TRANSLATION.
The mortal remains of Father Ignatius of St. Paul, belonging to the Congregation of the Passion, and of the noble family of Spencer. He was at first an Anglican minister; then, having been converted to the Catholic Church, was ordained into the priesthood at Rome in the year 1832. It is wonderful with what constancy of mind for more than thirty years he laboured for the conversion of his country. He was numbered among the sons of the Passion in the year 1847, and always presented an example of all virtues to his brethren. He travelled through England, Ireland, Scotland, and even Italy, Germany, and France, exhorting the people to their own sanctification, and forming themselves, as it were, into a sacred army, to pour forth prayers for the conversion of England. While he was prosecuting his pleasing work in Scotland, on the 1st of October, 1864, and, having offered up the sacrifice of the mass, he was going on a visit to a friend he had long been acquainted with (Mr. Robert Monteith), when he was carried off by sudden death in front of his friend's door, being assisted by God, whose glory he had ever sought, and by the angels whose purity he had imitated. He closed his life in the 65th year of his age. May he rest in peace."
When all the arrangements were completed, the coffin was placed upon the tier appropriated for its reception, and the bishop and clergy retired.
Thus has ended the life of one who for fifteen years pursued his missionary work, as a priest of the Order of the Passion, with an ardour that has seldom been surpassed. Truly may it be said of him, "Dying, he lives."
Favours are said to have been obtained from heaven through his intercession, since his death; and it is even recorded that miracles have been performed by his relics. These facts have not been, as yet, sufficiently authenticated for publication; and, therefore, it is judged better not to insert them. We confidently hope that a few years will see him enrolled in the catalogue of saints, as the first English Confessor since the Reformation.
Every step we make, as we recede from this last scene, brings us nearer to the moment when the requiescat ought to be heard over ourselves. For
"The pride of luxury, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour;—
The paths of glory lead but to the grave."
How vain is a life spent in pursuit of riches! when the shroud that envelops our bones will have to be given us. How vain are the appliances of comfort and pleasure which wealth can spread around us! when the body we pamper is to be the food of worms. How vain, is power and extent of territory! when the snapping of the thread of our existence will leave us completely in the hands of others, and confine us to less than seven feet of earth.
Let the example of the holy Passionist, whose life we studied, make us recognise this truth, before it is too late— that all is vanity but the service of God. He tasted the sweets of this world until he found out their bitterness; let his example deter others from plunging into the whirl of dissipation, from which few can come out uninjured. He laid down his honours, his titles, his property, at the foot of the cross, and he joyfully placed its transverse beams upon his shoulder. There was nothing this world could give him which he did not sacrifice unhesitatingly. He never took back from the altar a single particle of the offerings he placed upon it. Since the moment he understood that the end of his existence was the happiness of the blessed, he went straight to his eternal goal, and turned not to the right hand nor to the left. God was always in his mind; God was on his lips; God was in his works. We cannot admire his sacrifices, for it would be a mistake to suppose his mind was not noble enough to feel that all he could give was only a barter of earth for heaven.
Let the world applaud its heroes, and raise expensive monuments to remind others of their renown. Father Ignatius sought not the praise of the world; its frowns were all he desired. He looked not for its sympathy, he crossed its ways, he gave the lie to its maxims, he trampled it under his feet. But the servants of God will not forget him. They will turn off the high road to come as pilgrims to the spot where his pure soul left its earthly tenement. To mark out the place, Mr. Monteith has erected a cross upon the corner of the avenue where the saintly father fell. Subjoined is an engraving of the monument, and it fitly closes up this history, as it perpetually points to his example.