD'S DAY.

When I was a little child It was always golden weather. My days stretched out so long From rise to set of sun, I sang and danced and smiled-- My light heart like a feather-- From morn to even-song; But the child's days are done.

I used to wake with the birds-- The little birds wake early, For the sunshine leaps and plays On the mother's head and wing; And the clouds were white as curds; The apple trees stood pearly; I always think of the child's days As one unending spring.

I knew where all flowers grew. I used to lie in the meadow Ere reaping-time and mowing-time And carting home the hay. And, oh, the skies were blue! Oh, drifting light and shadow! It was another time and clime-- The little child's sweet day.

And in the long days waning The skies grew rose and amber And palest green and gold, With a moon's white flame. And if came wind and raining, Gray hours I don't remember; Nor how the warm year waxed cold, And deathly autumn came.

Only of that young time The bright things I remember: How orchard bows were laden red, And blackberries so brave Came ere the frost and rime-- Ere the dreary, dark November, With dripping black boughs overhead, And dead leaves on a grave.

The years have come and gone, And brought me many a pleasure, And many a gift and gain From near and from afar, And dear work gladly done, And dear love without measure, And sunshine after rain, And in the night a star.

The years have come and gone, And one hath brought me sorrow; Yet I shall sing to ease my pain For the hours I must stay. They are passing one by one, And I wait with hope the morrow; But indeed I am not fain Of a long, long day.

It is well for a little child Whose heart is blithe and merry To find too short its golden day-- Long morn and afternoon. So many flowers grow wild, And many a fruit and berry: Long day, too short for work and play,-- The night comes too soon.

It was well for that little child; But its day is gone forever, And a wounded heart will ache In the sunlight gold and gay. Oh, the night is cool and mild To all things that smart with fever! The older heart had time to break In the little child's long day.

KATHARINE TYNAN, in _Merry England_.

* * * * *

WHEN little Willie L. first heard the braying of a mule in the South, he was greatly frightened; but, after thinking a minute, he smiled at his fear, saying, "Mamma, just hear that poor horse with the whooping-cough!"

A LITTLE grammar is a dangerous thing: "Johnny, be a good boy, and I will take you to the circus next year."--"Take me now, pa; the circus is in the present tents."

THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY.

Grandfather Patrick lived a long time ago; in the days when all the grandfathers wore white wigs with little tails sticking out behind.

One day he went into the back yard where an old Turkey Gobbler lived, and said to him:

"Mr. Turkey Gobbler: Next week comes Christmas and I want you to come into the house with me, and help us have a good time. You are such a fine, fat fowl, I am sure you will be just the one we want."

Mr. Turkey Gobbler was a vain bird, and when he heard Grandfather Patrick say this, he spread out his tail, stuck up his feathers, and stretched his wings down to the ground. Then he said: "Yes, I know I am a fine fowl, and I want to get away from this low, mean yard, into the grand house, among grand people, where I think I belong."

"And so you shall," said Grandfather Patrick. "You shall leave this cold yard and come in to the stove where it is warm. You shall come to the table with us all on Christmas Day. You shall be at the head of the table, and the boys and girls will be glad to see you, and they will say how fat you are, and how good you are, and how they wish they could have you at the table every day."

Mr. Turkey Gobbler was so pleased at all this that he went into the house with Grandfather Patrick and Aunt Bridget.

And all the little chickens looked on, and they said to each other: "Why cannot we go into the grand house, and come to the table the same as Mr. Turkey Gobbler? We are just as fine as he."

"Be patient," said Grandfather Patrick; "your time will come."

THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING.

"Dear Santa Claus," wrote little Will in letters truly shocking, "I's been a good boy, so please fill a heapen up this stocking. I want a drum to make pa sick and drive my mamma cra- zy. I want a doggie I can kick so he will not get lazy. I want a powder gun to shoot right at my sister Annie, and a big trumpet I can toot just awful loud at granny. I want a dreffle big false face to scare in fits our ba- by. I want a pony I can race around the parlor, maybe. I want a little hatchet, too, so I can do some chopping upon our grand piano new, when mamma goes a-shopping. I want a nice hard rub- ber ball to smash all into flinders, the great big mirror in the hall an' lots an' lots of winders. An' candy that'll make me sick, so ma all night will hold me an' make pa get the doctor quick an' never try to scold me. An' Santa Claus, if pa says I'm naughty it's a story. Jus' say if she whips me I'll die an' surely go to glory."

THE CHRISTMAS CRIB.

From the French of J. Grange, by Th. Xr. K.

There still subsist, in certain provinces of France, old religious customs which are full of charming simplicity. May they endure and ever hold out against the icy breath of skepticism, the cold rules of the beautiful, and the wearisome level of uniformity.

In the churches of Limousin, between Christmas and the Purification, is found a rustic monument called crib. The crib is generally a straw hut, thatched with branches of holly and pine; on these branches are scattered little patches of white wadding, which look like snowflakes. Inside the house, on a bed of straw, lies an Infant Jesus made of wax. All these Infants look alike and are charming; they have blond hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks, and a silk or brocade gown, with gold and silver spangles. To the right of the Child is the Blessed Virgin; to the left, St. Joseph. These are of wax or even of colored pasteboard. A little behind the Holy Family, and forming two distinct groups, may be seen the kings and the shepherds. The shepherds are like peasants of that part of the country, with long hair, big felt hats, and blue drugget vests. Most of them carry in their hands, or in baskets, dairy or farm presents,--fruits, eggs, honey-comb, a pair of doves. As for the kings, they are superbly clothed in long gowns, whose trail is carried by dwarfs. One of them, called the king of Ethiopia, is black and has kinky hair.

In certain cribs, simplicity and exactness are pushed to such lengths, as to represent the ox and the ass, with the rack full of hay. There may be also seen, but less frequently, in the kings' group, camels and dromedaries, covered with rich harness, and led by the bridle by slaves. If you want to do things right and leave nothing out, you must skilfully arrange above the crib a yellow-colored glass in which burns a flame, which represents the star that the Magi perceived and which stopped over the grotto at Bethlehem. Candles and tapers burn before the crib, which is surrounded by some pious women, and a number of children, who never grow weary of admiring the Holy Family and its brilliant retinue.

I was one day in a church where there was one of these cribs. I was hidden by a column and was a witness, without any wish of mine, of the impressions which the little monument made on visitors.

A gentleman, a stranger in the locality, entered the church with a young lady, about eighteen years of age, who seemed to be his daughter. The gentleman took off his hat, put on a smoking cap, and began to visit the church with as much carelessness of demeanor as though it were a provincial museum. The young lady dipped the tips of her fingers in the holy water, sped through a short prayer, and hastened to rejoin her father, with whom she began to chat and laugh.

When they came in front of the crib, the father adjusted his eye-glasses, the daughter took her opera-glass, and for a few minutes they gazed on this scene, new to them.

After gazing a little while, the gentleman shrugged his shoulders and asked:

"What are all those dolls?"

"Papa," replied the daughter, "that is the Stable of Bethlehem, and a simple representation of the birth of Jesus Christ."

"Simple?" exclaimed the father, "you're indulgent to-day, Azémia; you should say grotesque and buffoonish; that it should be possible to push bad taste so far! It is not enough that their mysteries are incomprehensible; here they're trying to make them ridiculous!"

"Goodness, papa," said the young lady; "just think! for the common people and peasants"--

"I tell you, Azémia, that it is absurd and shocking, and that the peasants and the natives themselves must laugh at it. Let us go! I feel myself catching cold here, and dinner must be ready."

They had hardly left the church, when a lady entered with a charming four-year-old baby. The child ran to the crib where the mother joined him after a prayer which seemed to me less summary and more serious than that which the young lady had said.

"Oh! mamma," the child said half aloud; "look at the little Jesus, and the Blessed Virgin, and St. Joseph. See the kings and the shepherds. Oh! mamma, see the star the kings followed and that stopped over the Stable of Bethlehem."

And the child stood on tip-toe and looked with wide-open eyes.

"Mamma," he went on, "see the ass and the ox that were in the stable when the little Jesus came into the world. Oh! the beautiful gray ass! and that ox that is all red; it looks like an ox for sure, like those in the fields. Say, little mother, could I throw a kiss to little Jesus?"

And the child, putting his finger-tips to his lips, made a delightfully naive salute.

The mother silently kissed her child, and it seemed to me that she was weeping.

"Now, darling," she said, "now that you've seen everything, say to the little Jesus the prayer you say every night before going to bed."

The child seemed to hesitate.

"You see there is nobody here but the good God and us; then you can say it low."

"My God," said the child; "I love you. Keep me during my sleep; keep little father and little mother too, good papa and good mamma, my sister Mary, who is at boarding-school, and all my relatives, living and dead. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I give you my heart."

The mother and the child left. And I who had heard these things, I thought of the sacred texts:--

"Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God."

"I thank Thee, Father, because Thou hast hidden these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them to the little ones."

"Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise."

CHRISTMAS GIFTS FOR THE BOYS.

"Please suggest a suitable Christmas present for a boy of nine."

The above, addressed to the _New York Sun_, elicited the following reply, which may be read with much profit by all parents of young hopefuls.

If your nine-year-old has developed any mechanical taste, gratify it by a small kit of tools. The chests of cheap tools sold in the stores are not good for much. Select a few tools of good quality at a hardware store, and put a substantial work bench, such as carpenters use, in the play room. Never mind an occasional cut finger.

Pet animals or birds, which may be found in great variety in the bird fanciers' stores, always delight the boys. But city boys do not always have room to keep them.

An aquarium of moderate dimensions, stocked with half a dozen varieties of fish, turtles, snails, seaweed, etc., is a very useful and interesting present for any boy or girl. In the spring add a few pollywogs, and watch them in their evolution into frogs. You will be interested in the process yourself.

What do you say to a microscope?

If your boy lacks muscular development for his years, get him a set of apparatus for parlor gymnastics. He will have lots of fun and it will do him good. A bicycle isn't bad either.

If he hasn't learned to skate yet it is time to start in. Get him a good pair of steel runners.

Of course he has a sled?

Perhaps he has all of the things we mention. If so, get the housemaid, or some other person whom he would not suspect, to ask him what he would like best for Christmas, and get that if it is within the bounds of reason.

Throw in a book. There are plenty of them.

Don't give him a toy pistol.

ROBIN REDBREAST.

All over Great Britain and Ireland the redbreast's nest is spared, while those of other birds are robbed without ceremony; and his life is equally sacred. No schoolboy who has ever killed a robin can forget the dire remorse and fear that followed the deed. And little wonder, for terrible are the punishments said to overtake those who persecute this little bird. Generally such a crime is believed to be expiated by the death of a friend. Sometimes the punishment is more trivial. In some parts of England it is believed that even the weasel and the wildcat will spare him.

In Brittany, the native place of the legend, it is needless to say, the redbreast is thoroughly popular, and his life and nest are both respected. In Cornouaille the people say he will live till the day of judgment, and every year will make some young women rich and happy. In some parts of England and Scotland his appearance is considered an omen of death. In Northamptonshire he is said to tap three times at the window of a dying person's room. In the Haute Marne district of France he is also thought a bird of ill omen, and is called Beznet--meaning "the evil eye."

In Central Europe, where there is also no trace of a passion legend attached to the redbreast, he is held none the less sacred. Mischief is sure to follow the violator of his nest. But by far the most prevalent belief, and especially in Germany, is that the man who injures a redbreast or its nest will have his house struck by lightning, and that a redbreast's nest near a house will protect it from lightning.

These robins are very rarely seen on this side of the Atlantic. Several of them were brought to this country a few weeks ago from Larne, county Antrim, Ireland, and were landed in New York.

They are the tamest of all the birds in the British Isles, and are utter strangers to the timidity which our robin displays toward man. At the same time they are not pert and presumptuous like the sparrow, but seem to feel that their innocent confidence in man has gained for them immunity from the danger of being stoned or shot at, to which nearly every other bird is subjected to without compunction. The most mischievous schoolboy in those countries never thinks of throwing a stone at a robin, although he regards any other bird as an entirely proper object for his aim. Like every other songster of the feathered tribe, their age depends on how old they are when captured. If taken from the nest they will live for years in a cage, but should they have enjoyed some years of freedom they pine away soon, and in such cases refuse to sing. The nest bird, however, sings in captivity, though its notes might lack the sweetness and duration of the free bird. In appearance the little robin bears scarcely any resemblance to its namesake of this continent, being much smaller in size, and having a breast of far rosier hue.

FOOLISH GIRLS.

While the great majority of our girls are sensible and wise, not a few are silly victims of sensational story papers. Their minds become corrupted, and their imaginations attain an unhealthy development. They picture to themselves an ideal hero, and easily fall victims to designing knaves, who induce them to elope. The spice of romance in an elopement takes their fancy, and they leave the homes of happy childhood to wander in the paths of pleasure. It has been well remarked that nothing good is ever heard of a girl who elopes. Now and then she figures in the divorce courts either as plaintiff or defendant, but ordinarily the world moves on, and leaves her to her fate. Occasionally the police records give a fragment of her life when the heyday of her youth and life has fled, and the man with whom she has eloped has taken to beating her in order to get up an appetite for breakfast. Here and there the workhouse or charitable home opens its doors to receive her, when she wearies of the life she gladly assumed, and is too proud to beg for forgiveness at home.

LITTLE QUEEN PET AND HER KINGDOM.

There was once a little queen who was born to reign over a great rich kingdom called Goldenlands. She had twelve nurses and a hundred and fifty beautiful names: only unfortunately on the day of the christening there was so much confusion and excitement that all the names were lost as they fell out of the bishop's mouth. Nobody saw where they vanished to, and as nobody could find them, the poor little baby had to return to the palace nursery without anything to be called by. They could not christen her over again, so the king offered a reward to the person who should discover the princess's names within the next fifteen years. Every one cried "Poor pet, poor pet!" over the nameless baby, who soon became known as the Princess Pet. But her father and mother took the accident so much to heart that they both died soon after.

Of course, little Pet was considered too young to manage the affairs of her own kingdom, and so she had a great, powerful Government to do it for her. This Government was a most peculiar monster, with nine hundred and ninety-nine heads and scarcely any heart; and when anything was to be decided upon, all the heads had to be laid together, so that it took a long time to make up its mind. It was not at all good to the kingdom, but little Pet did not know anything about that, as she was kept away in her splendid nursery, with all her nurses watching her, while she played with the most wonderful toys. Sometimes she was taken out to walk in the gardens, with three nurses holding a parasol over her head, a page carrying her embroidered train, three nurses walking before, fanning her, and six nurses following behind; but she never had any playfellows, and nothing ever happened at all different from everything else. The only variety in her life was made by startling sounds, which often came echoing to the nursery, of the gate-bell of the palace ringing loudly.

"Why does the bell ring so?" little Pet would cry, and the nurses would answer:

"Oh, it is only the poor!"

"Who are the poor?" asked Pet.

"People who are born to torment respectable folks!" said the head nurse.

"They must be very naughty people!" lisped Pet, and went on with her play.

When Pet grew a little older she became very tired of dolls and skipping-ropes, and she really did not know what to do with herself; so one day, when all the nurses had gone down to dinner at the same time, she escaped from her nursery and tripped down the passages, peering into the corners on every side. After wandering about a long time she came to a staircase, and descending it very quickly she reached a suite of beautiful rooms which had been occupied by her mother. They remained just as the good queen had left them; even the faded roses were turning into dust in the jars. Pet was walking through the rooms very soberly, peering at, and touching everything, when she heard a queer little sound of moaning and whispering and complaining, which came like little piping gusts of wind from somewhere or other.

"Fiss-whiss, whiss, whiss, whiss!" went the little whispers; and "Ah!" and "Ai!" and "Oh!" came puffing after them, like the strangest little sighs.

"Oh, dear, what _can_ it be?" thought Pet, standing in the middle of the room and gazing all round. "I declare I do think it is coming out of the wardrobe!"

An ancient carved wardrobe extended all along one side of the room, and indeed the little sounds seemed to be whistling out through its chinks and keyholes. Pet walked up to it rather timidly; but taking courage, put her ear to the lock. Then she heard distinctly:

"Here we hang in a row, In a row! And we ought to have been given To the poor long ago!"

And besides this strange complaint she caught other little bits grumbles floating about, such as

"Fiss, whiss, whiss! Did ever I think I should have come to this?"

And:

"Alack, and well-a-day! Will _nobody_ come To take us away?"

As soon as she had recovered from her amazement, Pet opened the wardrobe, and there she saw a long row of gowns, hanging in all sorts of despondent attitudes, some hooked up by their sleeves, others caught by the waist with their bodies doubled together.

"Here is somebody at last, thank goodness!" cried a dark-brown silk which was greatly crumpled, and looked very uncomfortable hanging up by its shoulder.

"Oh, gowns, gowns!" cried Pet, staring at these strange grumblers with her round, blue eyes, "whatever do you want?"

"_Want_?" cried the brown silk; "why, of course, to be taken out and given to the poor."

"The poor again!" cried Pet. "Who can these poor be at all, I wonder?"

"People who cannot buy clothing enough for themselves," said the brown silk. "When your dear mother was alive she always gave her old gowns to the poor. Only think how nice I should be for the respectable mother of a family to go to church in on Sundays, instead of being rumpled in here out of the daylight with the moths eating me."

"And I," cried a pink muslin, "what a pretty holiday frock I should make for the industrious young school-mistress who supports her poor grandfather and grandmother."

"And I! and I! and I!" shrieked many little rustling voices, each describing the possible usefulness of a particular gown.

"Yes! we should all turn to account," continued the brown silk, "all except, perhaps, one or two very grand, stiff old fogies in velvet and brocade and cloth-of-gold; and even these might be cut up into jackets for the old clown who tumbles on the village green for the children's amusement."

"My breath is quite taken away," cried Pet. "I shall certainly see that you are all taken out and given to the poor immediately."

"She is her mother's daughter after all;" said the brown silk, triumphantly; and Pet closed the door upon a chorus of little murmurs of satisfaction from the imprisoned gowns.

"This is a very curious adventure," thought the little queen, as she trotted on, fancying she saw faces grinning at her out of the furniture and down from the ceiling; and then she stopped again, quite sure she heard very peculiar sounds coming out of an antique bureau which stood in a corner. After her conversation with the gowns this did not surprise her much at all, and she put her ear to the keyhole at once.

"Clink! Clink! What do you think? Here we are Shut up in a drawer,"

cried the queer little voices coming out of the bureau.

"What can _this_ be about, I wonder?" said Pet, and turning the key, peeped in. There she beheld a whole heap of gold and silver lying in the depths of the bureau, all the guineas and shillings hopping about and clinking against each other and singing:

"Take us out And give us about, And then we shall do Some good, no doubt!"

"Why, what do you want to get out for?" asked Pet, looking down at them.

"To help the poor, of course!" said the money. "We were put in here by the good queen, your mother, and saved up for the poor who deserve to be assisted. But now every one has forgotten us, and we are rusting away while there is so much distress in the kingdom."

"Well," said Pet, "I shall see to your case; for I promise you I am going to know more about these wonderful poor."

She shut up the bureau, and went on further exploring the rooms, and now you may be pretty sure her ears were wide open for every sound. It was not long before she heard a creaking and squeaking that came from a large wicker-basket which was twisting about in the most discontented manner.

"Once on a time I was filled with bread, But now I stand as if I were dead,"

mourned the basket.

"And why were you filled with bread?" asked Pet.

"Your mother used to fill me," squeaked the basket, "and give the bread out of me to feed the poor."

"Why! do you mean to say that the poor have no bread to eat?" asked Pet. "That is really a most dreadful thing. I must speak to my Government about these poor immediately. Whatever my mother did must have been perfectly right at all events, and I shall do the same!"

And off she went back towards her nursery, meeting all her twelve nurses flying along the corridors to look for her.

"Go directly and tell my Government that I want to speak to it," said Queen Pet, quite grandly; and she was brought down to the great Council Chamber.

"Your Majesty has had too much plum-pudding and a bad dream afterwards!" said the Government when Pet had told the whole story about the gowns, and the money, and the bread-basket, and the poor; and then the Government took a pinch of snuff and sent Queen Pet back to her nursery.

The next day, when all the nurses had gone to their dinner again, Pet was leaning out of her nursery window, with her two elbows on the sills and her face between her hands, and she was gazing down on the charming gardens below, and away off over the fields and hills of her beautiful kingdom of Goldenlands. "Where do the poor live, I wonder?" she thought; "and I wonder what they are like? Oh, that I could be a good queen like my mother, and be of use to my people! How I wish that I had a ladder to reach down into the garden, and then I could run away all over my kingdom and find things out for myself."

Just as she thought thus an exquisite butterfly perched on her finger and said gaily,--

"A thousand spiders All weaving in a row, Can weave you a ladder To fit your little toe."

"Can they, indeed?" cried Pet; "and are you acquainted with the spiders?"

"I should think so, indeed," said the butterfly; "I am engaged to be married to a spider; I have been engaged ever since I was a caterpillar."

"Well, just ask them to be so good!" said Pet, and away flew the butterfly, coming back in a moment with a whole cloud of spiders following her.

"Be as quick as you can, please, lest my nurses should come back from dinner," said Pet, as the spiders worked away. "Fortunately they have all good appetites, and cannot bear to leave table without their six helpings of pudding."

The ladder being finished, Pet tripped down it into the garden, where she was hidden at once in a wilderness of roses, out of which she made her way through a wood, and across a stream quite far into the open country of her kingdom.

She was running very fast, with her head down, when she heard a step following her, and a voice speaking to her, and looking round, saw a very extraordinary person indeed. He was very tall and all made of loose, clanking bones; he carried a scythe in one hand, and an hourglass in the other, and he had a pleasant voice, which made Pet not so much afraid of him as she otherwise might have been.

"It is no use trying to run away from me," said this person. "Besides, I wish to do you a good turn. My name is Time."

Pet dropped a trembling courtesy.

"You need not be afraid of me," continued the stranger, "as you have never yet abused me. It is only those who are trying to kill me who have cause to fear me."

"Indeed, sir, I wish to be good to every person," said Pet.

"I know you do," said Time, "and that is why I am bound to help you. The thing you want most is a precious jewel called Experience. You are going now in search of it; yes, you are, though you do not know anything about it as yet. You will know it after you have found it. Now, I am going to give you some instructions."

"Thank you, sir," said Pet, who was delighted to find that he was not a government, and had no intention of bringing her back to her nursery.

"First of all I must tell you," said Time, "that you have a precious gift which was born with you: it is the power of entering into other people whenever you wish, living their lives, thinking their thoughts, and seeing everything as they see it."

"How nice!" cried Pet.

"It is a most useful gift if properly cultivated," said Time, "and it will certainly help you to gain your jewel. Now, whenever you find a person whose life you would wish to know all about for your own instruction, you have only to wish, and immediately your existence will pass into theirs."

"And shall I ever get out again?" asked Pet, who had an inveterate dislike of all imprisonment.

"I am going to tell you about that," said Time. "You must not remain too long locked up in anybody. Here is a curious tiny clock, with a little gold key, and you must take them with you and be very careful of them. Whenever you find that you have passed into somebody else, you must at once wind up your clock and hang it somewhere so that you can see it as you go about. The clock will go for a month, and as soon as it runs down and stops, you will be changed back into your separate self again. A month will be long enough for you to live in each person."

"Oh, thank you, thank you," cried Pet, seizing the clock.

"One thing you must be sure not to forget," said Time, "so attend to me well. There is a mysterious sympathy between you and the clock and the little gold key, and if you lose the key after the clock is wound up the clock will go on forever, or at least until you find the key again. So if you do not want to be shut up in somebody to the end of your life, be careful to keep guard of the key."

"That I will," said Pet.

"And now, good-by," said Time. "You can go on at this sort of thing as long as you like--until you are quite grown up, perhaps; and you couldn't have a better education."

Conclusion next month.

Useful Knowledge

KNIVES and forks with ivory, bone or wooden handles should not be put into cold water. But we suggest that when our readers buy knives for the table they get those with silver-plated handles and blades. They need no bath brick to keep them bright, but only an occasional rub with whiting, and save "lots of trouble."

LEMON PIE.--One cup of hot water, one tablespoonful of corn starch, one cup of white sugar, one tablespoonful of butter, the juice and grated rind of one lemon. Cook for a few minutes, add one egg, and bake with a top and bottom crust.

STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE.--One quart of flour sifted dry, with two large teaspoonfuls of baking powder, one tablespoonful of sugar, and a little salt. Add three tablespoonfuls of butter and sweet milk, enough to form a soft dough. Bake in a quick oven, and when partially cooked split open, spread with butter, and cover with a layer of strawberries well sprinkled with sugar; lay the other half on top, and spread in the same manner.

A GOOD WAY TO USE COLD MEAT.--Take the remnants of any fresh roasted meat and cut in thin slices. Lay them in a dish with a little plain boiled macaroni, if you have it, and season thoroughly with pepper, salt, and a little walnut catsup. Fill a deep dish half full; add a very little finely chopped onion, and pour over half a can of tomatoes or tomatoes sliced, having previously saturated the meat with stock or gravy. Cover with a thick crust of mashed potato, and bake till this is brown in a not too hot oven, but neither let it be too slow.

OMELET.--Take as many eggs as required, and add three teaspoonfuls of milk and a pinch of salt to each egg. Beat lightly for three or four minutes. Melt a teaspoonful of butter in a hot pan, and pour on the eggs. They will at once begin to bubble and rise up, and must be kept from sticking to the bottom of the pan with a knife. Cook two or three minutes. If desired, beat finely chopped ham or parsley with the eggs before cooking.

AN experienced gardener says that a sure sign to find out if plants in pots require wetting is to rap on the side of the pot, near the middle, with the finger knuckle; if it give forth a hollow ring the plant needs water; but if there is a dull sound there is still moisture enough to sustain the plant.

CAKES WITHOUT EGGS.--In a little book just issued from the press of Messrs. Scribner & Welford, New York, a large number of practical, though novel, receipts are given for making cakes of various kinds, from the informal griddle-cake to the stately bride-cake, without eggs, by the use of Royal Baking Powder. Experienced housekeepers inform us that this custom has already obtained large precedence over old-fashioned methods in economical kitchens, and that the product is frequently superior to that where eggs are used, and that less butter is also required for shortening purposes. The advantage is not alone in the saving effected, but in the avoidance of the trouble attendant upon securing fresh eggs and the annoyance of an occasional cake spoiled by the accidental introduction of an egg that has reached a little too nearly the incubatory period. The Royal Baking Power also invariably insures perfectly light, sweet and handsome cake, or when used for griddle cakes, to be eaten hot, enables their production in the shortest possible space of time, and makes them most tender and delicious, as well as entirely wholesome. There is no other preparation like it.

FEEDING COOKED MATERIAL.--The feed for young chicks should always be cooked, for if this is done there will be less liability of bowel disease; but the adult stock should have whole grains a portion of the time. By cooking the food, one is better enabled to feed a variety, as potatoes, turnips, beets, carrots and such like, can be utilized with advantage. All such material as bran, corn meal, middlings, or ground oats should at least be scalded, if not cooked, which renders it more digestible and more quickly beneficial. Where shells or lime are not within reach, a substitute may be had by stirring a spoonful of ground chalk in the food of every six hens; but gravel must be provided where this method is adopted.

The Humorist

IN an argument with an irascible and not very learned man, Sydney Smith was victor, whereupon the defeated said, "If I had a son who was an idiot, I'd make a parson of him." Mr. Smith calmly replied, "Your father was of a different opinion."

A BANANA skin lay on the grocer's floor. "What are you doing there?" asked the scales, peeking over the edge of the counter. "Oh, I'm lying in wait for the grocer."--"Pshaw!" said the scales: "I've been doing that for years."

THE late Dr. Doyle was applied to on one occasion by a Protestant clergyman for a contribution towards the erection of a church. "I cannot," said the bishop, "consistently aid you in the erection of a Protestant church; but I will give you £10 towards the removal of the old one." Received with thanks.

"WHAT is a curiosity, ma?" asked little Jimmy. "A curiosity is something that is very strange, my son."--"If pa bought you a sealskin sack this winter would that be a curiosity?"--"No, my son; that would be a miracle."

A BRITISH and Yankee skipper were sailing side by side, and in the mutual chaff the English captain hoisted the Union Jack and cried out--"There's a leg of mutton for you." The Yankee unfurled the Stars and Stripes and shouted back, "And there is the gridiron which broiled it."

A MR. FOLLIN became engaged to a fair maid whose acquaintance he formed on a transatlantic voyage last year. The girl's father consented to their union and while joining their hands he said to the would-be bridegroom, "Follin, love and esteem her."--"Of course, I will," was the reply. "Didn't I fall in love on a steamer?"

MISS LILY, seeing a certain friend of the family arrive for dinner, showed her joy by all sorts of affectionate caresses. "You always seem glad when _I_ come to dinner," said the invited guest. "Oh, yes," replied the little girl. "You love me a great deal, then?"--"Oh, it isn't for that," was the candid reply. "But when you come we always have chocolate creams, you know."

PIETY THAT PAID.--"How does it happen that you joined the Methodist church?" asked a man of a dealer in ready-made clothing. "Vell, pecause mine brudder choined der Bresbyterians. I vas not vant der let haem git advantage mit me."--"How get the advantage?"--"Mine brudder noticed dot he was ein shoemaker und dot der Bresbyterians shtood oop ven dey bray. He see dot dey vare der shoes oud in dot vay und he choins dot shurch to hold dot trade, und prospers; so I choined der Methodists."--"What did you gain by that?"--"Vy, der Methodists kneel down unt vare der pritches at der knees out ven dey bray, unt dey bray long unt vare pig holes in dem pritches. Vell, I sells clothes to dem Methodists unt makes monish."--"But don't you have to donate considerable to the support of the church?"--"Yah, I puts much money in dot shurch basket, but efery time I denotes to dot shurch I marks pritches oop ten per cent, und gets more as even."

PROSE AND POETRY.--"Yes," she said dreamily, as she thrust her snowy fingers between the pages of the last popular novel; "life is full of tender regrets." "My tenderest regret is that I haven't the funds to summer us at Newport," he replied, without taking his eye off the butcher, who was softly oozing through the front gate with the bill in his hand. "Ah, Newport," she lisped, with a languid society sigh; "I often think of Newport by the sea, and water my dreams with the tender dews of memory." She leaned back in the hammock, and he continued: "I wish I could water the radishes and mignonette with the tender dews of memory."--"Why?" she asked, clasping her hands together. "Why, because it almost breaks my back handling the water-pot, and half the water goes on my feet, and it takes about half an hour to pump that pail of water, and it requires something like a dozen pailfuls to do the business. What effect do you think the tender dews of memory would have on a good drumhead cabbage?" But she had turned her head and was looking over the daisy-dappled fields, and she placed her fingers in her ears, while the prosaic butcher, who had just arrived, was talking about the price of pork.

DONAHOE'S MAGAZINE.

BOSTON, JANUARY, 1886.

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Notes on Current Topics.

"IT IS FASHIONABLE TO BE IRISH, NOW."

Hon. Hugh O'Brien's Magnificent Record as Mayor of Boston.

Hon. Hugh O'Brien, Mayor of Boston, has made one of the ablest chief executives that the city has ever possessed. Indeed, few past Mayors can at all compare with him either in personal impressiveness or financial acumen. No man living understands Boston's true interests better than he, and no one has the future prosperity of the New England metropolis more sincerely at heart. Possessing an earnest desire for the public welfare, he has, with characteristic vigor, energy and broadmindedness, advocated measures calculated to redound to the immense benefit of the capital of the old Bay State. His name will live in the history of the great city, as that of one of far-seeing judgment, great administrative ability and unsurpassed intellectual accomplishments.

"It is fashionable to be Irish, now!" said a gentlemen at a meeting a short time since, and in a great measure the assertion will stand the test. When Hugh O'Brien sought the suffrages of his fellow-citizens, a year ago, for the mayorality, thousands, who then malignantly sneered at his candidacy, were this year found among his most earnest supporters for re-election. His brilliant administration, thorough impartiality and manifest sound judgment has entirely removed the prejudice and bias from a very large number of honest, well-meaning citizens, who had previously regarded the idea of an "Irish" Mayor with profound distrust. Mayor O'Brien's friends and supporters are not now confined to any one particular party, but have given evidence of their existence in other political camps. A Democrat in politics, and nominated originally by the Democrats, Hugh O'Brien has not only proved entirely satisfactory to his own party, but has also earned the confidence and esteem of a large portion of the Republican element. At a recent Republican meeting, Otis D. Dana, strongly advocated the nomination of Mr. O'Brien by that party on the ground that as a matter of party expediency and for the good of the entire city, Mr. O'Brien should receive Republican indorsement, and thus be given an opportunity "to act even more independently than he has this year." This is but an instance of Mayor O'Brien's popularity with men of all parties. The world moves, and the re-election of Hugh O'Brien to the mayorality may be considered cumulative evidence of the truth of the quotation made above, that "It is fashionable to be Irish, now."

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A NEW YEAR'S PRESENT.--No better present can be given to a friend than a copy of our MAGAZINE. Any of our present subscribers getting a new one will get both for $3.00 (one for himself and another for his friend), sent to separate addresses.

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A NEW DEPUTY COLLECTOR FOR BOSTON.--We endorse with pleasure this from the _Connecticut Catholic_: We congratulate Thomas Flatley, secretary of the Land League, under the presidency of Hon. P. A. Collins, on his appointment as deputy collector of the custom house in Boston. He is a whole-souled gentleman of ability, and Democratic to the core. His elevation will please thousands of Irish-Americans in many States besides Massachusetts.

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IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.--As we have electrotyped our MAGAZINE, we can supply any number of this issue.

Mr. P. J. Maguire for Alderman.

The Democracy of Wards 19 and 22, constituting the 9th district, have unanimously voted to support Mr. P. James Maguire for alderman at the ensuing election. This, no doubt, secures for Mr. Maguire the cordial support of the Democratic City Committee, and as the two wards are democratic in politics, it ought to be an election for that gentleman without any doubts thrown in. Mr. Maguire has had a varied experience in municipal legislation, in which he has proved himself a most useful and capable servant of the people. He served six years in the Boston City Government, that is, from 1879 to 1884 inclusive. During this time he was on the committee on public buildings, also on the committee on the assessors department, on committees on Stony Brook, public parks, claims, police, and several others of more or less special importance, in all of which he showed a fine business efficiency and discriminating capacity highly laudable. He has also served as a Director of Public Institutions. Last year he had to contend against the forces of a big corporation, and other organized oppositions, in favor of the Republican nominee for alderman, which are not likely to avail against him in this campaign. The gentleman is of the highly respected firm of Maguire & Sullivan, merchant and military tailors, 243 Washington Street, between Williams Court and the _Herald_ office, one of the busiest sections of the city. Their trade, it should be said embraces considerable patronage from the reverend clergy for cassocks and other wearing apparel.

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WE give our readers this month sixteen additional pages of reading matter. Should our circulation increase to warrant a continuance of this addition--say one hundred and ninety-two pages a year--we will continue the addition. Come, friends, and enable us to benefit you as well as ourselves. Let each subscriber send us a new one.

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A FAIR in aid of Fr. Roche's working Boys' Home will be held in the new building on Bennet Street, commencing Easter Monday night.

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THE KING OF SPAIN, Alphonso XII., died at his palace in Madrid, on the morning of the 25th of November, in his 28th year.

Death of the Vice-President.

The eventful political and professional career of Hon. Thomas Andrews Hendricks, Vice-President of the United States, came to an abrupt end towards evening, on the 25th of November, at his home in Indianapolis, Ind. The event was sudden and unexpected. There was no one at his bedside at the time, for his wife, who had been there all day, had left for a few minutes to see a caller, and it was she who first made the discovery of his death. For more than two years Mr. Hendricks had been in ill health, and recently the apprehension had been growing on him that his death was likely to occur at most any time. He had a gangrenous attack arising from a disabled foot in 1882, when, for a time, it was feared he would die of blood-poisoning. After his recovery from this he was frequently troubled with pains in his head and breast, and to those with whom he was on confidential terms he frequently expressed himself as apprehensive of a sudden demise from paralysis; but he said that when death came he hoped it would come quickly and painlessly. He was at Chicago the previous week, and upon his return he complained of the recurrence of the physical troubles to which he was subject. His indisposition, however, did not prevent him from attending to business as usual. The night previous he attended a reception given at the residence of Hon. John J. Cooper, treasurer of the State. The death following so soon after that of the late ex-President Grant, has cast a gloom over the whole country. His age was sixty-seven years. The interment took place on the first of December, at the family grave in his own town. There were present members of the Cabinet and representatives from every part of the country. None will regret his loss more than the friends of Ireland, at home and abroad. His recent speech on Irish affairs, which was published in the November issue of our MAGAZINE, had more influence on the stirring events in England and Ireland than any other utterance for years. The nation laments his loss, and the Irish people throughout the world join the mourning.

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SOUTHERN SKETCHES.--We are obliged to lay over the interesting "Southern Sketches." The next will be a description of Havana, Cuba.

CONVERSIONS.--The Rev. Wm. Sutherden, Curate of St. John's, Torquay, and the Rev. W. B. Drewe, M. A. (Oxon), who for twenty-three years held the Vicarage of Longstock, Stockbridge, Hants, have been received into the Church--the former by the Cardinal-Archbishop at Archbishop's House, Westminster; the latter by the Very Rev. Canon Mount, at St. Joseph's, Southampton.

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PARTICULAR NOTICE.--This issue of our MAGAZINE commences the eighth year of its publication. There are some dear, good souls who have forgotten that it requires money to run the publication. They surely would not like to hear that we were unable to pay the printer, bookbinder, clerks, paper-maker, etc. Without their aid we cannot fulfil our obligations to those we employ. This notice has reference only to those who owe us for one, and many for two, years. Let not the sun go down, after reading this notice, without paying what you owe us.

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COLLEGE IN HOLLAND.--There lately arrived in Rome Rev. Andrew Jansen, Rector of the College of Steil, in Holland. This College is German, established in Holland to avoid the Kulturkampf persecutions. It is in a most flourishing condition, having at present 130 students preparing themselves for the foreign missions. Father Jansen is accompanied by the renowned missionary Anser. Two years ago, the latter was in the Province of Chang-tong, China, and one day, travelling alone, he was surprised by a band of ferocious idolaters, taken and stripped, and tied by the arms to a tree. They then beat him most unmercifully with rods, broke one arm and one leg, and left him bleeding, and, as they thought, dying. Some Chinese, passing by shortly afterwards, found him still alive; took him to a neighboring hut, and by assiduous care, skill, and nursing, healed him.

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ILLUSTRATED ALMANAC.--The Angel Guardian Annual, in a new garb, is announced. The friends of this admirable Institution, will find this year's issue particularly interesting. It contains 16 additional pages and has several splendid illustrations. No Catholic family in the city should be without it. It costs only 10 cents. Look at the announcement and order at once. Orders filled by Brother Joseph, Treasurer House of Angel Guardian, 85 Vernon Street, or by Messrs. T. B. Noonan & Co., Boylston Street, Boston, Mass.

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THE Encyclical we have used is _The London Tablet's_ translation.

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THE _Catholic Citizen_, Milwaukee, Wis., has entered upon its sixteenth year. We are pleased to see it is well sustained, as it deserves to be long up to the _Citizen_.

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THE Forty-Ninth Congress of the United States, assembled at Washington on the 7th of December.

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THE fair held at Mechanic Building, Sept. 3d, in aid of the Carney Hospital, netted $2,803.38. The largest amount realized by one table was $347.45 taken by the Immaculate Conception table, under charge of Miss A. L. Murphy.

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SALT LAKE CITY has a population of about 25,000 inhabitants, with a good brick Catholic church and three resident priests. There is also a convent and sister's hospital. The latter is a fine building and looks as big and firm as the mountains themselves, the cost of which is estimated at $70,000. It would be an ornament to the largest city in the United States.

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CHINA AND JAPAN.--The important and successful communications between the Vatican and Pekin have been followed by the opening of similar relations with Japan. The Sovereign Pontiff has written a letter to the Mikado, thanking him for the favor extended to Missionaries and the Mikado replies in most cordial terms, assuring the Pope that he would continue to afford protection to Catholics, and announcing the despatch of a Japanese mission to the Vatican.

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THE will of the Rev. Michael. M. Green, of Newton, Mass., which is on file at the Middlesex Probate Court, bequeaths his house and land on Adams and Washington Streets, Newton, to the Home for Catholic Destitute Children, at Boston; his household furniture to St. Mary's Infant Asylum of Boston: his horse and carriage and garden implements to the Little Sisters of the Poor and the Carney Hospital; his library to Rev. Robert P. Stack in trust to the Catholic Seminary of the Archdiocese of Boston, and to the Church of Our Lady Help of Christians at Newton; his gold watch to the Young Ladies' Sodality of Our Lady Help of Christians at Newton. Rev. Robert P. Stack, of Watertown, is the executor.

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A WELCOME HOME.--The people of St. Augustine's parish, South Boston, gave to their beloved pastor, Father O'Callaghan, on his return from a four months trip to Europe, a welcome that he can never forget. He arrived in Boston on Saturday, Nov. 21, and on Sunday he celebrated High Mass. In the afternoon the pastor was welcomed by the Sunday School and presented with a check for $300. The presentation speech was made by Master Philip Carroll, and feelingly responded to. An address was also made by Rev. James Keegan. In the evening the lecture-room was packed to overflowing at the reception given by the congregation. The welcoming speech was delivered by Judge Joseph D. Fallon. At the conclusion of the address the Judge, on behalf of the congregation, presented Father O'Callaghan with a check for $2,125. Father O'Callaghan was overcome, but responded with emotion, in a fitting manner expressing his gratification at the welcome he had received. Father O'Callaghan is in perfect health and spirits, and expressed himself delighted with his trip. A large number called at the parochial residence, in the evening, to pay their respects.

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NEW CHAPEL IN THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION.--The handsome new marble altars in the basement chapel of the Immaculate Conception were consecrated on the 20th of November, by Most Rev. Archbishop Williams. The central altar is the gift of the daughters of the late Mrs. Joseph Iasigi. The three beautiful stained glass windows in the sanctuary are the gift of the Married Men's Sodality. The altars and the stained glass windows in the side chapels, which are dedicated respectively to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and to our Lady of Lourdes, are the gifts of the Married Ladies' Sodality, the Young Ladies' Sodality, and the Sunday School children. New Stations of the Cross have also been added. There is now probably no finer basement chapel in the country than that of the Immaculate Conception. The usual Masses, Sunday School, and evening services were held there for the first time last Sunday.

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SADLIER'S CATHOLIC DIRECTORY and Ordo for the year 1886 will be issued immediately. Since it has passed under the editorial control of John Gilmary Shea, this work has been greatly improved and we hope that the forthcoming edition will possess such excellence that not only all the old customers of the Sadlier publications may purchase it, but that at least 10,000 new patrons may be found for it.

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WHAT THE PAPERS SAY.--_Chicago Citizen_: DONAHOE'S MAGAZINE (published by Patrick Donahoe, editor and proprietor, No. 21 Boylston Street, Boston, Mass.,) for December, has come to hand and is one of the best issues of that admirable Irish-American publication that we have seen. It contains, among other highly interesting papers, the following: "The Irish Apostle of Corinthia;" "Reminiscences of Our Ninth (Mass.) Regiment;" "Shan Pallas Castle," by Edward Cronin; "Southern Sketches," by the Rev. Father Newman; "Dead Man's Island," by T. P. O'Connor, M. P.; a life of Hon. A. M. Keily, etc. The MAGAZINE is also replete with poetry, editorial and miscellaneous writings. It is, in short, a credit to Irish-American literature.

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THE Roman Catholic Protectorate, an educational institute for boys, at Glencoe, Mo., was burned recently. There were nine Christian Brothers and eighty-five boys in the building when the fire broke out, but no lives were lost. One Brother and two of the pupils, finding their escape cut off by the flames, were compelled to leap from a third-story window. All were hurt but will recover.

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EXECUTION OF RIEL.--Riel was hanged at Regina, on the morning of the 16th of November, a few minutes after eight o'clock. Up to the very last moment many refused to believe that Sir John A. Macdonald would, merely to serve himself, or his party, hang a man who was undoubtably insane. Many also believed that as the Metis had been very cruelly and unjustly treated by the government, the recommendation attached to the verdict of guilty would have effect and the sentence would be commuted. But a faction on which Sir John A. Macdonald depends for existence ravened for the unfortunate man's blood, and Sir John judged it politic to gratify their thirst for vengeance, AND RIEL WAS HANGED.

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_Notre Dame Scholastic_:--Our great metropolis of the West may take a just pride in numbering amongst its citizens so true and talented an artist as Miss Eliza Allan Starr. This lady is one who has aided the accomplishments of a naturally gifted mind, and skilful pencil, by great and careful study, and extensive travel through the celebrated art centres of Europe. As a result, her contributions to Catholic literature have placed her in the first rank among the distinguished writers of the present day, while her lectures on art and art literature have been, for some years back, highly prized by the social circles of Chicago. It is with pleasure, therefore, that we learn that Miss Starr resumed, on the 17th of November, her regular weekly lectures on Art Literature, to be continued throughout the winter and spring. This series will consider the wonderful treasures of the Eternal City, and will receive a fresh interest by reason of new illustrations received from Rome and Florence during last summer. It is our earnest wish that her efforts for the advancement of true artistic taste and culture may meet with the due appreciation they so well deserve.

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A MARRIAGE has been arranged between the Duc de Montpensier's only surviving son, Antonio, and the Infanta Eulalie. The former was educated by Mgr. Dupanloup, and is two years younger than his fiancée, he having been born in Seville in 1866, and she in Madrid in 1864. The negotiations about the marriage settlements have been difficult. He will inherit at least half of the largest royal fortune in Europe. The Infanta Eulalie is of lively manners and agreeable physiognomy. She was educated by the Countess Soriente, a lady of New England birth, and is an accomplished player on the harp and guitar. Her instructor was the gifted Cuban negress, who used to perform at Queen Isabella's concerts at the Palais de Castille.

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THE FIRST PURCHASE of land by tenants in Ireland, under the Land Purchase Act of last session, was completed on Monday, the 9th of November, when Mr. George Fottrell, late Solicitor of the Land Commission, met some forty tenants, on an estate in the county of Tyrone, and got the deeds executed which make them fee-simple proprietors, subject only to the liabilities to pay, for forty-nine years, instalments materially less than their rent. The entire transaction, from the date of Mr. Fottrell's first meeting with the tenants at Tyrone to that of the execution of the deeds, occupied only one fortnight. Mr. Fottrell's exuberant energy is finding a vent in pushing on the work of land purchase in Ireland, and his large experience and keen interest in all that concerns the land question are recognized as extremely valuable at this moment. Not only has he, in an unusually rapid manner, carried out this first sale under the Purchase Act, but he has published what he calls a "Practical Guide to the Land Purchase Acts," a book which is likely to be of great practical utility to lawyers and other persons engaged in the work of carrying sales under the Acts into effect.

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BURIED ALIVE.--Full particulars have come to hand from Bishop Puginier regarding the martyrdom of the Chinese priest Cap. For three days he suffered excruciating torments. On the fourth day the mandarin asked him to translate the Lord's Prayer. When he came to the third petition, "Thy kingdom come," he was asked of what kingdom he spoke. He replied, "Of God's kingdom." The mandarin immediately ordered him to be buried alive.

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A Boston Merchant on the Irish Question.

The following is a letter of Mr. A. Shuman, one of Boston's leading merchants, which was read at the great meeting in Faneuil Hall, and was received with cheers:

BOSTON, MASS., Oct. 19.

MY DEAR MR. O'REILLY:--I regret, exceedingly, that absence from the city will prevent my acceptance of your courteous invitation to be present at the meeting Monday evening, at Faneuil Hall, called to express practical sympathy with Ireland and the work of Parnell.

It is natural for the American people, with their love of freedom and equity, to have fellow-feeling with struggling Ireland in any peaceful method they might adopt to secure their political rights and equality with Great Britain.

Political freedom in Ireland, I am assured, combined with her natural position, would inaugurate an era of prosperity such as she had before from 1782 to 1800. Capital would be attracted, lands, now lying barren, would be utilized, and mills and factories would spring up.

I think that the Irish question is an important American question. The many millions of dollars now sent annually from this country by kin to their struggling relations could remain here. Nine-tenths of the many hundred employees of our own firm were either born in Ireland, or are of Irish parentage, and all contribute, some more, some less, to the same purpose. This would be unnecessary, and Ireland could erect herself into a position of independence, and neither ask nor accept favors from the rest of the world.

This condition of the country would be hastened could she choose, from the midst of her people, representatives who understand her wants and are in sympathy with her welfare. But, as the British Government does not pay its representatives, Ireland is deprived of many of her best men who have not the means of independent maintenance, but who would gladly serve their country and espouse her cause.

Hence, the most practical thing, it seems to me, is to raise funds to assist members who otherwise could not afford to go.

Being, therefore, in sympathy with the movement to that end, and believing that the election of such men will require the assistance of American merchants. I enclose, herewith, a check for $100, which please forward, and oblige,

Yours truly,

A. SHUMAN.

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DR. JOHN G. MORRIS, son of our esteemed old citizen and patriot, Dr. Patrick Morris, has removed from South Boston to 1474 Washington Street, Boston. Dr. Morris won high honors in the Medical School of Harvard, and is sure to take a prominent place as a practising physician.

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CONCERT AND REUNION OF THE HOLY NAME SOCIETY.--On the evening of Nov. 23, in Union Park Hall, Boston, a vocal and instrumental concert took place under the direction of Mr. Calixta Lavallee, assisted by Miss Helen O'Reilly, soprano, and Mr. Charles E. McLaughlin, violinist. Dancing and refreshments followed. The society was present in full strength, and the entertainment was a notable success.

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THE parishioners of St. Francis de Sales' Church, Vernon Street, Boston Highlands, welcomed home their pastor, Rev. John Delahunty, who has just returned from Europe. A check for nearly $2,000 was presented to him.

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_The Notre Dame Scholastic_ says of _The Ave Maria_, which we endorse with all our heart:--Our esteemed contemporary, _The Ave Maria_, now appears in a new and attractive dress of type, which, while adding to the appearance of this popular magazine, must greatly increase its value to subscribers by reason of its legibility of character. The beauty and clearness of the type and printed page reflect credit alike on the type-founders and the printers. In this connection it may be proper to state that the enterprising editor of Our Lady's journal announces an enlargement of four pages for the volume beginning with January, 1886. This improvement, together with the fact that some of the best and most popular writers in the English language will continue to contribute to its pages, makes _The Ave Maria_ the cheapest and most valuable publication of its kind in the world.

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REV. FATHER SESTINI, who for twenty years has edited the _Messenger of the Sacred Heart_, and directed the Apostleship of Prayer in America, now retires from office on account of advanced age. He is succeeded by the Rev. R. S. Dewey, S. J., to whom, at Woodstock College, Md., all communications concerning the interests above-named shall be henceforward addressed.

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ST. ELIZABETH'S HOSPITAL.--The old Winson estate, West Brookline Street, Boston, purchased last year by the Sisters of St. Francis, has been enlarged by the addition of a four-story brick building and wing, and otherwise adapted to its new purpose. The Sisters in charge have spared no pains to have every detail arranged so as to secure the comfort and convenience of the patients. The house was opened on the feast of its patron, Saint Elizabeth, November 19, on which occasion Archbishop Williams celebrated Mass, and formally dedicated the institution.

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A NEW port has been discovered in Guinea by the Missionaries of the Propaganda. They have given it the name of Port Leo, in honor of the reigning Pontiff.

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The Elections in England and Ireland.

The contest between the two great parties--Liberal and Tory--is close. That is, the Tories and Parnellites are about equal to the Liberals. At the time of our writing there were several elections to be held. As things look, Parnell is master of the situation. The _London Times_ declares that "that the only one certain result of the elections is the commanding position secured by Mr. Parnell. This is not an inference, but a fact that concerns parties alike."

Mr. Parnell says: "It is very difficult to predict whether or not the Liberals will have a majority over the Tories and Nationalists, but neither the Liberals nor Tories, with the Nationalists, can have more than a majority of 10, and, therefore, I think the new Parliament can't last long. As to our policy, I can only say it will be guided by circumstances. We cannot say what our course is till we hear declarations by the English leaders on the Irish question. That question will be the question unless foreign complications arise."

One of the most surprising features of the general election in Ireland is the complete collapse of the Liberal party. Not a single Liberal has returned for any constituency. Saturday's dispatches announced the defeat of Mr. Thomas Lea in West Donegal, and Mr. William Findlater in South Londonderry. That settles it. The list is closed. Every Liberal candidate who tried his fortune with an Irish constituency has suffered a signal discomfiture at the polls. Some of them have been beaten by Conservatives, others by Nationalists. In one way or another all have been sent back to private life.

At the general election of 1880, Ireland returned to Parliament eighteen Liberals, and twenty-six Liberal Home Rulers, twenty-four Conservatives and thirty-five Parnellites. Thus, out of the one hundred and three Irish members, Mr. Gladstone could count forty-four supporters against sixty-nine Conservatives and Parnellites. In the present election the Conservatives will probably have eighteen seats, while the Parnellites will secure the remaining eighty-five seats. The Liberals and Liberal Home Rulers are wiped out to the last man. God save Ireland.

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THE LIVINGSTONS, in Ireland, lived on the land of the famous Con O'Neill, who once was rescued from prison by his wife in the oddest way imaginable. She hollowed out two small cheeses, concealed a rope in each, and sent them to her lord and master, who swung himself down from the castle window and struck a free foot upon the green grass beneath.

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THERE are in the United States 400 Catholic priests bearing some one of the following nineteen well-known Irish names. The numbers following the names indicate the number of priests in this country: Brennan, 12; Brady, 22; Carroll, 13; Doherty, 16; Kelly, 25; Lynch, 21; McCarthy, 15; Maguire, 12; McManus, 14; Meagher, 14; Murphy, 33; O'Brien, 24; O'Connor, 14; O'Neill, 18; O'Reilly, 34; O'Sullivan, 18; Quinn, 16; Ryan, 31; and Walsh, 33.

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PHILADELPHIA has established an excellent precedent for every other city and town in the Union. A few days ago the manager of a popular theatre there was fined $100 for advertising a spectacular exhibition by setting up indecent posters. It is high time this shocking breach of common propriety was corrected everywhere. The pictorial representations, by which the performances of the stage are introduced to the public, are often far worse than the living exhibitions.

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NEW YORK FAMILY JOURNAL.--A few days ago the Mugwumps thought they were as big and powerful as Hell Gate, with all its attachments, before General Newton blew it up. Now they are just where that obstruction was the day after the explosion. They thought they were the rooster, when they were only one of his smallest tail feathers.

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THE ORANGE CROP of Florida for the season of 1884-5 was, as near as it could be definitely ascertained, 900,000 bushels. For the coming season the crop is estimated at a million and a quarter bushels. Of the last crop of 900,000 bushel crates, over one-half was shipped through Jacksonville.

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THE MANATEE, or Sea Cow, is still to be seen on the southeast coast of Florida. At the extreme southern end of Indian River, in the St. Lucie River, and in Hope Sound, are found the favorite feeding grounds of these rarest and shyest of North American marine curiosities.

Personal.

BISHOP GILMOUR, on his late visit to Rome, received the honor of Monsignore for his vicar-general, Father Boff.

THE Hon. William J. Onahan has returned from a tour through the Irish Catholic colonies of Nebraska and Dakota. He reports them to be in a flourishing condition.

IT is not generally known that the parish church of Eu, France, where the chateau of the Comte de Paris is situated, is dedicated to St. Laurence O'Toole.

IT is reported that Lord William Nevill, who some months ago was received into the Catholic Church in Melbourne, and who has returned to England, contemplates entering the Priesthood.

MISS ELEANOR C. DONNELLY has recently written a hymn for the Golden Jubilee of the Priesthood of His Holiness, Pope Leo XIII., which occurs December 23d, 1887. It has been set to music, and it has not only been translated into German, but into Italian by an eminent theological professor, and the hymn is now on its way to Rome to be presented to the Pope by a member of the Papal Court.

MADAME SOPHIE MENTER, the famous pianist, now inhabits a castle in the Tyrol (Schloss Itter), where she has just received the Abbé Liszt, who passed several days there, getting up at 4 o'clock A. M., to work, attending mass at 7.30, and then continuing work until midday. The Abbé, who was received with guns and triumphal arches, has now left for Rome.

THE friends of Dr. Thomas Dwight, Parkman Professor of Anatomy at Harvard University, will be pleased to learn that he has been made a member of the Philosophæ-Medicæ Society of Rome. A diploma has been issued by President J. M. Cornoldi, S. J. This society was founded by Dr. Travaglini, with the full sanction of the late Pope Pius IX. It is intended for the advancement of the sciences and philosophy, and it ranks among its members some of the greatest scientific men, doctors of medicine, and philosophers of Europe. The diploma is now on its way to America.

REV. R. J. MEYER, S. J., rector of St. Louis University, of St. Louis, Mo., has been made Provincial of the western province of the Jesuit Order, vice Rev. Leopold Bushart, S. J.

THE Right Rev. Louis De Goesbriand, D. D., Bishop of Burlington, Vt., celebrated the thirty-second anniversary of his elevation to the episcopacy of the Catholic Church on Friday, October 30th, ultimo.

RT. REV. JEREMIAH O'SULLIVAN, D. D., recently consecrated the fourth bishop of Mobile, Ala., was born in Kanturk, county Cork, Ireland, and is forty-one years old. At an early age he intended to devote himself to the Church, and made his preparatory studies in the schools of his native place. At the age of nineteen he came to America, entered St. Charles College, Howard County, Md., and finished his classics. The year following he entered St. Mary's Seminary, Baltimore. Having completed his theological course, in that institution, he was ordained by Most Rev. Archbishop Spaulding in June, 1868. His first charge was in Barnesville, Montgomery County, Md., where he remained one year. He was transferred to Westernport, Md., where he remained nine years. During his stay he built a large church, and a convent for the Sisters of St. Joseph, whom he introduced to Western Maryland. In 1880, or 1881, Most Rev. Archbishop Gibbons selected Father O'Sullivan as the successor to the Rev. Father Walter as pastor of St. Patrick's, Washington, D. C., the latter going to the Immaculate Conception parish. But an appeal being made to His Grace by St. Patrick's congregation for the retention of Father Walter, the change did not take place. On the removal of Rev. Father Boyle to St. Matthew's, Rev. Father O'Sullivan was called to take his place at St. Peter's. During his ministry there he displayed great ability in managing. He reduced the debt of the church from $47,000 to $12,000, besides, making expensive improvements in the church, schools and pastoral residence. He possesses administrative qualities to a high degree, and makes an impressive and forcible speaker.

Notices of Recent Publications.

_The Catholic Publication Society Co., N. Y._

THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ANNUAL FOR 1886.

For eighteen years this welcome annual visitor has been received by us. It seems to improve with age, for this is the best number yet issued. The illustrations, matter, printing and binding, are all excellent. We refer the reader to the advertisement for a description of its varied and excellent contents. The price is only 25 cents. Every subscriber to our MAGAZINE sending us, free of expense, their annual subscription ($2) will receive a copy of the Annual free. Send money at once.

THE KEYS OF THE KINGDOM; OR, THE UNFAILING PROMISE. By the Rev. James J. Moriarty, LL.D., pastor of St. John's Church, Syracuse; author of "Stumbling-Blocks made Stepping-Stones," "All for Love," etc. Price, $1.25 net.

The subjects treated of in this book are: Is religion worthy of man's study? What rule of faith was laid down by Christ? The Church One. The Church Holy. The Church Catholic. The Church Apostolic. The various subjects are ably discussed in a pleasing and attractive manner by the learned author. The book is beautifully printed and bound. It is just the book to place in the hands of an inquiring Protestant friend as a Christmas present.

IRISH BIRTHDAY BOOK.

The Catholic Publication Society Co. has published an American edition of this book. It contains pieces in prose and verse by all the leading Irish writers and speakers. It is bound in Irish linen, gilt edges, and sold for $1.

CAROLS FOR A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A JOYOUS EASTER. The music by the Rev. Alfred Young, Priest of the Congregation of St. Paul the Apostle. Price, 50 cents.

A very good book for the season. Buy it, all ye lovers of good music.

_Benziger Bros., N. Y., Cin., and St. Louis._

CATHOLIC BELIEF: OR, A SHORT AND SIMPLE EXHIBITION OF CATHOLIC DOCTRINE. By the Rev. Joseph Faà de Bruno, D.D., Rector General of the Pious Society of Missions, etc. Author's American edition edited by Rev. Louis A. Lambert, author of "Notes on Ingersoll," etc. 35th edition. Price, 40 cents.

It is now about a year since this book was published, and the enormous sale in that _short_ time is the _greatest testimonial_ it could possibly receive.

_D. & J. Sadlier & Co., New York._

THE NATIVITY PLAY; OR, CHRISTMAS CANTATA. By Rev. Gabriel A. Healy, Rector of St. Edward's Church, New York.

This play, says the preface, has been received most favorably by large audiences in the hall of St. Bernard's Church, New York City. It is a Christmas play, and most suitable for the coming holidays. It has been witnessed by thousands of the clergy and laity. The author is indebted to Rev. Albany J. Christie, S. J., of London, Eng., Rev. Abram J. Ryan, poet-priest of the South, Miss Anna T. Sadlier, and others, whose beautiful thoughts can be found in the work. Father Healy continues: "It has often been a thought with me, as I suppose it has often been with many of my fellow priests, that it would be well for us and advantageous to our congregations, to revive some of the old mystery plays, which did so much to strengthen the faith of the faithful in the middle ages, and this has been one of the prevailing motives which induced me to complete the material for, and give the representation of, the nativity play." There are eight photographic views, representing the Annunciation, the Visitation, the Adoration, visit of the Magi to King Herod, etc. We recommend the book to the Rev. clergy, colleges and academies, and others, as a very interesting, edifying and appropriate performance not only for the holidays, but for all parts of the year. The book is gotten up by the Messrs. Sadlier in a handsome manner. It is a good Christmas gift for any of our young, or even for those advanced in years.

_John Murphy & Co., Baltimore, Md._

THE STUDENTS' HANDBOOK OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN LITERATURE. With selections from the writings of the most distinguished authors. By Rev. O. L. Jenkins, A. M., S. S., late President of St. Charles College, Ellicott City, Md. Edited by a member of the Society of St. Sulpice. Third edition revised and brought to date. Price, $1.25.

The value of this book is already known to the presidents, teachers, etc., in our colleges, seminaries and academies. Messrs. Murphy & Co. have given us an excellent book, and at a very moderate price.

_Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame, Ind._

THE MAD PENITENT OF TODI. By Mrs. Anna Hanson Dorsey.

This is another of the Ave Maria series of interesting stories, and told by our old friend, Mrs. Dorsey, who was a contributor to the Pilot some forty odd years ago.

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MISCELLANEOUS.

CATHOLIC HISTORICAL RESEARCHES. Rev. A. A. Lambing, A. M., edits a magazine of extraordinary interest, entitled, "Catholic Historical Researches." It is published in Pittsburgh. It deserves the support of all who wish to see published and preserved the early labors of Catholic missionaries and settlers in America. Copies of valuable French manuscripts, bearing on our early history, lately received from the archives of Paris, will soon appear in this magazine, the admirable motto of which is from the address of the Fathers of the Third Plenary Council, of Baltimore: "Catholic parents teach your children to take a special interest in the history of our own country.... We must keep firm and solid the liberties of our country by keeping fresh the noble memories of the past."

THE LIFE OF FATHER ISAAC JOGUES, Missionary Priest of the Society of Jesus, slain by the Indians in the State of New York in 1646, is having a good sale. The price is $1. The profits of the sale go towards the Shrine of Our Lady of Martyrs, at Auriesville, where Father Jogues and René Goupel were put to death.

ADMIRERS of the popular Irish authoress Miss Rosa Mulholland, will be pleased to learn that Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., of London, are about to bring out a collection of her poems.

MR. SARSFIELD HUBERT BURKE, well known here as the author of "_Historical Portraits of the Tudor Dynasty_" and as a contributor to _The Catholic World_, will publish, in the spring, in London, a new work on the "_Tyranny and Oppression Practiced by the English Officials in Ireland_," from an early date down to 1830.

PROF. LYONS intends to publish, at an early date, Christian Reid's admirable story, "A Child of Mary," which originally appeared as a serial in the pages of _The Ave Maria_.

MUSIC.

_From White, Smith & Co._

_Vocal:_ "A Few More Years," words by Sam Lucas, music by H. J. Richardson. "Oh! Hush Thee," song by Chas. A. Gabriel. "I'll Meet Ole Massa There," song by G. Galloway. "Carol the Good Tidings," Christmas carol by E. H. Bailey.

_Instrumental:_ "Under the Lime Tree," by G. Lange. "Fairy Voices Waltz," by A. G. Crowe, arranged for violin and piano. The same for violin alone. "Nanon," lanciers quadrille, by E. H. Bailey. "Walker's Dip Waltzes," by C. A. White. "Beauty Polka," by Wm. E. Gilmore. Potpourri from "Mikado." "Mikado' Lanciers," by E. H. Bailey.

_Books:_ Gems from "Whitsuntide in Florence" opera, by Richard Genee and J. Rieger, music by Alfons Czibulkas. "Melodies of Ireland expressly arranged for piano and organ." This book is a well arranged collection of Irish instrumental music, both grave and gay, serious and comical, issued in very neat and attractive style, and sure to please. Published by Messrs. White, Smith & Co.

_Oliver Ditson & Co., Boston._

LEAVES OF SHAMROCK, a collection of melodies of Ireland newly arranged and adapted for the piano and organ.

"Leaves of Shamrock" is a book of fine appearance, and the price is moderate. 80 cents, paper; $1.00, boards; $1.50, elegant cloth binding. Without being difficult, there is more to them than appears at first glance, and there is nothing so very easy. The poet Moore was so taken with the beauty of the ancient music of his country, that he composed poems, many of them very beautiful, to quite a number of the melodies. These are all given in "Leaves of Shamrock" which contains full as many more, or, in all, double the number that met the eye of the poet.

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THE FRENCH ELECTIONS.--The new Chamber will contain 381 Republicans and 205 Catholics; but the colonies return 10 deputies, who will all probably be Republicans. The strength of parties will thus be 391 to 205, whereas in the last Chamber it was 462 to 95. Fifty-six departments are represented exclusively by Republicans; twenty-six are represented exclusively by Catholics.

Obituary.

"After life's fitful fever they sleep well."

BISHOP.

THE FUNERAL of the late Most Rev. Dr. Dorrian took place on Friday, 13th of November, when the lamented bishop was interred in the vault under the episcopal throne in St. Patrick's Cathedral, in Belfast, amidst a vast crowd of his mourning flock. Dr. Dorrian's health had been failing for some time past, and about a fortnight before his death he was attacked severely by congestion of the lungs. From this he rallied, but was warned by his physician to be extremely careful. The good bishop, however, returned to his work with all his characteristic energy, and on the very day after the doctor's warning attended three funerals outside Belfast. Later, in the afternoon of the same day, he was seized with illness in his confessional, from which he had to be carried in a dying state. The last sacraments were administered on the same spot, and he was afterwards removed with great difficulty to his residence. During the following days he lay peacefully passing away, surrounded by his devoted priests; the Sisters of Mercy, among whom was the bishop's niece, remaining in his house till after he had breathed his last. His energy and love of labor were so extraordinary that almost to the very end he seemed to expect to recover and return to work. When told that he had not long to live, he said, "May the Lord's will be done," with the meekest submission. His mind was all along absorbed in heavenly thoughts, except when for a moment he would remember how the cause of Ireland was at stake, and asked what was being done towards the election of a nationalist M. P. for Belfast. Shortly before his death, he seemed to fancy that he was still hearing confessions, and went on giving imaginary absolutions, and admonishing poor sinners, till, without agony or pain, he went to his rest. While the seven o'clock Mass was being celebrated on the Feast of St. Malachy, in St. Malachy's Church, a messenger ascended the altar steps and spoke some words to the officiating priest, whereupon the congregation knew, by the manner in which the priest suddenly bowed his head, that all was over, and that their good pastor had departed from among them. The fact that the Bishop of Down and Connor had passed away on the Feast of St. Malachy was not unnoticed. A devoted priest, who had been Dr. Dorrian's friend from boyhood, and who had made a long journey to assist him in his last moments, remarked, "One would think that his holy patron had kept him for his own feast in order to conduct him on that day into heaven."

CLERGYMEN.

RT. REV MGR. SEARS, Vicar-Apostolic of Newfoundland, died on Nov. 7, at Stellarton, of dropsy. His history during the last seventeen years has been the history of Newfoundland. His services were recognized by the Pope, who four years ago invested him with the dignity of domestic prelate and the title of monsignor.

THE LATE VERY REV. DR. FORAN.--The funeral of this most distinguished priest, who after a most edifying life and three weeks of painful illness, died a most edifying death, took place in the church of Ballingarry. His death has cast a gloom over the archdiocese, which in his demise has sustained a great, almost an irreparable, loss. He was its most highly-gifted, most highly-respected, and best-beloved priest, and upon the death of the late lamented and illustrious Dr. Leahy, if the great majority of the votes of his brother priests could have done it, he had been their archbishop. He was a man of great intellect, of great good sense, of vast and varied learning, and withal simple as a child, unselfish, unassuming, and inoffensive, meek and humble of heart; charitable in word and deed; sincere in his relations with God and man; tender to the poor and little ones; always attentive to his duties, ever zealous for God's glory, never caring to make display or to gain the applause of men. His whole life seemed regulated by the motto of the Imitation, "Sublime words do not make a man just and holy, but a virtuous life maketh him dear to God."

DEATH OF THE VERY REV. JOHN CURTIS, S. J.--A venerable patriarch has just passed away to his reward. Father John Curtis died recently at the Presbytery, Upper Gardiner Street, Dublin. He was in his ninety-second year, and had been for some months failing in health. Father Curtis was born in 1794, of respectable parents, in the city of Waterford. Having been educated at Stonyhurst College, he entered the Society of Jesus at the age of 20. As novice and scholastic he passed with much merit and distinction through the various grades of probation and preparation by which the Jesuit is trained for his arduous work, and was ordained priest in the year 1825. Being a ripe scholar, well versed in literature, ancient and modern, an able theologian, a fluent and impressive speaker, he soon took a foremost place amongst the leading priests at his time.

THE Very Rev. Canon Lyons, P.P.V.F., Spiddle, County Galway, died recently at the venerable age of seventy-four years. He was educated for the priesthood at St. Jarlath's College, Tuam, while yet that institution included a thorough theological course in its curriculum of studies. He was ordained in 1839, and speedily distinguished himself as a pastor of zeal and eloquence, indefatigable in his labors for the spiritual and temporal welfare of his flock. He built many churches and parochial schools, and was among the foremost of the clergymen who drove the infamous Souper plague from West Connaught. Canon Lyons was charitable to an extent that always left him poor in pocket but rich in the love of his people. He was buried within the walls of his parish church and the funeral was attended by priests and people from many miles around.

THE death is announced of Rev. Francis Xavier Sadlier, S. J., at Holy Cross College, Worcester, Mass., after a brief illness. He was born in Montreal, in 1852, and was the son of the late James Sadlier, who, with his brother, the late Denis Sadlier, founded the well-known Catholic publishing house of D. & J. Sadlier & Co. His mother is the well-known Catholic authoress, Mary A. Sadlier. Father Sadlier was educated at Manhattan College, and after a brief but brilliant career in journalism decided to enter the priesthood. He was received into the Jesuit novitiate at Sault-au-Recolet, Canada, on the 1st of November, 1873, and had the happiness of being ordained at Woodstock last August. In the death of this gifted young priest the Society of Jesus has met with a loss which can only be accurately estimated by those to whom his perfect purity of heart, deeply intellectual mind and most lovable character have endeared him for many years. We deeply sympathize with his aged mother and family. His mother had not seen him since his ordination, but was present at the funeral, where she saw her loved son in death. Happy mother to have such a son before her in heaven, where we trust he is now enjoying the rewards of a well-spent life.

REV. JOHN J. MCAULEY, S. J., professor of rhetoric at Holy Cross College, died suddenly of apoplexy, at the residence of Dr. L. A. O. Callaghan, Worcester, Mass., on the afternoon of December 2. Father McAuley went with a party of the students from the college to skate at Stillwater Pond, and during the recreation he broke through the ice and into the water. He returned to the college and changed his clothing, and not feeling very well, started off toward the city for a walk, accompanied by Father Langlois. He called on Dr. Callaghan, but before reaching his house he became ill and had to be carried inside, where he soon died, after the arrival of Rev. John J. McCoy, who, with Father Langlois, performed the last offices. The deceased has been, for several years, attached to Holy Cross College, and is distinguished among the Jesuits as a rhetorician of high order. His funeral will take place at the college. This is the second death at the college within one month.

REV. FATHER RULAND, C. SS. R., Professor of Moral Theology at the Redemptorist College, at Ilchester, Md., died on the 20th of November, of apoplexy. The Rev. Father was a venerable and well-known priest. His loss will be keenly felt by the community as he was a man of deep learning and truly good.

REV. THADDEUS P. WALSH, first pastor of Georgetown and Ridgefield parishes, Connecticut, departed this life on the 10th of November, at 3 o'clock, in St. Catherine's Hospital, Brooklyn, N. Y., to which place he had been taken. Friday, October 30th, Father Walsh went to New Haven on business, and it was there that the first warning of sickness, and as it came out, of death, came to him. He had an apopletic stroke of paralysis which affected his left side, rendering it almost powerless. The following Saturday evening he received the last rites from the church, and on Tuesday morning he died. The funeral took place on the 13th of November. There were present Rt. Rev. Bp. McMahon, some sixty priests, and a large concourse of his afflicted friends. Father Walsh was born in Easkey, County Sligo, Ireland, about fifty-five years ago. He was ordained priest in St. Mary's Seminary, Baltimore, in 1880. His classical course was made in St. Charles College, Ellicott City, Md., and was begun when he had reached the age of forty years. Before he went to college he lived in Meriden, where he saved money enough from daily toil to pay for an education. He was a good and faithful priest in every sense of the word, and was most devotedly attached to his sacred duties.

THE Rev. Father Simon P. Lonergan, pastor of St. Mary's, Montreal, died there, November 11. Father Lonergan was very well known and exceedingly popular in that city, and, in fact, throughout the Dominion. He was a man of rare culture and experience, and through his death the Catholic Church in Canada loses one of its strongest pillars. Father Lonergan died of typhoid fever, and to his labors among the sick during this time of sad affliction in Montreal may be attributed the overwork which brought on the disease.

MANY in Buffalo, says the _Catholic Union and Times_, will hear of Father Trudeau's death, recently in Lowell, Mass., with sincere sorrow. Deceased was a distinguished Oblate Father, who, while engaged in parochial duties at the Holy Angels, in this city, won the reverent affection of all who knew him by his priestly virtues and sunny nature.

SISTER.

THE death is announced of Mother Mary, the Foundress and first Superioress of the Sisters of Immaculate Conception, a Louisiana foundation, whose mother house is located at Labadieville. Known in the world as Miss Elvina Vienne, she belonged to one of the best Creole families in the State. She died in her 51st year, and the twelfth of her religious profession.

LAY PEOPLE.

MR. THOMAS COSGROVE, who, during the past half century, has occupied a prominent position in Providence, R. I., as a successful business man, died Sunday, Nov. 8th, at his residence on Somerset Street, in the eighty-first year of his age. The story of his life is a practical illustration of the success which rewards persistent endeavor and strict attention to business. He was born in county Wexford, Ireland, and after receiving the advantages of a common-school education of that time, he begun his life-work in the pursuit of various branches of business in Nova Scotia, Portsmouth, N. H., and Portland, Me. In the year 1837 he came to Providence, where his energy and business ability met with successful results. He occupied a prominent position among the members of the Catholic Church, and was a devout attendant at the services of the Cathedral. His wife died several years ago, and Mr. Cosgrove leaves four children. James M., who was formerly an active member of the legal profession in Providence, and has been prominently identified with the local Irish associations, is now an invalid. One of his daughters is the widow of the late Richard McNeeley, who was engaged in the dry goods' business on Westminister Street, Providence, many years ago. The other two daughters are unmarried and reside at his late home on Somerset Street. The funeral services of Mr. Thomas Cosgrove were held at the Pro-Cathedral. They were largely attended by the congregation, of which Mr. Cosgrove was one of the oldest and most prominent members, and by Catholics and business men from different parts of the State, completely filling the sacred edifice. A solemn Pontifical High Mass of Requiem was celebrated by Right Rev. Bishop Hendricken. At the conclusion of the Mass, the bishop, assisted by the officiating clergymen, pronounced the final absolution, and spoke a few words relative to the life of the deceased as a man and a Catholic.

MR. JAMES WAUL, so long and favorably known to the Catholic public, in his office as sexton of the Church of the Immaculate Conception, died at his home in Boston on the evening of Saturday, Nov. 7th. He was a native of the county of Galway, Ireland, but came to this country when quite young. For the last fifteen years he had faithfully discharged the responsible duties of the office above referred to, making many friends through his uniform courtesy and kindly disposition. He will be sadly missed in the church with which he was so long connected. The prayers of those whose interests he cared for so earnestly will doubtless be fervently offered for his eternal rest. The funeral took place from the Church of the Immaculate Conception, on the morning of November 10th. The Rev. Father Quirk celebrated the Requiem Mass. The Rev. Father Boursaud, rector, and the Rev. Father Charlier accompanied the body to Calvary Cemetery. May he rest in peace!

WE regret to chronicle the death of James Valentine Reddy, Esq., a well-known member of the Richmond bar, who died at his residence in that city, on Nov. 5, of pneumonia. He was about thirty-six years of age, and removed to that city from Alexandria, Va., where his relatives now reside. He was of Irish birth, and his love for the old sod of his forefathers was pure and strong. He was a member of the National League, and of several societies connected with St. Peter's Cathedral. He was devoted to the practice of his religious duties, and ere his spirit winged its flight received its last consolations. Deceased had more than common gifts of oratory and was a ready penman. His disposition was generous, and he was always ready to relieve distress when in his power. Mr. Reddy was a contributor to our MAGAZINE, and although we never saw him, we were led to esteem him highly. He was a great lover of Irish poetry and song, and had, perhaps, as fine a private collection of them as there is in this country. His heart was indeed wound up in the dear old land; but he did not forget in this love the allegiance and fealty he owed to the land of his adoption. His life is but another of the many examples of Irishmen, who, living at home under a government of giant's strength used as a giant would use it, would be called a rebel; but who under a government where all men are free and recognized becomes a worthy and faithful citizen, a good example for those around him. The deceased was born in the county of Kilkenny, near the village of Kilmacow, and about six miles from Waterford City. St. Patrick's Branch of the Catholic Knights of America, in their resolutions of condolement, say that he was a faithful, worthy and popular member, and they fittingly voice the sentiment of all the Catholic and Irish-American and other civic societies, with which he was associated, in thus placing on record this expression of their sorrow over his early demise, and also in giving utterance to their deepest sympathy for, and in behalf of, the bereaved wife and children thus unhappily deprived of the fond love and tender care of a devoted husband and affectionate father.

MR. JOHN REILLY, a well-known and respected resident of Charlestown, Mass., died at his residence, 92 Washington Street, on Wednesday, Nov. 4th, after an illness of nine months at the age of sixty-four years. He was perfectly conscious to the last, and bade each member of his family a fond farewell ere he closed his eyes in death. Mr. Reilly was a carpenter by trade, and in politics an active Democrat, being for a number of years a member of the Ward and City Committee. He was also a member of the Old Columbian Guards of Boston. He leaves a widow, two sons and two daughters to mourn his loss. The funeral services were held at St. Mary's Church on Saturday morning, Rev. Wm. Millerick officiating, and the burial took place in the family lot at Calvary, the following gentlemen acting as pall bearers: Messrs. Michael K. Mahoney, James Hearn, James H. Lombard, Thomas Hearn, Thomas B. Reilly and David Hearn.

MR. JOHN NAGLE, a prominent member of the Cathedral parish, died of consumption at his residence in Boston, on Sunday, November 29. He leaves a family of five children. His funeral took place from the Cathedral on December 1. The Rev. Father Boland celebrated the Mass, Fathers O'Toole and Corcoran being, respectively, Deacon and Subdeacon. The friends of the deceased were present in large numbers.

IN this city, on the 27th of November, Mrs. Catherine Daly, aged 74 years. She; was born in Bandon, county Cork, in 1811. She had been a resident of Boston some forty years. Her death was peaceful as her life had been good and charitable. Her remains were interred from the Church of the Immaculate Conception, where a Mass of Requiem was said for the repose of her soul, which may God rest in peace. The interment took place at Calvary Cemetery.

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BASHFULNESS.--Do not yield to bashfulness. Do not isolate yourself, sitting back in a corner, waiting for some one to come and talk with you. Step out; have something to say. Though you may not say it well, keep on. You will gain courage and improve. It is as much your duty to entertain others as theirs to amuse you.