Transcriber's Note: The following Table of Contents has been added (not present in the original). Remaining transcriber's notes are at end of text.

Donahoe's Magazine.

Vol. XV.BOSTON, MARCH, 1886.No. 3

"The future of the Irish race in this country, will depend largely upon their capability of assuming an independent attitude in American politics."—Right Rev. Doctor Ireland, St. Paul, Minn.

Pen Sketches of Irish Literateurs.
III.
THOMAS DAVIS.

The name of Thomas Davis is identified with the rise and progress of Irish ballad literature. The sound of his spirit-stirring lyre was the irresistible summons that awoke the sleeping bards of Irish song, bade them tune their harps in joyous accord, and fill the land with the thrilling harmony of a new evangel. At the touch of O'Connell, his country shook off the torpor produced by the drug of penal proscription, under which she had so long lain listless, almost lifeless. It fell to the lot of the young Irelanders to perfect the work so successfully begun; to raise her from the ignoble dust; to teach her the lesson of courage and self-confidence, and quicken her footsteps in the onward march for national independence. Thomas Davis was the acknowledged organizer and leader of this band of conspiring patriots. By birth and education he was well fitted for the position which he held. His father was the surviving representative of an honored line of English ancestors. His mother's genealogy extended back in titled pedigree to the Atkins of Forville, and to the great house of the O'Sullivans. Davis was born at Mallow, County Cork, in the year 1814. His early life gave little indication of future distinction. At school he was remarkable for being a dull boy, slow to learn and not easy to teach; but in this respect he resembled many of his countrymen, who, from being incorrigible dunces, rose to subsequent eminence and repute as great orators, great poets and great patriots. Goldsmith, while at school, was seldom free from the cap of disgrace; Sheridan's future was spoken of by his early preceptor with doleful misgivings and boding shakes of the head; Curran, till late in life, was known as "Orator Mum." Even at the Dublin University, from which he graduated in 1835, Davis was remarkable for being shy and self-absorbed, a quiet devourer of books, and a passive on-looker in the rhetorical contests, at that time so dear to enthusiastic young Irishmen. Until the year 1840 he did not seem to be influenced by any settled code of political convictions. Indeed, his outward appearance and demeanor betokened more of the English conservative than of the Irish enthusiast. But a friend, who, in 1836 sat by his side in an English theatre, remembered to have seen the tears steal silently down his cheeks at some generous tribute paid on the stage to the Irish character. In the year 1838, he was called to the bar; and in 1840, became a member of the Repeal movement. During the discussions which took place in Conciliation Hall, he still maintained the policy of a simple listener; but in the intervals of debate his mind was quietly developing new methods of work, new systems to be adopted in promoting the national cause. The popular taste needed education. Once made conversant with the history of their country, the people would acquire a knowledge of their true position, would know how to act in seconding the efforts of their leaders. The dull should be made thoughtful, the thoughtful made studious, the studious made wise, and the wise crowned with power. In the year 1842, his plans took practical shape, when, in conjunction with Charles Gavan Duffy and John Dillon, he founded the Nation newspaper. This was the initiative step to his subsequent brilliant career as a poet and patriot.

Popular poetry was one of the agents depended on by the new editors to infuse a larger spirit of nationality among the people. There being none at hand to suit the exact purpose, they set about making it for themselves. In this way originated that beautiful collection of rebel verse now known wherever the English language is spoken as the Spirit of the Nation. Until necessity compelled him to write, Davis never knew that he possessed the poetic faculty in a very high degree. The following exquisitely Celtic ballad was his first contribution to the poet's corner of the Nation, a lament for the ill-fated Irish chieftain, Owen Roe O'Neill:

"Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill!"
'Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.'
"May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow!
May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe.

Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words."
'From Derry against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords;
But the weapon of the Saxon met him on his way,
And he died at Clough-Oughter, upon St. Leonard's day.'

"Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One! wail, wail ye for the Dead;
Quench the hearth, and hold the breath—with ashes strew the head.
How tenderly we loved him! how deeply we deplore!
Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more.

"Sagest in the council was he,—kindest in the hall,
Sure we never won a battle—'twas Owen won them all.
Had he lived—had he lived—our dear country had been free;
But he's dead, but he's dead, and 'tis slaves we'll ever be.

"O'Farrell and Clanrickard, Preston and Red Hugh,
Audley and McMahon, ye are valiant wise and true;
But—what, what are ye all to our darling who is gone?
The Rudder of our Ship was he, our Castle's corner-stone!

"Wail, wail him through the Island! weep, weep for our pride!
Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died!
Weep the victor of Benburb—weep him, young men and old;
Weep for him ye women—your Beautiful lies cold!

"We thought you would not die—we were sure you would not go,
And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow—
Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky—
O! why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die?

"Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill! bright was your eye.
O! why did you leave us, Owen? why did you die?
Your troubles are all over, you're at rest with God on high;
But we're slaves and we're orphans, Owen!—why did you die?"

Unlike the ordinary poetaster, Davis wrote with a mission to fulfil, with a set purpose to accomplish. He did not teach merely because he wished to sing, but he sang because he wished to teach. His poetry was to serve a purpose as distinctly within the domain of practical politics as a party pamphlet, or a speech from the hustings. If the people had hitherto depended almost exclusively for information on the spoken word of a few popular orators, how much more effective would not the good tidings of hope be, when given with rhetorical elegance, set in glorious song, and placed within purchaseable reach of all. Hitherto the genius of Melancholy presided over the fount of Irish song. The future was looked forward to with hopeless dread, or sullen recklessness. The present was only spoken of to enhance by shadowy contrast the grandeur of a golden age, that seemed to have passed away forever. Moore's poetry was the wail of a lost cause, the chronicle of a past, whose history was yet recorded throughout the country in ruined abbeys, where the torch of faith and learning was kept from dying out; in ivied castles, from which the mustered manhood of a nation's strength had gone forth to scare the Viking from her soil. Poor Mangan's vision of the past might be predicated as an ideal picture of this lamented epoch:—

"I walked entranced
Through a land of morn,
The sun, with wondrous excess of light,
Shone down and glanced
O'er seas of corn,
And lustrous gardens aleft and right;
Even in the clime
Of resplendent Spain,
Beams no such sun upon such a land;
But it was the time
'Twas in the reign,
Of Cáhál Mor of the Wine-red Hand."

Davis, and the school of poets whom he led, indulged little in unpractical dreams and purposeless regrets. For the first time, the longings of the present and the hopes of the future were spoken of encouragingly. If, at judicious intervals, the pictures of Ireland's golden era were uncovered, it was to stimulate existing ardor—not to beget reverie; to develop latent faculties of work, and not to enfeeble by discouragement the thews and sinews of national life already beginning to thrive in busy usefulness. Freedom was to be purchased at any risk. Davis might never live to see its realization, but he could insure its nearer approach. His first duty, assisted by his zealous co-partners, was to educate, to place in the hands of the people, the means of enjoying those privileges which the leaders had set themselves to win. Gradually but surely the good work progressed. The life of "Treeney the Robber," the "Irish Rogues and Rapparees," the astounding adventures of the "Seven Champions of Christendom," the pasquinades of "Billy Bluff," and "Paddy's Resource," began to pall on the taste of the peasantry, when, by degrees, they became acquainted with the authentic history and the glorious traditions of their country. Sketches of Irish saints and scholars, whose fame for sanctity and learning throughout Christendom rivalled that of St. Benedict as a founder, and St. Thomas of Aquino as a subtle doctor, appeared week by week in the characters of Columbanus and Duns Scotus, Kilian and Johannes Erigena, Colman and Columbkille. Among other schemes he planned the publication of one hundred cheap books to be printed by Duffy, materials for which were to be sought for in the State paper office of London, the MSS. of Trinity College Library, and the valuable papers still preserved in Irish convents at Rome, Louvain, Salamanca, and other places on the continent.

The great secret of Davis's success was his energy, which nothing could suppress or diminish—neither the imprisonment of his co-laborers, the fatigue and anxiety of unassisted endeavor, or the clash of party strife. From his teachings sprang two schools of workers, alike in the ends which each proposed to win, but differing in the methods adopted for its attainment. The one, the pronounced literateurs of the Nation; the other, the organizers who propounded throughout the country the doctrines enunciated by the official organ. The historic Nation was the great channel through which the current of politics sped with a precipitous force, that nothing could withstand. From the date of its first edition it had become universally popular. Even those whose political views were at variance with its teaching were glad to be able to purchase a sheet whose literary excellence elicited their surprise and admiration. But it was among the common people that it had its widest circle of readers. On Sunday mornings while awaiting Mass before the Chapel gate, or on winter evenings around the blacksmith's forge, the peasants would assemble to hear one of their number read aloud rebel verse and passionate prose, the high literary value of which they knew almost instinctively how to appreciate. Though sold at sixpence a copy, a high figure for a weekly newspaper, especially so for the people who were to be its immediate supporters, it had a wonderful circulation, even in the poorest districts. Dillon, one of its founders, writing to its editor, Gavan Duffy, from a poor village in Mayo, said: "I am astonished at the success of the Nation in this poor place. There is not a place in Ireland perhaps a village poorer than itself, or surrounded by a poorer population. You would not guess how many Nations came to it on Sunday last! No less than twenty-three! There are scarcely so many houses in the town!" Two of the greatest critics, that ever presided over the domain of letters, spoke enthusiastically of the poetry which was selected from its columns, and which has since been printed and sold by the tens of thousands. Macaulay confessed he was much struck by the energy and beauty of the volume. Lord Jeffrey, in a fit of playful confidence, said that he was a helpless victim "to these enchanters of the lyre." The "Spirit of the Nation" was as uncontestably the typical poetry of Ireland, as the songs of Burns set forth the national sentiment of Scotland. The poetry of Davis, in a marked degree, is characterized by all the distinctive qualities of the Celtic race,—impulsive ardor, filial affection, headlong intrepidity, mirth and friendship, all imperceptibly interwoven with a thread of chaste melancholy, and all subordinated to feelings of Christian faith and reverence. It was his patriotic endeavor to restore the old Irish names of places, and by degrees replace them in permanent usage. How well he succeeded in handling phrases in the Irish vernacular, without marring the most euphonious rhythm, may be seen in the following piece, O'Brien of Arra.

"Tall are the towers of O'Kennedy—
Broad are the lands of MacCaura—
Desmond feeds five hundred men a-day;
Yet here's to O'Brien of Arra!
Up from the castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Clansmen and kinsmen are coming here
To give him the cead mile failte.

"See you the mountains look huge at eve—
So is our chieftain in battle;
Welcome he has for the fugitive,
Usquebaugh, fighting and cattle!
Up from the Castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Gossip and alley are coming here
To give him the cead mile failte.

"Horses the valleys are tramping on,
Sleek from the Sassenach manger;
Creaghts the hills are encamping on,
Empty the bawns of the stranger!
Up from the Castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Kern and bonaght are coming here
To give him the cead mile failte.

"He has black silver from Killaloe—
Ryan and Carroll are neighbors—
Nenagh submits with a fuililiú—
Butler is meat for our sabres!
Up from the castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Ryan and Carroll are coming here
To give him the cead mile failte.

"T'is scarce a week since through Ossory
Chased he the Baron of Durrow—
Forced him five rivers to cross, or he
Had died by the sword of Red Murrough!
Up from the Castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
All the O'Briens are coming here
To give him the cead mile failte.

"Tall are the towers of O'Kennedy—
Broad are the lands of MacCaura—
Desmond feeds five hundred men a-day;
Yet here's to O'Brien of Arra.
Up from the Castle of Drumineer.
Down from the top of Camailte,
Clansmen and kinsmen are coming here
To give him the cead mile failte."

The Battle of Fontenoy is the corner-stone of the fame of Thomas Davis as a poet. No greater battle-ballad has ever been written. Beside it the ballads of Campbell are scarcely perfect. Davis and Campbell are each typical of a distinct school of painting. Davis entered into minute detail with the love of a pre-Raphaelite; Campbell wields the brush after the manner of one of the old masters. Unhappily for his country Davis died almost suddenly in the year 1845. He had not the happiness to see the beneficial results, which ensuing years brought to the work, which he was the first to begin. His character might be pithily expressed in the words which he poetically wished might be inscribed on his tomb: "He served his country, and loved his kind." A warm heart, and a stainless name, shed lustre on the chivalrous patriot. An earnest Protestant, he was no bigot. Of gentle birth and rearing, he never narrowed his prejudices to petty distinctions of class or creed; but threw in his individual help with the humbler striving of sturdy commoner and frieze-coated peasant. The measure of national advancement, which he accomplished, did not die with him, but lives to our time. It would require little space to prove here that the literary societies, the political club assemblies, the societies for the promotion of the Irish language and industries, the discipline of national unity, which controls the whole Irish movement in our day, are but the practical sequence of the lessons which Davis and his party taught and perpetuated. And if the hour is now at hand when the hard-fought battle of a century is to be decided for us in glorious victory; if to us it is given, through the efforts of the gallant patriots who still continue the good fight, to set the banner of victory on the temple of national independence, history yet survives and points its backward finger in abiding gratitude to the unforgotten workers, who laid the foundation of the citadel, which we are to open and inhabit.

James H. Gavin.

Human nature is a greater force even than laws of political economy, and the Almighty Himself has implanted in the human breast that passionate love of country which rivets with irresistible attraction the Esquimaux to his eternal snows, the Arab to his sandy desert, and the Highlander to his rugged mountains.—Joseph Chamberlain.

Southern Sketches.
XVIII.
HAVANA.

After resting in my novel couch that evening, and experiencing no hurt from the so-called formidable mosquito of the West Indies, I started next morning, after a ten-o'clock breakfast of poached eggs, fried plantains, meats of various kinds spiced with garlic, fruits, and other nice things, to the Plaza de Armas, which is a beautiful square, and only a couple of blocks from the Hotel de Europa. Towards evening the Plaza presents a glittering sight. Its handsome palm-trees, roses, Indian laurels, flowering shrubs, piers, railings, and statue of Ferdinand, form a grand combination. The rambler to whom such scenes are new, sinks almost unconsciously into a seat, and surrenders himself to the irresistible influence of the music, fragrance and brilliancy of the place. The military band discourses soft and delicious music. Soldiers in gay uniforms, civilians in handsome dresses, and carriages containing the wealthiest and handsomest of Havana's daughters, fill the square, and one delightful stream of chat and laughter continues till the performance is ended. The fine palace of the captain-general, the beautiful chapel, El Templete (erected in honor of Columbus), the university attached to the Church of St. Domingo, and several stores and exchange offices border the Plaza. The scene is tropical, the moon's clear beams mingle with the lamplight, and the sense of tranquility, happiness, and repose, which characterizes the place and the crowds, gives one a foretaste of Paradise. A very old tree stands in front of the temple, and here it was that the first Mass was celebrated in the island. The palace of the captain-general is two stories high, painted light green, having a magnificent colonnade around the lower story, and an elegant piazza around the upper one. On visiting it next day, I was politely escorted by an officer through flights of marble staircases, embellished with statuary and flower vases, into the presence of the captain-general. He led me by vast, rich corridors to saloons embellished with green furniture, marble floors, rich vases, walls full of paintings, mirrors and statues. The ceilings were ornamented with exquisite mosaics. The despatch apartment, dining-room, and chapel were reached through splendid arches and highly-wrought pillars. Chandeliers of exquisite design and great value added to the splendor of the saloons. In winter the captain-general resides in the city palace; but in summer he takes up his abode at the quinta, or country seat, outside the town. A few minutes walk from here will take you to the cathedral, which is a ponderous, time-worn building, constructed of a kind of yellow stone, which has become mottled by age. I noticed doves cooing in its heavy old window-sills. Though the exterior is plain, the inside of the building is grand. Its floor is of marble, its walls are highly frescoed, and its pillars are very lofty and round. The high altar is of porphyry, and when I visited it, itself and the body of the church were undergoing repairs. A feature which is sure to interest every traveller, is a simple slab in the wall of the chancel to the left of the sanctuary. Behind this, rests the remains of the illustrious Columbus. A feeling of reverence and awe took possession of me as I recalled the religious and brave career of that wonderful man, who, from first to last, clung so strong to his holy faith. A courteous sacristan next showed me the beautiful vestments and sacred vessels in use at the cathedral. Chief amongst those was a remonstrance to hold the Blessed Sacrament during processions like those of Corpus Christi. It stood six or seven feet high, and was made of pure silver, enriched here and there with gold and precious stones. It was a perfect representation of a gorgeous gothic cathedral. The priests connected with the church are very courteous and hospitable, and are but a short distance from the seminary, to which I next bent my footsteps.

This is a sombre and massive edifice. After passing a huge gateway, I entered a large courtyard, which was ornamented with big, flowering plants and Indian laurels. Fifty or sixty grand pillars supported piazzas around the court. The porter brought to me the director of the seminary, who proved to be a young and very agreeable priest. He offered me the hospitalities of the seminary, and asked me to take a look at the house. He could converse fluently in English, having been several years in the United States. I learned from him that this institution, like the cathedral, was about three hundred years old, that the majority of candidates for holy orders were young men, natives of the Island, and that such was not the case till recently, as in the past all the aspirants for the ministry came directly from Spain. The faculty of the house demanded postulants of a high standard, as could be seen from the fact that out of twenty-four who applied for admission on the previous year only nine were received.

While walking with the reverend director on one of the verandas overlooking the court, my attention was drawn to the students who came out of their class-rooms to take recreation. They were all very handsome young men. Five Lazarist priests and two lay professors take charge of the house and classes. The course includes the sciences of the schools, humanities, philosophy and theology. The class-rooms, refectory, library and halls of the house were lofty and very well kept. The dormitory, two hundred feet long, was finely situated, and had sixteen large windows looking out upon the bay, forts, ships and hills. The students retire to rest at nine o'clock and get up at five in the morning, when they make their meditation and assist at Mass. They partake of a little bread and coffee at 6.45 A.M., dine at 11.30 and sup at 7 P.M. Such, also, is the custom of the Spanish seminaries.

After leaving this institution, I pursued a northern course, passing by huge barracks, in front of which soldiers were keeping guard. The palace of the general of engineers stands in this vicinity. I had the pleasure of an introduction to the commander, Signor Jose Aparicio y Beltram, a Spanish gentleman of great courtesy and intelligence. He showed me all that was interesting in this grand building of pillars, saloons and courts.

The city prison is situated about ten minutes' walk from this spot, and is a very large, two-storied building, resembling a palace more than a jail. On introducing myself, and presenting a card from the adjutant-general, I was very politely received by Signor Jose Gramaren y Voreye, chief of the prisons of the Isle of Cuba. The interior of the prison is entirely unlike anything of the sort in the United States. The prisoners, about two hundred in number, committed for political and criminal offences, are confined in large, unfurnished rooms, whose floors are of stone, and whose only ornaments are iron posts and chains. Sad-looking, half-naked creatures stared at me in silence as I entered, and then resumed their walks and conversation. Separate wards were reserved for the Chinese and Negro offenders, and a large, neat chapel, where Mass was celebrated every Sunday, was at hand for the accommodation of all. The prison is situated in the new part of the city, on a magnificent, wide street, lined with trees. This carries you directly to one of the most superb promenades and drives in the town—viz: the Parque de Isabella 2d. Here the wealth and beauty of Havana turn out, especially in the evenings, to take the fresh air, and exhibit themselves in splendid carriages behind prancing steeds. The finest theatres and hotels of the city are in this neighborhood, and the scene towards evening becomes quite fairy-like owing to the multitudes of lights that fall on statues, fountains, gay promenaders, flowers and palms, which stretch away for an immense distance. Here soldiers, sailors and civilians mingle, now walking, now resting on iron seats near flowery bowers. Members of the municipal police go by, dressed in dark uniforms, carrying swords, whistles and batons. Some of the night police stroll along in the evening, in black uniforms, bearing red lamps and lancers. Crowds of people, who remain in-doors during the intense heat of the day, come to the Parque at dusk to breathe the cool air, and listen to the music of the military band, that plays every second night near the principal statue and fountain.

A little beyond the Parque towers aloft the grand new city market (Plaza de Vapor), one of the finest in the world, adorned in front by a noble colonnade. The numerous and handsome stalls are filled with goods of all kinds; and among the most attractive of the displays are the rich, luscious and lovely fruits of the island. This edifice is well worth seeing. The Campo de Marte and the Paseo de Tacon, in this neighborhood, are magnificent drives. The latter leads out to the suburbs, and beyond the quinta, or country residence of the captain-general. Next day I resolved to see the Casus de Benefecentia, which is situated at the north-west of the city, in front of the ocean. It is the most famous benevolent institution in Cuba, and is under the charge of the Sisters of Charity. It consists of a file of buildings, of solid masonry painted a tawny brown. After knocking at an immense door, I was admitted by the porter, who introduced me to the director of the institution. He has a smattering of English and was very polite.

Signor Antonio Gorherti introduced me to several of the good sisters, who were dressed in white caps and blue habits. We walked through the grounds of the institution. These were very large and highly ornamented. Twenty-four sisters dwelt in the house. The building had two divisions, one for females and the other for males. The majority were destitute orphans of both sexes, the rest were infirm adults. The entire number of its inmates was about seven hundred. We went through the Baptistry, which was fifty or sixty feet high, and entered the chapel, which had a beautiful gallery and mosaic ceiling, then passed through a private chapel where the Blessed Sacrament was kept. All these were finely embellished with paintings. The large wards and dormitories were kept scrupulously clean, and provided with numerous nurses, who received thirty dollars a month in gold for their services. Every attention is paid to the sick, and the best physicians are daily in attendance. Sister Josepha, who had charge of the girls, showed me some very beautiful embroidery and fancy work made by them. They presented many gifts to the captain-general, who was a liberal patron of the institution. The physical as well as religious and moral training of the children was creditably attended to; all looked in fine health and enjoyed good food, as well as the refreshing breezes of the sea, which swept through the grounds. Their knowledge of the Christian truths was excellent, and no wonder, as the educational system practised by the sisters was exceedingly interesting, simple and comprehensive. The boys and girls were formed into various religious sodalities, and I was perfectly charmed with the manner in which so many, of almost every color, united in singing sacred hymns in the Spanish language.

It would take pages to describe the attractions of this institution which commanded the respect and sympathy of all classes in Havana. Though chiefly sustained by the government, still it often receives magnificent bequests. One gentleman left the establishment two hundred thousand dollars. His name will ever be held in grateful remembrance. The untiring zeal of the good sisters makes the institution a perfect success. On my return to the hotel, I dropped into the fish market which adjoins the cathedral. The display of the finny tribe here was perfectly gorgeous. Fish of every color, beautifully striped, and with glittering scales, lay on the benches, after having lately been snatched from the transparent Cuban waters. They presented a tempting sight to the crowd of hungry darkies who lounged around the stalls.

After a rest and an elaborately compounded dinner of fruits, vegetables and meats, all savored with garlic and spices of various kinds, and having been regaled with the rest of the guests, during its course, by a band of music, I resolved to go and see the quinta, or suburban residence of the captain-general. The drive to this place by the Paseo de Tacon is very beautiful and refreshing. On entering the suburbs it is lined with handsome villas and closely packed houses, which soon give way to isolated mansions, green fields, blooming gardens and tropical trees. The grounds of the captain-general are adorned by a splendid entrance, grand walks, flower beds and avenues of palm trees. As I sauntered along the gravel walks I noticed all kinds of cacti, roses, cocoa and royal palms. On calling on the captain-general's widow I was warmly welcomed by Signor Juan Batalla, the major-domo, and his lady, both good Catholics. They kindly accompanied me through the grounds. I saw great masses of dahlias, fuchsias, colens, kaladimus, and century plants flourishing here in their warm native soil. Down a short distance from the house we came upon a lovely cascade which threw its silvery spray over numbers of blossoming vines. It seemed almost impossible to check (if one barbarously desired to do so) the growth and beauty of the flowers that lined the smooth, clear canal below the waterfall. Hundreds of dresinas, other rare plants, and sweet-scented flowers made the air heavy with their fragrance, while the lofty Indian laurels and palms looked down like lords on the dwarf beauties growing at their feet. All kinds of ducks sported in the canal, and tame deer browsed near its banks. Signor Juan pointed with pride to a ceiba tree, about a hundred feet high, and enthusiastically remarked what a brave one it was, since it stood there since the time of Columbus. After taking along with me a few mementos from the signor, I quitted this enchanting spot with feelings of regret and returned to the city.

The Church de Mercede which I next visited, is the handsomest in Havana. It stands at the south-east of the city, and exteriorly presents a very noble and finished appearance. I saw it on Quinquagesima Sunday, when the devotion of the Forty Hours was in progress. The church, at the Solemn High Mass (8 A.M.), was filled to overflowing, and the music, which was rendered by a very large orchestra, was very fine. The interior of the church was remarkable for its artistic beauty. Under the faithful direction of the Lazarist Fathers, who came to Havana in 1863, this edifice was carried to its present state of completion. The building measures two hundred feet long by about ninety wide. Its grand high altar and eight side ones force themselves upon your view by their essential splendor, yet the extravagant and costly drapery of the statuary on most of them, though agreeable to the Spaniards, is hurtful to the taste of one coming from the United States. On the left of the high altar stands a magnificent one of our Lady of Lourdes. The side walls all around are grandly frescoed, and the ceiling is painted a beautiful sky blue, with white clouds here and there, out of which peep lovely bright angels. The oil paintings on the side walls of this church must have cost thousands of dollars each, they are so large, richly mounted and life-like in their execution. The grand altar, like the church, is Corinthian in shape, and literally glittered with lights on the morning I saw it. A great, high, solid ornament rested over the reredos, looking like a papal tiara resplendent with gems. The marble altar steps and pillars of light green shooting up to the roof, the beautiful velvet sanctuary carpet and the crimson damask curtains hanging from the side walls of the sanctuary gave a superb effect to the full front view. The white and gold tabernacle, adorned with delicate crimson lace, looked magnificent as the mellow sunlight flooded it. The large congregation were wrapped up in devotion, and listened with great attention and delight to a sermon on faith which was powerfully delivered in Spanish by one of the Lazarist Fathers. When the Mass ended, I accompanied the Fathers to their modest, neat rooms, where I was delightfully entertained. These priests displayed a great amount of knowledge and refinement. Though few could speak English, yet all could, of course, converse in Latin, and this tongue they uttered with great accuracy and fluency. I will always remember the kindness of these priests and the grandeur of their sacred temple.

The palace of the admiral, which I visited on the following day, is a very handsome structure, built in Grecian style and painted a delicate light blue. It stands near the custom-house and faces the bay. On introducing myself, and presenting the card of the adjutant-general, I was courteously conducted to the side of an officer by one of the guards at the gate. The officer soon led me up a flight of marble stairs through grand, lofty antechambers into the presence of the admiral, a tall, handsome old gentleman. He welcomed me very cordially, and introduced me to his son, a noble-looking young man dressed in the uniform of a superior officer. The latter was not long resident in Cuba, having recently arrived from Spain. He conversed very pleasantly in English about the United States, Cuba, and other topics; then showed me through the house, which contained magnificent apartments all furnished in regal style. The chapel was gorgeous.

After leaving the palace of the admiral, where I was so kindly treated, I went to the arsenal, the extensive grounds, pretty church and military stores of which are well worth noticing. A short distance from here and you come to the military hospital. This is an immense establishment, surrounded by a strong, thick wall, of a light brown color. Its many gates were guarded by armed sentinels. On inquiring for the Padre Curé, I was shown to his presence by a guide in military uniform. The Padre was a large, good-natured-looking person. He was seated at his desk, over a volume, when I entered. The appearance of his room showed that the occupant was a student and a business man. The walls were lined with books, and materials suited to his sacred calling were here and there systematically fixed. Padre Toaquin Salvadorez received me like a generous-hearted, highly-cultivated gentleman. After a brief chat, he led me through the hospital. We passed through numerous offices, where we saw the superior and directors of the institution. Signors Don Antonius Pardinas, J. A. Salazaro, Don Edwardo Crespo and Don Jose Yara Goza, were wonderfully polite and pleasant gentlemen. We entered the wards of the hospital, which are attended by the Sisters of Charity. Almost every bed was occupied by a sick soldier. Most of them were young men not long from Spain, who came to serve the kingdom on a foreign territory. The marks of fever and wounds lay heavy upon them. I noticed sick soldiers and sailors, reading, writing and dozing. Several walked along the corridors dressed in long, white gowns, slippers and turbans, directing a nod and a smile to us as they passed by. The good Father informed me that over one thousand were confined in the hospital, attended by twenty-four nurses, who spared neither time nor effort to make them comfortable.

The rooms were large, airy and full of the odor of tropical fruits and flowers. Beautiful religious pictures hung in several places and good pious books were abundant. The officers' rooms had a large quota of patients. All were brought by sickness to a level with the commonest soldier. We went through the surgical rooms, where operations were wont to be performed. We entered the chapel, a richly adorned and commodious one, where the good sisters so often knelt to pray for the poor invalids. Large, cooling arches spread away before us, and courtyards full of flowers and gushing fountains gave refreshment and rest to the inmates of this vast institution. The good Father showed me immense cellars which contained barrels full of drugs of all kinds. The establishment had three drug stores, all of which were busy supplying the sick with medicines. A proof of the remarkable care taken by the doctors and sisters of the sick in this hospital, may be seen from a report made by a board of investigation which visited Havana in 1880, to inquire into the yellow fever. During the year, 1360 of the army were seized with this disease, 956 outlived it and 411 died, 3 remaining in a doubtful condition. Out of the 174 seized by the disease in the navy, 109 lived and 64 died, 1 remaining in a doubtful state. Out of a total of 1541 invalids 1069 lived and 475 died, 4 remaining in a doubtful condition, thus producing a proportion of 30 to 6 signed by 36 Havana doctors for the army, 4 for the navy, 4 apothecaries, 3 priests and 3 of the military administration.

Father Salvadorez pointed out to me immense stores as we walked along, where great quantities of dry goods were piled up so as to provide the sick with clothing and bandages, also immense stores in which groceries of every kind were packed. The ambulance department, where everything needed for sick soldiers could be had, was well worth seeing, also the rest of the rooms and stores in connection with the building. The insane department contained but one unhappy case. He was a young man with pale face, long, black, flowing hair, and dark eyes full of sadness that stared at us gloomily as we went in. A few words of cheer from the Padre encouraged him, so he smiled, nodded his head, and then retired to a corner of his cell. Father Salvadorez receives a salary of two thousand dollars a year, and each of his assistants gets one thousand dollars. A military attendant is attached to each. It is, indeed, a delightful treat to form the acquaintance of the Padre and the officers of the military hospital. If the stranger knows a little Latin, Italian, or Spanish, he can chat with them, and get a good deal of information. Their expressive gestures will go a good way to supply their lack of English. It afforded me no small share of pleasure to meet at the hospital, among the thirty-four sisters in charge, a novice who had recently arrived from Cork, Ireland. She was the only Irish one among a number of French and Spanish sisters, but certainly not the least loved. After passing a few delightful hours of inspection, I bade adieu to the Padre, whom I promised to meet at the university next day. On the following morning, at nine o'clock, I heard him deliver a grand essay in defence of the Syllabus, before a very large and attentive assemblage of students.

After viewing the chief features of interest in Havana, I bade the city good-by, and set out for Matanzas, to see its famous Yumuri Valley and caves of Bellamare (of the beautiful sea).

Rev. M. W. Newman.

Enjoy present pleasures in such a way as not to injure future ones.

Our Gaelic Tongue.

It is fading, ah, 'tis fading like the leaves upon the trees!
It is dying, sadly dying, like echoes 'mong the trees!
When the last breath of Autumn sighing on the breeze.

The places now that know it, it soon shall know no more;
It has vanished, it has vanished, like some loved one gone before.
No more is it spoken as it was in the days of yore.

It is sinking, slowly sinking, into its silent grave at last,
To live but in the memory as a relic of the past;
Our olden time is sinking by time and wrong harassed.

And the land that gave it birth it will leave forevermore;
No more the hills re-echo to its music as of yore,
Amid the ancient ruins pining, an exile on its native shore.

It was spoken ere the Grecian or the Persian felt the chain,
Ere Christianity's light arose to educate and tame
The fierceness of the pagan, and free the world again.

Its youth beheld the Semite on Irish coasts a guest,
Whose manhood saw the empire of the Cæsars sink to rest
In its old age, as a patriarch sinks silently to rest.

In royal hall and peasant home its accents oft had rung;
Oft the glories of his native land the enraptured minstrel sung,
To king and nobles gathered round, in his wild, sweet, native tongue.

Ah, sacred tongue, that oft has borne the message from above!
Ah, pleasing tongue, whose murmurs soft, like the cooing of the dove,
To patriots united it bore words of sweetest love.

It was the tongue the apostle spoke in the days of long ago;
In it the priest advised his flock in the penal days of woe;
Its wild huzza at Fontenoy dismayed and beat the foe.

Our Keltic tongue is dying and we stand coldly by,
Without a pang within the heart, or a tear fall from the eye,
Without a care to save it, or e'en a mournful sigh,

To see it thus receding as the sunlight on the sea.
Oh, rescue it 'ere 'tis too late; oh, raise your might to free
The language of our fathers, from dark oblivion's sea.

Shall it no more be spoken on Eire's fertile plain?
Shall not her sons aspire no more to rend the iron chain,
And light the fires of freedom that smouldered in its train?

Oh, mute, forsaken tongue, must a captive's fate be thine,
Crushed by a despot's sceptre, but to be the sign
Of a ruined country, a desecrated shrine.

Phenix of the fire and storm, shall it arising in its strength,
Spurning the galling, servile yoke, gloriously be at length,
Immortal and unconquerable, the language of Juvent.

J. Sullivan.

Worcester, Mass.

A Chapter of Irish History in Boston.

The Boston Herald gives us a fair history of the ancient and honorable Charitable Irish Society, which we cheerfully reproduce:—Within a few weeks, probably at the annual meeting in March, action will be taken by the members of the Charitable Irish Society looking to the proper observance of the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of that organization, which is one of the oldest in the country. The history of the Society is a most interesting one, so much so that when Dr. Samuel A. Green was mayor of the city, he requested that copies of the printed records be deposited in the library at the Harvard University, with the Massachusetts Historic Genealogical and Boston Historical Society, and in the principal public libraries of the State. The motive underlying the formation of the Society was very explicitly set forth when the original members assembled and prepared the preamble to the rules and orders, which declared that "Several Gentlemen, Merchants and others, of the Irish Nation, residing in Boston and in New England, from an Affectionate and Compassionate concern for their countrymen in these Parts, who may be reduced by Sickness, Shipwreck, Old Age and other Infirmities and Unforeseen Accidents, Have thought fit to form themselves into a Charitable Society for the relief of such of their poor and indigent Countrymen, without any Design of not contributing toward the provision of the town poor in general as usual. And, the Society being now in its Minority, it is to be hoped and expected that all Gentlemen, Merchants, and others of the Irish Nation or Extraction residing in or trading to these Parts, who are lovers of Charity and their Countrymen, will readily come in and give their Assistance to so laudable an undertaking." A remarkable provision of the by-laws, as originally drawn, was the restriction that only Protestants should be admitted to membership; but there are good grounds for believing that Roman Catholics were admitted as early as 1742, and it is known that prominent persons of that faith were members in 1770. The preserved records do not show when Catholics were first admitted to membership; but when the constitution was revised in 1804, the restricted clause was repealed. The by-laws at first were few in number and very

Suggestive of the Times.

The quarterly dues were two shillings, with "2 Shillings additional for the Expenses of the House. The dues were to be paid into the treasurer's hands when the members were called by their respective names, and all persons on the calling of the List to keep their Seats to prevent disturbance. And, further, that all members residing in Boston and not attending at said quarterly meetings, but sending their quarterize, shall also send 1 shilling for the good of the stock." "Expenses of the house" suggests that, while the proceedings at meetings were in progress, the members enjoyed "potheen," or something as exhilarating, for another by-law provided that "no Person call for or order any drink into the room where said Society is, except the President, who, or some Person appointed by him, is to keep an acct. of the Liquor, and to take care that the same do not exceed two Shillings for each member present." Decorum and order were enforced at the meetings under a by-law which provided that "if any Member offer any Indignity to another, or shall Swear or Curse in said Society, such Member so offending shall pay as a Fine to the Fund of said Society the Sum of Ten Shillings, and such Member refusing to pay such Fine after being adjudged culpable by a Majority of the Members present, such Person shall be excluded from said Society." Four years after the founding of this Society, interest in the meetings began to flag, and it was voted that the fine for non-attendance should be five shillings, unless the member absenting himself gave a reasonable excuse therefor. At one time, six o'clock in the evening, was the hour set for assembling. There were some members who worked at their trades well up to that time of day, and could not get to their homes without danger of being fined in meeting for absence, and, consequently, they appeared in their working clothes. This necessitated a new by-law in 1744, providing that "All Members who appear at the Annual and Quarterly Meeting to be Decent and Clean, without Capps or Aprons." Notifications of meetings were called "warnings," and members were warned in whatever way the secretary desired. In 1768 it was thought that two shillings' worth of beer and tobacco was rather too much for any one man to drink and smoke at a meeting, and it was voted that "there shant be above 1 s. 4 d. a man spent at a meeting before the Business of the evening be over and the reckning called & settled; and that a clarke be chosen Each Evening to settle the reckning," etc. The Society had no regular place of assembly, but met around wherever it could. From the 21st of February, 1775, till the 26th of October, 1784, the Society did not meet, owing to many of the members being in the Continental Army,

Serving under Gen. Washington.

On the evening of the reassembling of the Society after the War of the Revolution, the President delivered an address in which he said: "Gentlemen, Members of the Charitable Irish Society: I congratulate you on this joyful occasion, that we are assembled again after ten years' absence occasioned by a dreadful and ruinous war of eight years; also that we have conquered one of the greatest and most potent nations on the globe so far as to have peace and independency. May our friends, countrymen in Ireland, behave like the brave Americans, till they recover their liberties." It has long been a custom to invite to the annual dinner of the Society, representatives of the Catholic and Protestant clergy, and as far back as 1797 the committee having the entertainment in charge was "authorized to admit such gentlemen as may appear proper subjects for the celebration, they paying their own club." In 1798 the members were not "warned" for the August meeting because the contagion raged, and the members were principally out of Boston. In October of the same year, they were not warned, "Because the Contagion was not entirely eradicated and the Members not generally Returned." In June, 1799, the secretary was a little nettled because he had no company at the meeting, and he made as a record: "President, Vice-President and all the members absent except the secretary. Therefore, all business is suspended until the next meeting." For a year or more afterward, the meetings were not well attended. In April, 1808, an election of officers and other business was being disposed of, when the proceedings terminated very abruptly, and the record gives the reason as follows: "Fire is cried and bells ringing; the Society disperse." By 1810, the material in the organization began to grow again, and the meetings were held at the Old Exchange coffee house. Twenty years later. Gallagher's Howard Street House was the popular place of rendezvous, and it was here that a vote was passed providing standards and banners for the Society. One of the most memorable events recorded, took place on the 22d of June, 1833, when "thirteen marshals conducted the Society to the lodgings of the President of the United States, at the Tremont House, to pay their respects." President James Boyd of the Society delivered an address of welcome, and President Andrew Jackson replied as follows: "I feel much gratified, sir, at this testimony of respect shown me by the Charitable Irish Society of this city. It is with great pleasure that I see so many of the countrymen of my father assembled on this occasion. I have always been proud of my ancestry, and of being descended from that noble race, and rejoice that I am so nearly allied to a country which has so much to recommend it to the good wishes of the world. Would to God, sir, that Irishmen on the other side of the great water, enjoyed the comforts, happiness, contentment and liberty that we enjoy here. I am well aware, sir, that Irishmen have never been backward in giving their support to

The Cause of Liberty.

"They have fought, sir, for this country valiantly, and, I have no doubt, would fight again were it necessary; but I hope it will be long before the institutions of our country need support of that kind. Accept my best wishes for the happiness of you all." The members of the Society were about to withdraw when President Jackson took Mr. Boyd by the hand and said: "I am somewhat fatigued, sir, as you may notice; but I cannot allow you to part with me until I again shake hands with you, which I do for yourself and the whole Society. I assure you, sir, there are few circumstances that have given me more heart-felt satisfaction than this visit. I shall remember it with pleasure, and I hope you, sir, and all your Society will long enjoy health and happiness." The next event of interest was the appearance of the Society in the procession on the occasion of services commemorative of Gen. Lafayette, September 6, 1834, "With a standard bearer and ten marshals, who decorated themselves with the medals of the Society, and a special badge provided for the occasion in honor of Gen. Lafayette, and bearing his likeness." The centennial celebration was another red letter event. J. Boyd, the President, delivered an oration at Masonic Hall. Governor Edward Everett, Mayor Samuel Atkins Eliot, and other distinguished gentlemen being present as invited guests, and these gentlemen also attended the banquet in the evening and delivered addresses. In 1841 the Society began to meet at the Stackpole House, which stood on the south-west corner of Milk and Devonshire Streets, where the Post-office building now stands. The Parker House has been the place of meeting for about thirty years, beginning in 1856. Efforts have frequently been made to detach the Society from Parker's; but the memories of good times and old faces has so entwined the Society to that "tavern," that it has been impossible thus far to effect a separation. In addition to the officers usually elected in societies, namely, president, vice-president, secretaries, treasurer and directors, the Charitable Irish Society adheres to the old-time custom of electing a "keeper of the silver key," who is also chairman of the board of directors. The silver key is not a myth, as many of the new members of the organization, as well as other persons, have supposed. It is made of coin silver, after the style of the old-fashioned iron keys used to lock the main front doors of places of business and family mansions, some of which are yet to be seen in houses fifty or more years old. It is about seven or eight inches long, and weighs between a quarter and half a pound. This key is preserved in a velvet-lined case, and is one of

The Treasures of the Society.

Its utility is described in the thirteenth section of the original rules and orders, as follows: "The key keepers are to attend gentlemen and others, natives of Ireland, or of Irish extraction, residing in these parts, or transients, to acquaint them with the charitable design and nature of this Society, and invite them to contribute by the formality of delivering them a silver key, with the arms of Ireland thereon; and if any person do refuse the same, they are to return their names at some subsequent quarterly meeting." The records do not show that at any time in the history of the Society has the key keeper had occasion to report the name of anybody for refusing to contribute to charity. There are also other relics and devices, all of which are in the possession of the treasurer, who gives bonds for the safe-keeping of the same. The device, or coat-of-arms, of the Society, represents an eagle with outstretched wings, holding in one claw a liberty pole, surmounted by the cap of liberty, and in the other a "sprig of shamrock." Pendant from the eagle's neck is a shield, with an Irish harp and a shamrock in the centre, around which is the legend: "Charitable Irish Society." Beneath the device is the Society's motto: "Fostered under thy wings, we will die in thy defence," and above are the dates of the founding (1737) and incorporation (1809) of the Society. The banner of the organization is now exhibited on but one day of the year, March 17, when it is given a place as near the head of the banquet table as possible. By a rule of the Society, the charity was formerly limited to forty shillings for any one person at any one time, and there is no doubt that a great deal of good was done. The growth of public and private charitable institutions and associations had the effect, twenty or twenty-five years ago, of leaving the Society with little or nothing to do, as its members were nearly all associated with other charities, which covered the ground more fully and promptly. Not for many years, however, has a record of dispensed charity been kept. All cases are referred to the board of directors, and upon investigation, if found worthy, the keeper of the silver key and the treasurer have been instructed to aid the person asking assistance. The impression has gone abroad, so quietly and unostentatiously has the work been done, that the Society gives nothing in charity. An incident touching this fact is related by one of the officers. A respectable and intelligent mechanic, a brass finisher, applied for relief. He had a wife and four children in Dublin. He was out of employment there and came to America to get work. He had heard that

His Family Were Suffering.

He did not ask to be sent to them because he had nothing to give them. He could get employment in New York, and soon would earn enough to bridge over their necessities. He had called at a newspaper office in Boston to ascertain where he could find a charitable Irish society to help him, and was informed that "there was such a society in existence, but that it was charitable only in name." The man found his way to the keeper of the silver key eventually, and his immediate wants were supplied, and he was given transportation to New York. Before the train rolled out of the depot, he informed the member of the Society, who was seeing him off, that he had paid another visit to the newspaper office, and informed the people there that they had been misinformed; that "The Charitable Irish Society was charitable not only in name, but in deed, and in a direction, too, not covered by other charities of a private nature." He felt it a duty incumbent on him to correct the misapprehension, and, having done so, he bade them good day. This case is only one of many that might be cited. Among the presidents of the Society were some of the best known descendants of Irishmen in Boston. The presidents for the last fifty years are as follows:

• 1835—John O. Park.
• 1836—James Boyd.
• 1837—James Boyd.
• 1838—Daniel O'Callaghan.
• 1839—Daniel O'Callaghan.
• 1840—Wm. P. McKay.
• 1841—Wm. P. McKay.
• 1842—John C. Tucker.
• 1843—John C. Tucker.
• 1844—Terence McHugh.
• 1845—Terence McHugh.
• 1846—Terence McHugh.
• 1847—Patrick Sharkey.
• 1848—John Kelly.
• 1849—John Kelly.
• 1850—John Kelly.
• 1851—Patrick Donahoe.
• 1852—James Egan.
• 1853—Dennis W. O'Brien.
• 1854—Patrick Donahoe.
• 1855—Thomas Mooney.
• 1856—John C. Crowley.
• 1857—John C. Crowley.
• 1858—John C. Crowley.
• 1859—Patrick Phillips.
• 1860—Hugh O'Brien.
• 1861—Hugh O'Brien.
• 1862—Cornelius Doherty.
• 1863—James H. Tallon.
• 1864—Patrick Harkins.
• 1865—Michael Doherty.
• 1866—Charles F. Donnelly.
• 1867—Charles F. Donnelly.
• 1868—John M. Maguire.
• 1869—John M. Maguire.
• 1870—John Magrath.
• 1871—John Magrath.
• 1872—Thomas Dolan.
• 1873—Thomas J. Gargan.
• 1874—Thomas J. Gargan.
• 1875—Bernard Corr.
• 1876—Patrick A. Collins.
• 1877—Patrick A. Collins.
• 1878—Joseph D. Fallon.
• 1879—Edward Ryan.
• 1880—Patrick F. Griffin.
• 1881—Patrick F. Griffin.
• 1882—Thomas Riley.
• 1883—W. W. Doherty.
• 1884—Timothy Dacey.
• 1885—Dennis H. Morrissey.

For several years past the subject of erecting a suitable building in which the Society should have a meeting place of its own, with rooms for reading and social purposes for young men of the present and coming generations, and also small halls for other Society meetings, has been under consideration. The project seemed visionary till this year, when a committee was appointed to raise a fund for the purpose. This committee has given the subject most careful consideration, and intends by means of a series of entertainments this winter, to establish a foundation on which to build a fund for the erection of the structure proposed. When the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary is about to be observed, it is intended to invite President Cleveland to be the Society's guest, and the occasion will, without doubt, be one of great interest.

Interest:—Savings Banks.

The Catholic Review: Interest to be at all justifiable ought to consider a number of elements, which in the case of most of our Catholic churches in great cities like New York, Boston, Brooklyn or Philadelphia, are largely in favor of the church corporations. Lucrum cessans will justify interest; but just now where else can a gain of four-and-half per cent. be combined with absolute safety. Damnum emergens justifies interest; but in the present condition of affairs, with bank presidents looking for investments at two per cent., and telling depositors that the mere safe keeping of their deposits is interest enough, where does the loss of profit arise? "Danger of the investment" justifies interest; but is it not ridiculous to say that any bank imperils money lent to a Catholic church in New York or Brooklyn on a first mortgage? The fact is, such an investment is only equalled in security by a United States bond; it may not be as easily negotiable, but it is just as safe. It ought to cost very little more.

Priests to whom the second of January and first of July are sad days, and who for weeks and even months previous are persecuted by the necessity of begging from and irritating their congregations by painful appeals for money to pay these dreadful interests, have asked the Catholic Review again and again to draw popular attention to the high rate that is charged for such loans. We do so. But having done our duty in this respect, we think we ought to add that it belongs to themselves to deal effectively with the whole question, the very outside limits of which we can only touch upon. Six per cent., that some of them pay, would pay for many a Catholic teacher in a parochial school. How are they to secure a reduction? We think a business-like and amicable discussion of the whole question would convince the banks that property such as a church is entitled to consideration not accorded to private or business property. We do not now refer to motives of charity or religion, but of pure business. No doubt some bankers will say, at first, that "the thing cannot be done." Well, the example of the Trustees of St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York, is a good one. When their demand for a just reduction was, as we think, foolishly, refused, they had no difficulty in transferring their mortgage. If half a dozen strong churches took up the question, they would, we predict, bring all opponents to time. It is worth talking over. Still more, it is worth acting upon. Many a church that is now paying six per cent. could employ six additional teachers if it had to pay only three per cent. interest.

Bay State Faugh-a-Ballaghs.[1]
III.
THE SECOND IRISH MASSACHUSETTS REGIMENT—THE TWENTY-EIGHTH TO THE FRONT—ANOTHER CHAPTER ABOUT OUR RACE IN THE WAR OF THE UNION.

"To the troops (the Irish Brigade) commanded by General Meagher, was principally committed the desperate task of bursting out of the town of Fredericksburg and forming under the withering fire of the Confederate batteries, to attack Marye's Heights, towering immediately in their front. Never at Fontenoy, Albuera or at Waterloo was more undaunted courage displayed by the sons of Erin than during those six frantic dashes which they directed against the almost impregnable position of their foe.... The bodies which lie in dense masses within forty yards of the muzzles of Colonel Walton's guns are the best evidence what manner of men they were who pressed on to death with the dauntlessness of a race which has gained glory on a thousand battle-fields, and never more richly deserved it than at the foot of Marye's Heights on the 13th day of December, 1862."

Of this brigade of five regiments the Twenty-Eighth Massachusetts Volunteers, Colonel Richard Byrnes, was the second Irish regiment raised in Massachusetts in defence of the Union in 1861. The tribute above quoted is the testimony of the war correspondent of the London Times, the files of which are to be found in our Boston Athenæum. He was the famous Dr. Russell, the Crimean and other wars' correspondent of the London Thunderer. He should surely be a judge of heroic service and undaunted bravery. He was an eye-witness, as was the writer of these lines, of what he speaks, and could with great truth form a personal knowledge of the facts, and with ocular proof depict the thrilling and tragic drama enacted on the bloody slopes of Fredericksburg, Va., on that midwinter day. The nature of the ground on the left bank of the Rappahannock afforded ample views of the scenes being enacted on the other side, and it requires no difficult stretch of the imagination or of the sympathies of humanity to enter into the feelings of men, who, seeing this fearful havoc of their Federal comrades, awaited their turn for Burnside to order them, "his latest chance to try," across the ensanguined river. When the order did come for the fresh Irish troops, it was only to find themselves mingled in the slaughter with their prone dead and dying comrades from the old Bay State, the Twenty-Eighth Massachusetts, distinguishable by the fresh and natural sprigs of green with which they had on that fateful morning decorated their military caps, but which were now in too, too many cases, crimsoned with blood and brains, or embedded in the crushed skulls of the gallant heroes, who, only a few short hours before, so jauntily wore them.

Col. Richard Byrnes.

"Why should we be sad, boys, whose business it is to die!" sung Wolfe at Quebec. The strain was melancholy and its vein mercenary. It was not the business of these gallant citizen soldiers to die. They should have lived to see a country restored to peace and greatness as a proof of their patriotism, valor and sacrifices. "But," says Dr. Russell in another part of his Fredericksburg letter to the London Times, "that any mortal men could have carried the position before which they were wantonly sacrificed, defended as it was, it seems to me idle for a moment to believe." And these valiant, adopted citizens of the Republic hesitated not to obey the cruel order to charge and charge again and again up to those impregnable works with a fortitude and persistence that could not possibly be expected from troops who adopted the trade of soldier and "whose business it was to die."[2]

On another occasion, General Hancock said of a charge in which the Twenty-Eighth Massachusetts participated: "I have never seen anything so splendid." He was a judge of what a good charge consisted. Great credit is most justly due to Colonel Richard Byrnes, of whom a most excellent likeness is herewith presented, and of whom the writer will have something more to say before he finishes a brief record of this famed Irish-American Regiment.

The evidences of fine discipline and military bearing given by the first Irish regiment, the Ninth Infantry, organized in Massachusetts, and which, when it went to the front sustained so admirably those earlier promises to the great satisfaction of the national and state authorities, prompted the latter to form a second similar corps. Accordingly Gov. Andrew and Gen. Schouler consulted with the Right Rev. Bishop Fitzpatrick of the Boston diocese and Mr. Patrick Donahoe with this view. The outlook was favorable and the state officials received patriotic and most cheerful assurances from these and other Irish-American gentlemen taken into counsel on the subject. The authority of the general government was at once secured and the formation of the Faugh-a-Ballaghs, to be numbered the Twenty-Eighth Massachusetts Infantry Volunteers, was speedily begun. An announcement appeared in The Pilot stating that on September 28, 1861, the war office sanctioned the formation of the regiment to be commanded by Colonel Thomas T. Murphy of the Montgomery Guard of New York, and accordingly recruiting was begun with head-quarters at 16 Howard Street, Boston. An address was issued which spiritedly set forth that for this Irishmen and sons of Irishmen, should rally forth for their country's cause, "now that Governor Andrew has been granted authority to raise another Irish regiment.... This is to afford an opportunity to all those whose allegiance, patriotism and home welfare all combine to enlist their sympathies for the country of their adoption and the safety and protection of the Union; to unite one and all to uphold its integrity and render it inviolable for future ages. Signed Patrick Donahoe and Dr. W. M. Walsh." Among the gentlemen authorized to recruit for it, were Messrs. Alexander Blaney of Natick, Florence Buckley of South Natick, E. H. Fitzpatrick of New Bedford, Owen E. Neale of Fitchburg, S. W. Moore of Marlboro', C. W. Judge of Haverhill and Daniel O'Donovan of the same locality, Martin Kirwin of Lawrence, A. A. Griffin of East Cambridge, John Riley of Worcester, Paul Eveny of Salem, and Lieutenant Ed. F. O'Brien of Burlington, Vt.

The nucleus of the Faugh-a-Ballaghs was rendezvoused at Camp Cameron, Cambridge, where the good, pious and patriotic Rev. Father Manasses Dougherty of St. Peter's Church, Concord Avenue, ministered to the spiritual and many of the temporal wants of the sick and the well until a regular chaplain was assigned to the command. Many a gallant soldier who, shortly afterwards, sank into a bloody grave, recalled with love and veneration the tender and manly ministrations of this dear Soggarth Aroon. A chaplain of the regiment, Father McMahon, is now the bishop of the diocese of Hartford, Conn. Among the first acts of Company A, Captain William Mitchell commanding, was to pass, by a unanimous vote, the resolve: "That in consideration of the untiring zeal and patriotic feelings of Mr. Patrick Donahoe in prompting and aiding the organization of the Second Irish Massachusetts Regiment (the Twenty-Eighth) this company will, hereafter, be known and called the Donahoe Guard." This paragraph was further supplemented with the assurance from the company to the patriotic gentleman whom they had named as patron, that their conduct as soldiers and Irishmen in the field would never give cause of disgrace to the name they had thus, with so much hearty unanimity, voted to assume. Here let us for the close of this chapter leave the "boys," many of whom are looking forward to a glorious future in which the fate of their native Ireland is romantically blended. How often have they thrilled with martial fervor, as they read or heard Thomas Davis's Fontenoy, that famed Fontenoy, which would have been a Waterloo,

"Were not those exiles ready then, fresh, vehement and true."

Ah, yes, they will learn the science of war and if fate reserves them in the glorious fight for the Union, their practical knowledge, their tested courage will then be used by the grace of the God of Hosts to help free their native land.

Capital and Labor: Philosophy of "Strikes."

What the land question was to the agricultural population of Ireland, the labor question is to the toiling masses of the United States—who, in one or another form of manufacturing industry, in mines and shops, or public employment, are honestly striving to "earn their bread by the sweat of their brow."

In the case of the Irish people the question was one of life and death, or, what was practically the same, starvation or exile.

An alternative so monstrous and so pitiful is not presented in the United States to those who toil; but the conditions and prospects presented to them are often harsh and bitter.

We have seen in the instances of labor strikes, and by the simultaneous suspension of work in the great mills and factories, that tens of thousands of men accustomed to subsist by the returns of their daily toil, have been reduced, with their families, to want and wretchedness.

The accounts given in the public journals of the sufferings in Ohio and Pennsylvania during the recent strikes amongst the miners, recalls the widespread, and, in instances, awful distress which prevailed in the districts in question.

The startling figures lately put forth by representatives of the Knights of Labor, which is said to be a powerful and widely extended labor organization, as to the number of unemployed men in the United States, seem incredible in the face of the apparent activity of trade and the general seeming prosperity; but there is no doubt the real figures are great enough to excite deep concern on the part of the thoughtful and reflecting observer.

It does not require that one should be either a philosopher or a communist to see in the prevailing conditions of the labor element in the United States, that something is seriously out of gear. With capital everywhere concentrating in the form of monopolies,—whether it be in the consolidation of railroads and telegraphs, or in mills and mines where products are "pooled," or yet in the colossal stores and factories, on every hand is seen the strengthening and solidifying of capital in the hands of the few. And this consolidation, it is plain, is only effected by sweeping out or swallowing up smaller enterprises. This is the logical and perhaps inevitable result of our modern social system—in which wealth and "greed of gain" is held to be the chief end of life. But, with this visible agglomeration of wealth in the hands of the comparatively few, what is to be said of the conditions and prospects of the laboring masses? If, happily, in the acquisition and accumulation of wealth by monopolists, we could hope for the rules and application of Christian principles and a realizing sense of Christian duties in its employment and distribution, there would then be less occasion for concern and apprehension in considering the problems presented in the questions of "Capital and Labor." However seductive and alluring may be the dreams and vagaries of latter-day theorizers, inequality of social and worldly conditions is and will remain the rule. Utopia will remain in the books; it cannot be realized, in fact, under the conditions of our or any other known civilization. It can and may be realized, but in a form and fashion outside the ken of the modern "philosopher,"—and that will be by the universal acceptance of Divine law and the general practice of the Divine commands.

The Ten Commandments and the Sermon on the Mount contain the solution of all the problems with which we are concerned in the discussion of this question. When capital recognizes and acts up to the duties involved in and implied by the possession of wealth, labor will recognize and respect the rights of capital.

The philosophy of the question turns upon these two simple words, "RIGHTS" and "DUTIES."

Adam Smith says: "The property which every man has in his own labor, as it is the original foundation of all other property, so it is the most sacred and inviolable. The patrimony of a poor man lies in the strength and dexterity of his hands; and to hinder him from employing this strength and dexterity in what manner he thinks proper, without injury to his neighbor, is a plain violation of this most sacred property." A distinguished Catholic authority—Cardinal Manning—gives a more concise definition—"the honest exertion of the powers of our minds and of our body for our own good, and for the good of our neighbors."

The rights of the workman to dispose of his own toil on his own terms cannot be questioned, nor can his right to combine and unite with other toilers for purposes of mutual protection be seriously questioned. Indeed, such unions and combinations may be said to be a necessity in the existing order.

How is it possible except through such union and combination to resist the power of great corporations and exacting monopolies, which, as a rule, little regard the rights of the day laborer. Capital is protected by its own innate power, by its influence over legislation and legislative bodies, and by the readiness with which "pools" and "combinations" are formed to its bidding; but in its control over labor it is more powerful still by reason of the helplessness of the working masses, who must work in order to live. An autocratic order from the chief of some great corporation will sometimes reduce the wages of tens of thousands of employés from ten to twenty per cent in one swoop. And the tens of thousands have no redress or alternative unless to "strike."

And here lies the difficulty. The public, as a rule, do not sympathize with "strikes" and "strikers." Strikes are always inconvenient. They upset the existing order, disturb business, and sometimes lead to destruction of property.

There is, and can be, of course, no justification for lawlessness. If the rights of the workman to fix a price for his labor, and other conditions as to the hours of his service, cannot be disputed, the equal rights of the employers to fix the terms and price to be paid is no less certain. Between these often irreconcilable conditions lie only submission, strikes, or arbitration. The former is often expedient, the second sometimes necessary, the last is always wise. A leading mine owner, widely known for his uniform practical sympathy with his operatives, and for his public spirit and high character, Col. William P. Rend, of Chicago, has lately put forward, in several public conventions representing the mining interests, a method of arbitration which would be invoked in case of differences between employers and operatives.

The simple suggestion of arbitration as the true remedy carries on its face the evident solution of this vexed labor problem.

It is not necessary to suggest details. The fundamental idea is that all differences may and ought to be reconciled by frank and honest arbitration. Where employers will meet operatives on this half-way neutral ground, an adjustment may be confidently looked for in most cases. The arts of the demagogue and the threats of the socialists will no longer be effective with the laboring masses. Where arbitration by mutual agreement is not practicable, legislative "Boards of Arbitration" could be appealed to; and these should be provided for by law in every state.

When corporations and individual employers shall, as very many to their honor, be it said, undoubtedly do, show due regard and consideration for the rights and necessities of workmen and operatives, there need be no fear of the spectre of communistic disorder in the United States. Our mechanics and workingmen are instinctively conservative and cannot be led away permanently into dangerous societies and combinations, if only capital will join in promoting the adoption of "arbitration" as the true solution of the labor problem.

Wm. J. Onahan in Scholastic Annual.

A Cure for tight shoes—go barefoot.

Senator Hayes.
A SKETCH OF HIS ANTECEDENTS IN IRELAND AND AMERICA—HIS BRILLIANT ELECTION.

Hon. John J. Hayes.

Among the forty gentlemen elected to serve in the Senate during the present term of the General Court of Massachusetts, we hesitate not to predict that it will be found that Hon. John J. Hayes, the subject of this brief sketch, will bring to bear upon such questions for legislative consideration and action as may devolve upon him a most intelligent culture, a well-developed business training and thorough uprightness of purpose. In choosing him as their senatorial representative, the voters of the Eighth Suffolk District, embracing Wards Twenty-two, Twenty-three, Twenty-four and Twenty-five—all combined, having a preponderating majority of Republican votes—have exhibited the soundest judgment, we are confident, in the exercise of citizen-franchise. Mr. Hayes' election was a well-considered rebuke to the narrow systems of legislation prevalent in most of the New England States. Hon. William H. Spooner, the district Senator of last year, is, in private and business life, an honorable and esteemed gentleman; but being an extreme partisan in politics and a zealot in sectional legislative efforts, when a fitting candidate was offered at the last election to oppose him, a gentleman of adequate views of the needs and requirements of his fellow-citizens to confront him, the voters hesitated not at the polls whom to choose.

Among his fellow-citizens of Boston and vicinity, Senator Hayes is well recognized as an uncompromising adherent of Home Rule principles in the affairs of Ireland, his native land. These come naturally to him. His father, Mr. John Hayes, now of Manchester, N. H., was a devoted supporter of O'Connell and, though young in years, was in turn warmly appreciated by the great liberator. From the most steadfast patriotism he has never swerved, and the blood in his children's veins, with the teachings he inculcated, impels them to tread in the same path of patriotic purpose as their worthy sire.

Our Senator was born in Killarney, Kerry, January 26, 1845. His childhood saw many days amidst the inspiring scenes of this grand and most lovely portion of Ireland. He was educated in Dublin. Mr. Hayes entered for the civil service examination for the war office department before the noted Military Institute of Stapleton of Trinity College, and readily passed the first examination. Pending the usual delay preceding the second examination, the Bank of Ireland threw their appointments open to public examination, and John J. received the first of fourteen appointments, several hundred persons being competitors for these places. He was assigned to serve in the Dublin office of the Bank, and subsequently found rapid advancement in the Gorey and Arklow branches as cashier, and later in the same capacity in the respectively more responsible branches of the Bank in Drogheda and Cork. Mr. Hayes growing restive under the naturally slow advancement in the Bank's services, accepted a tempting offer from one of the strongest banks in Canada and reached Boston en route thereto. Here, however, he was met with a business offer which induced him to pitch his fortune in Boston business circles, and after a few years became the junior member of the firm of Brown & Hayes, importers, exporters and commission merchants, Broad Street, and where he still continues to do the same business. His firm changed to Hayes & Poppelé in 1877 and as it is now to Hayes & Angle.

Under the new organization of the School Board, Senator Hayes served five years, from 1876 to 1880, during which he won deserved confidence by his independence and unremitting watchfulness in school matters. During these years he held several chairmanships and membership in committees on accounts, salaries and other executive duties of the board. He was a pronounced advocate of proper compensation to teachers in which work he has always felt and shown a great and sympathetic interest. From the advent of his services on the board, the teachers had reason to know him as a friend, who would do battle for them against reduction of their salaries, as was many times attested by his minority reports and speeches in session. He resisted the attempts to do away with the Suburban High Schools, and the residents of the sections where they are located should feel indebted to his leading opposition to such attempts for the retention of these suburban schools.

Mr. Hayes has been a director in several insurance companies and has been for many years on the executive committee of the Union Institution for Savings. Senator Hayes resides in a handsome residence, surrounded by ample grounds, in the Dorchester district, Ward Twenty-four. He is a thorough Democrat in principle. It was, therefore, a most flattering testimony to his personal popularity and of the great respect of his usual political opponents that they voted for him. Particularly is this the case in so far as his Dorchester Republican neighbors are concerned, so many of these being of the ancient and wealthy families, descendants of the earlier colonial settlers of Massachusetts Bay. The district also embraces the homes of many retired merchants and strong business men of Boston. In view of all the circumstances, Mr. Hayes' senatorial campaign success, it must be conceded, was a most brilliant one.

Saints and Serpents.

Even among Catholics the story of St. Patrick's driving the snakes and other reptiles out of Ireland has often been made the subject of, let us say, good-natured jest. But, besides, among others than Irishmen the legend has been laid to the score of the excessive credulity of Irishmen. I myself have heard German Catholics instance this story as an evidence of the excesses into which the Celtic mind is apt to run. And yet, investigation shows that the Irish are not alone in their pious belief. Father Chas. Cahier, a Jesuit, has compiled a work entitled "Caractéristiques des Saints dans l'Art Populaire." It is a most wonderful and valuable storehouse of information, illustration, and explanation. Thus we find in that our saint is not only patron of Ireland but also of Murcia in Spain, for the reason that on his feast, 17th of March, 1452, was won the battle of Los Alporchones. Turning to the heading "Serpent," we meet with a long array of saints represented in painting or sculpture with one or more of these reptiles in his vicinity. Italy, Brittany, Germany, France, Syria, Egypt, and other lands furnish legends as strange as that concerning our apostle. In fact, comparatively small space is devoted to him by the erudite Jesuit. He briefly says, "It is thoroughly admitted by the Irish that he drove from their Isle the serpents and other venomous animals. It is even added that the English have many times, but in vain, endeavored to acclimate venomous animals in Ireland." In a footnote he continues as follows:

"A prose of Saint Patrick (in the Officia SS. Patritii, Columbæ, Brigidæ, etc., Paris, 1620, in 16, p. 110-112) says:

"'Virosa reptilia
Prece congregata,
Pellit ab Hibernia
Mari liberata.'

"Cf. Molan Hist. SS. Imag., lib. iii. cap. x. (ed. Paquot, p. 265). Nieremberg, De Miraculosis ... in Europa, lib. ii. cap. LXII. (p. 469, sq.); et cap. XVIII. (p. 429).

"Nevertheless, Father Theoph. Raynaud (Opp, t. viii. p. 513) says that this might have been a fact existing in Ireland previous to the days of her apostle."

In Jocelyn's "Life and Acts of Saint Patrick," Chap. CLXIX., we read, "Even from the time of its original inhabitants, did Hibernia labor under a three-fold plague: a swarm of poisonous creatures, whereof the number could not be counted; a great concourse of demons visibly appearing; and a multitude of evil-doers and magicians. And these venomous and monstrous creatures, rising out of the earth and out of the sea, so prevailed over the whole island that they not only wounded men and animals with their deadly sting, but slayed them with cruel bitings, and not seldom rent and devoured their members."

Chapter CLXX. continues: "And the most holy Patrick applied all his diligence unto the extirpation of this three-fold plague; and at length by his salutary doctrine and fervent prayer he relieved Hibernia of the increasing mischief. Therefore he, the most excellent pastor, bore on his shoulder the staff of Jesus, and aided of the angelic aid, he by its comminatory elevation gathered together from all parts of the island, all the poisonous creatures into one place; then compelled he them all unto a very high promontory, which was then called Cruachan-ailge, but now Cruachan-Phadring; and by the power of his word he drove the whole pestilent swarm from the precipice of the mountain headlong into the ocean. O eminent sign! O illustrious miracle! even from the beginning of the world unheard, but now experienced by tribes, by peoples and by tongues, known unto all nations, but to the dwellers in Hibernia especially needful! And at this marvellous, yet most profitable sight, a most numerous assembly was present; many of whom had flocked from all parts to behold miracles, many to receive the word of life.

"Then turned he his face toward Mannia, and the other islands which he had imbued and blessed with the faith of Christ and with the holy sacraments; and by the power of his prayers he freed all these likewise from the plague of venomous reptiles. But other islands, the which had not believed at his preaching, still are cursed with the procreation of those poisonous creatures."

The Rev. Mr. O'Farrell, in his "Popular life of Saint Patrick," says, "Rothe in his elucidations upon this passage of Jocelyn, compared this quality bestowed upon Irish soil, through the prayers of Saint Patrick, with that conferred upon Malta by the merits of Saint Paul, with this difference, he adds, 'that while in Malta serpents, adders, and other venomous reptiles, retain their life and motion, and lose only their poisonous power, in Ireland they can neither hurt nor exist, inasmuch as not only the soil but the climate and atmosphere, are unto them instant death.'"

Ribadeneira says that even the wood of Ireland is proof against poisonous reptiles. He declares that King's College, Cambridge, is built within of Irish oak, and consequently not even a spider can be found within it.

In the first volume of Chambers' "Book of Days" is told the story of the attempt made by James Cleland, an Irish gentleman, in 1831, to introduce reptiles into the Holy Isle. He bought half a dozen harmless English snakes (natrix torquata) in Covent Garden market, London, and turned them loose in his garden in Rathgael, County Down. Within a week one was killed at Milecross three miles distant. A peasant who found one and thought it an eel, took it to Dr. J. L. Drummond, the celebrated Irish naturalist, and was horrified to learn that it was a genuine serpent. There was great excitement, and it was fortunate for Mr. Cleland that his connection with the affair was not known. One clergyman preached on the discovery of the reptile as a presage of the millennium; another saw a relation between it and the cholera-morbus. Some energetic men took the matter in hand and offered a reward for the dead bodies of the snakes. Three were killed within a few miles of the garden, and the others were never fully accounted for.

But to return to Father Cahier. He tells us of the following, depicted in sacred art in close proximity to serpents.

Moses is not only represented raising the brazen serpent in the desert to cure those who had been bitten by the reptiles (Num. xxi. 6-9), but also casting his rod on the ground, that it may be changed into a serpent—either at God's command before the burning bush as proof of his divine mission (Exod. iv. 1-5), or before Pharaoh to obtain the deliverance of the Israelites. (Exod. viii. 8-13.)

Saint Paul the Apostle. A viper hanging from his hand and which he is shaking off into the fire. (Acts. xxviii. 3-6.) This event, which occurred in the island of Malta, has given rise to a devotion greatly in vogue, especially among the Greeks. Earth taken from a cavern, wherein it is alleged Saint Paul took refuge after his shipwreck on the coast of that island, is carried to a distance as a preservative against the bite of dangerous beasts and against fevers.

There was also in by-gone times a persuasion that any man born on the 25th of January (the day of the apostle's conversion) was guaranteed against the reptile's tooth.

Saint Andrew the Apostle. His apocryphal legend relates, that he cast out devils, under the form of serpents or dragons. (Legend aur., cap. ii.) This is found represented amongst other places, on a stained-glass window of the Cathedral of Chartres.

Saint Peter Celestine, Pope. I do not remember, says Father Cahier, ever to have seen him painted with a dragon or a large serpent; but it is probable that this may be met with, especially in Italy. For it is related that, having retired into a grotto of the Abruzzi, he expelled from it a venomous serpent, which had made great ravages in the neighborhood.

Saint Romain or Romanus, Bishop of Rouen; 24th of October, 639. His dragon, or serpent, gave rise to an annual procession, during which a prisoner was released in memory of the service rendered to the country by the holy bishop. Father Cahier adds that this legend probably allegorized the destruction of Paganism by the bishop's efforts in his diocese.

Saint Spiridion, Bishop of Tremithontes in the island of Cyprus; 14th of December, about 348. Offering a serpent to a poor man.

He had a great reputation for charity, so the needy confidently applied to him for aid. But one day when a beggar asked him for assistance, the saint, who had nothing to give him, picked up a serpent, which the poor man hardly cared to accept. Nevertheless, encouraged by the bishop, he held his hand out; and the beast was converted into gold. (Surius, 14th December.)

Saint Narcissus, Bishop of Gironu in Catalonia, and apostle of Augsburg; 18th of March, about 307. It is related in the country of the Julian Alps that he destroyed a dragon, which was posted beside a spring, from which all the inhabitants fled.

Saint Amand, Bishop of Maestricht, and apostle of Flanders; 6th of February, 675. While still a child, he drove, it is said, from the island of Oye (near La Rochelle) a serpent which he met in his way. (Acta Sanctorum, Februar., t. i, p. 849.) Father Cahier says that the original is a dragon, which artists have converted into a serpent, and that it is quite likely it symbolizes the idols overthrown by the saint's apostolic labors in the country about Ghent.

Saint Modestus, Bishop of Jerusalem; 16th of December, seventh century. Putting to death a serpent which infested a fountain; much like the legend of Saint Narcissus. (Bagatta, Admiranda orbis, lib. vii. cap. i, §. 19, No. 29.)

Saint Hilary, Bishop of Poitiers; 14th of January, about 368. Old artists paint him with a staff around which is twined a serpent; or serpents fleeing from that staff. This signifies, that during his exile, he completely banished the reptiles which infested the island of Gallinaria in the Mediterranean, near Genoa (the Gallinara of the present day). According to other versions he did not exactly rid the entire island of those animals, but simply relegated them to a corner of the land, where he planted his staff as a boundary which they were nevermore to pass. (P. de Natal., libr. ii, cap. LXVIII.—AA. SS., Januar., t. i, p. 792.) Cl. Robert quotes an epitaph on the doctor of Poitiers, found, he says, in an ancient manuscript, although the style gives little indication of the Middle Ages.

"Hilarius cubat hac, pictavus episcopus, urna;
Defensor nostræ mirificus fidei.
Illius aspectum serpentes ferre nequibant,
Nescis quæ in vultu spicula sanctus habet."

Might this be, asks Father Cahier, a way of expressing the fact that the saint had banished Arianism from amongst his people?

It is elsewhere shown that the dragons of many legions may be interpreted by the overthrow and expulsion of Paganism, that is, the end of Satan's reign over hearts. The serpent seems to have had something of this symbolism in ecclesiastical monuments, except that sometimes, here or there, it probably denotes heresy instead of idolatry. (Cf. Manni, Osservazioni istoriche sopra i sigilli antichi dei secoli bassi, t. V, sigill. 15.)

Saint Pirmin, (Pirminus or Pirminius) travelling bishop in Germany (and a Benedictine, it is said); 3d November, 758. He is described as a bishop of Meaux, who left his see in order to go and preach the Gospel along the banks of the Rhine; and he is usually painted as putting a multitude of serpents to flight. (Calendar. Benedict., 3d of Nov.—Rader, Bavaria Sancta.) A sequence of Saint Gall (ap. Mone, Hymni ... media ævi, t. III., p. 482, sq.) thus describes the marvel:

"Hic Augiensem insulam
Dei nutu intraverat,
Quam multitudo pessima
Destinebat serpentium.
Intrante illo ...
Statim squammosus
Hestinanter exercitus
Aufugit, ampli lacus
Natatu tergus
Tegens per triduum."

Amongst other abbeys of his foundation, he established that of Reichenau in the island of Constance, vanishing from the island the vipers or adders which had enormously multiplied in it. The legend even goes on to say that, for three days, the surrounding water was covered with these reptiles which forsook their old abode.

Was this story the legend or the consequence of an invocation of Saint Pirmin against unwholesome drinks? Besides people recommended themselves to this saint against the plague and the consequences of dangerous food. Furthermore, his dalmatic and his cincture were considered powerful to assuage the sufferings of pregnant women. An ancient seal of Saint Pirmin is found with these two verses used in certain provinces of Germany:

"Sanctificet nostram sanctus Pirminius escam,
Dextera Pirmini benedicat pocula nostra."

Saint Samson, Bishop of Dol, in Brittany; 28th of July, about 564. Some say he slew a dragon, and Father Cahier says this may be symbolic of the many victories he gained over the enemy of men. According to several, it was a serpent which he drove from a grotto on the banks of the Seine (Cf. Longueval, Histoire de l'Eglise gallicane, livre IX.)

Saint Mellon (Mélon, Mellonus, Mallonus, Mello, Melanius?) first Bishop of Rouen; 22d of October, about 214. A serpent of which his legend speaks may be only the dragon of the saints who preached the Gospel to idolatrous nations. An old office of his says:

"Manum sanat arescentem
Morsum curat, et serpentem
Sese cogit perdere."

His legend further relates that he overthrew in the city of Rouen the idol Roth, and that the devil complained to him of the trouble he had caused in his empire. (AA. SS. Octobr., t. IX., p. 572, sq.)

Saint Cado (or Kadok, Cadout, Cadog, Catrog-Doeth, Cadvot), bishop and martyr in Brittany; 1st of November, about 580. The Bretons relate that on a little island off the coast of Vannes, between Port-Louis and Auray, he drove the serpents away and they never appeared there again (Vie des Saints de la Bretagne, p. 666). The island retains the name of Enis-Cadvod or Inis-Kadok, that is, the island of Saint Cado.

A Saint Paternus, bishop, whom Father Cahier cannot locate, is mentioned as having warded off the bites of serpents. He cannot say, too, but that there is more of symbolism than of real history in the story.

Saint Peregrinus, bishop, martyred at Auxerre, 16th of May, third century, driving out serpents. Though one may consider this representation a manner of expressing the earnestness he displayed in extirpating idolatry from the people of Auxerre, it is admitted that in the Nivernais country (especially at Bouhy where he took refuge), serpents are never seen. People even come to the church of that village to take earth out of a hole habitually dug ad hoc; and that earth is carried away as a preservative against the bite of reptiles. It is besides regarded as an understood fact at Bouhy that a certain family there always has the figure of a serpent on the body of some one belonging to it. They are, according to the story, the descendants of a pagan, who, striving to drive the saint away by hitting him with a whip, saw the lash change into a serpent which "landed" near the rock where Saint Peregrinus had sought refuge against persecution.

Saint Honoratus of Arles, or of Lerins; 16th of January, about 430. When he retired into the island which still bears his name, near the coast of Provence, vainly was it represented to him that it was a receptacle of venomous animals. The man of God exactly wanted a shelter, a refuge from all visitors, and drove out all the serpents which had long multiplied there without any obstacle. A palm-tree is still shown there, on which, it is alleged, our saint waited until Heaven came to his aid, by having the waves sweep away all that "vermin" which had rendered the island uninhabitable until then. (Surius, 16 Januar.; and AA. SS. Januar., t. II., p. 19.) Observe that the islands of Saint-Honorat and Sainte-Marguerite are held in that country to have formed but one in olden days, which was the real Lerins, Pliny and Strabo to the contrary notwithstanding.

Saint Protus of Sardinia, priest; 25th of October, under Diocletian. He was martyred with the deacon Saint Januarius and Saint Gavinus, a soldier converted by them. Protus, exiled at first to the island of Asinara(?) drove from it, it is said, all the venomous beasts. Many even would have it that this privilege was extended to the whole of Sardinia, for which, however, Father Cahier says he would not make himself responsible. (Cf. Hagiolog. italic., t. II., p. 256). Hence a reptile is often represented at the feet of the saint, while artists often associate him with his two companions in martyrdom. In this case they may be easily distinguished by their costumes of priest, deacon, and soldier, which indicate the profession of each.

Saint Florence of Norcia (Florentius or Florentinus), monk; 23d of May, about 547. He has been confounded, rightly or wrongly, with Saint Florence of Corsica. But Saint Gregory the Great (Dialog., III., 15, ed Galliccioli, t. VI., p. 202) speaks of him only as a simple monk, and relates that he destroyed a multitude of serpents by his prayer.

Saint Florence of Glonne, priest, patron of Saumur and Roye; 22d of September, fourth century. He is sometimes said to have thrown a dragon or serpent into the Loire, but the Bas-Bretons give the credit to Saint Mein, abbot of Gaël, who lived more than a century later.

Saint Amantius of Citta-di-Castello, priest; 26th of September, towards the end of the sixth century. He became famous in his lifetime by numerous miracles, especially by delivering the people of the country in which he dwelt from serpents. (Gregor. M., Dialog., III., 35. Brantii Martyrol poeticum.)

Saint Julius, priest; 31st of January, about 399. The island of Orta, near Novara, was delivered by him from a quantity of serpents when he went there to build the last church he erected. According to some, these reptiles, put to flight by the holy man's blessing, plunged into the lake; others say that the serpents took refuge on Mount Camocino near there, but that they never hurt any one any more. (Labus, Fasti, 31 gennajo.—AA. SS. Januar., t. II., p. 1103.) The lake of Orta is still called Lago de san Giulio, by the people of the country around Milan.

Saint Magnus (Magnoaldus), abbot of Fuessen, and apostle of Algan; 6th of September, about 660. At Kempten this saint is credited with having expelled venomous animals; as for the dragon, he is said to have caused its death by his prayers at Æqui caput. However this may be, his staff was employed at Abthal against field rats, and in Brisgan against all kinds of insects that might injure the crops. (Cf. Wilh. Mueller, Gesch ... der altdentschen Religion, p. 113.—Calendar. benedict., 6th of Septembr.—Rader, Bavaria sancta.)

Saint Didymus, in the East. Father Cahier cannot say whether it is Didymus of Alexandria (28th of April) or Didymus of Laodicea (11th of September). Several modern German authors, copying one another, say that he is represented walking on serpents and nailed to the cross. Either, says Father Cahier, I greatly mistake, or the martyr of Laodicea, who was torn on a stake (Menolog. græc., t. I., p. 29,) is confounded with the hermit of the same name who used to walk amongst the most dangerous reptiles (scorpions, horned vipers, etc.), without ever being injured by them. (Rosweyde, Vitæ PP., p. 479.)

Saint Phocas of Antioch, in Syria, martyr; 5th March, time disputed. He is famed in the East as a signal protector against the bite of reptiles. These reptiles are often represented near the church which is dedicated to him, because it is acknowledged that they lose their venom as soon as they approach it, and that those bitten by them there recover health. (Cf. Martyrol. Rom., 5 mart.)

Saint Christopher of Lycia, martyr; 25th of July, about 560. A serpent is sometimes placed near him, either because reptiles were used without effect to torture him, or on account of some miracle due to his intercession long after his death. (AA. SS. Jul., t. VI., p. 137-139.) Father Cahier adds, in a note, if, as Servius says, the word anguis was used to denote reptiles which live in water, consequently amphibious animals, it becomes easier to understand that inundations may have been expressed by a dragon or a serpent; so many writers have thought, the Bollandists amongst others. So, in many cases, it may have been a symbolic picture, whose significance was lost in the lapse of time. A serpent near Saint Christopher might indicate that the saint had crossed deep water.

Saint Leontius, martyr; honored at Muri in Switzerland, as one of the soldiers of the Theban legion. A serpent is given him as attribute, with a little phial. Father Cahier says he has failed to discover the significance of the emblems.

Saint Amable of Riom, priest; 19th of October, fifth century. Near him serpents and venomous animals, because it is said that he drove all maleficent beasts out of the neighborhood of Riom.

Saint Briac, abbot; 17th of December, about 609. He banished a serpent with the sign of the cross. This saint met a man who was already stung by a dangerous reptile and fleeing from the animal, which was in pursuit of him. The servant of God, by giving his blessing, cured the wounded man and put the animal to flight. (Vies des Saints de la Bretagne.)

Saint Maudez, hermit; 18th of November, seventh century. Driving out of an island, in which he had established his hermitage, a number of reptiles that lived in the place. The custom is preserved in Brittany of using earth taken from the island as a remedy for serpents' bites. (Vies des Saints de la Bretagne, p. 724, 725.)

Saint John of Reomey, founder of this abbey, which afterwards took the name of Montier-Saint-Jean; 28th of January, about 545. He is generally represented beside a well and holding a sort of dragon chained. His legend relates that he caused the death of a basilisk which made the water of a well or fountain dangerous. (Calend. benedict., 28 januar.) Sometimes instead of this dragon (winged) there is placed near him a chained serpent. (Cf. Aug. de Bastard, Mémoire sur les crosses, p. 776.)

Saint Beat or Beatus of Vendomois, hermit; 9th of May, year difficult to determine. The story goes that, finding a reptile in the grotto into which he desired to retire, near the Loire, he drove the animal out with the sign of the cross. (AA. SS., Maii, t. II., p. 365. D. Piolin, Hist. de l'Eglise du Mans, t. I., p. 62.)

Saint Lifard (Liphardus, Liethphardus), hermit, afterwards abbot at Meun-sur-Loire; 3d of June, about 540. Near him in pictures is a staff planted in the earth, and bitten at top by a serpent, which is broken in the middle of the body. It is related that near his cell an enormous serpent prevented the people of the locality from having access to a fountain. Urbitius, a disciple of the holy man, ran one day to him, telling him that he had met the dreadful reptile. Lifard smiled and bade Urbitius be ashamed of his lack of faith, and gave him his staff with orders to plant it in the ground in front of the beast. This being done, and while the hermit was praying to God, the monster sprang upon the staff, which he bit with madness. The weight of the monstrous beast made it burst in the middle, and the country was delivered from him. (Surius, 3 jun.)

Outside of France, this is sometimes represented by an empaled dragon from which issue a number of little dragons flying away. (Calendar. benedict., 4 jun.)

Saint Leonard the younger, abbot of Vendeuve; 15th of October, about 570. He is represented with a serpent near him, because one of these serpents having crawled towards the holy man while he was at prayer, stopped without being able to hurt him. He is also represented with a serpent dying at his feet or twined around his body. (AA. SS., Octobr., t. VII., p. 48, sq.) It is asserted that a serpent has never since appeared in that place.

Saint Memin (or Maximin), abbot of Micy; 15th of December, 520. He is painted holding a serpent, because he is said to have driven a dangerous reptile from the banks of the Loire. (Aug. de Bastard, Crosses, p. 776.)

Saint Dominic of Sara, abbot of the order of Saint Benedict; 22d of January, about 1031. A present of fish sent to the holy man having been abstracted on the way, the rogues were rather surprised to find only snakes instead of the fish they had stolen. (Calendar. benedict., 22 januar.,—Brantii, Martyrol. poetic.)

"Qui missos sancto pisces abscondit, in angues
Mutatos, rediens vidit et obstupuit."

Saint Vincent of Avila, with Saint Sabina and Saint Christeta, his sisters; 27th of October, under Diocletian. The bodies of these martyrs having been abandoned to beasts of prey, an enormous serpent protected their remains from any insult. A Jew, even, who had come to see the corpses, ran such danger from the reptile that he made a vow to receive baptism. (Espana sagrada, t. XIV., p. 32.)

Saint Gorry (Godrick, Godrich, Godricus), hermit in England; 21st of May, 1170. He put himself under the direction of the monks of Durham, and passed the latter part of his life in a solitude. He is represented surrounded by serpents, because those venomous animals gathered around him and did him no harm. (Calend. benedict., 29 mai.—AA. SS., Maii, t. V., p. 68, sqq.)

The Blessed Bonagiunta Manetti, Servite and first general of his order; 31st of August, 1257. Father Cahier says that in France pictures of the Servites are seldom found, and then with no particular emblem. He, however, found one in which the blessed Bonagiunta is blessing loaves which break, and bottles from which serpents escape. In the art of the Middle Ages a serpent is the emblem of poison, and so it seems to be here. As the holy man, while asking alms for his community, did not hesitate to rebuke sinners, he gave offence to a Florentine merchant. Pretending to be repentant and charitable, he sent poisoned bread and wine to the Servite monastery. The Blessed Bonagiunta received the man who brought the pretended alms, and said to him, "I know well that thy master would take my life. But tell him that no evil will happen us, and that death will soon strike himself." The prophecy was accomplished. (Cf. Brocchi, Vite dei SS. Fiorentini, t. I., p. 246.)

Saint Heldradus, abbot of Novalèse (13th of March, 875), is said to have expelled the serpents that infested the valley of Briançon where the saint wanted to establish a colony of his monks. (AA. SS., Mart., t. II., p. 334.)

Saint Thecla, virgin and martyr; 23d of September, Apostolic age. This saint is called a martyr, and even the first of martyrs, because although her life was not taken in torments, she seems to be the first Christian woman who was given over to the barbarity of Pagan public power. It is related that she was thrown into a ditch filled with vipers, but a ball of fire fell from heaven and killed all those venomous animals. So she is sometimes painted with a fiery globe in her hand or near her. Father Cahier adds that her Acts have not come to us with sufficient indications of authenticity; but the church, in her prayers for the dying, retains the memory of the three tortures (flames, wild beasts, and venomous animals), from which the saint was delivered by assistance from on high. She prays: "As thou didst deliver that most blessed virgin Thecla from three most cruel torments, so vouchsafe to deliver the soul of this Thy servant," etc.[3]

Saint Christina, virgin and martyr in Tuscany; 24th of July, towards the end of the third century. Same attribute and same reason as for as Saint Thecla. (Bagatta, Admiranda orbis, lib. VII., cap. I., 19, No. 3.)

Saint Anatolia, virgin, martyred with Saint Audax, 9th of July, about 250. She was confined in a narrow dungeon, with a venomous serpent, which was expected to kill her. When it was thought that she was slain, Audax, one of those Marsi who prided themselves on being able to charm reptiles, was sent into the prison. But the virgin was unhurt, and the serpent flung itself on the pretended charmer, who was delivered only at Anatolia's command. Audax was converted to Christianity, and gave his life for Jesus Christ some time after the death of the saint, who was pierced by a sword. (Martyrol. Rom., 9 Jul.—Bagatta, Admiranda orbis, lib. VII., cap. I., § 19, No. 17.)

Saint Verena, virgin at Zurzach in Switzerland; 1st of September, about the beginning of the fourth century. At her prayer, it is said, a quantity of venomous serpents forsook the country and flung themselves into the Aar.

Saint Verdiana (Viridiana), virgin of the Third Order of Saint Francis, or of Valeambrosa at Castel-Fiorentino; 13th of February, 1242. Living as a recluse with serpents. She imposed this sort of penance on herself to overcome the horror that reptiles excited in her, and took care to feed these strange guests herself so that they would not go away. (Bagatta, l. c., ibid., No. 27.)

Saint Isberga, (Itisberga), a hermit virgin near Aire in Artois, afterwards abbess; 21st of May, about 770. As daughter of Pepin and sister of Charlemagne, she is often represented with a crown and a mantle covered with fleurs-de-lis. But she is particularly distinguished by another emblem. An eel is put in her hand, sometimes on a dish, and for this reason: A powerful prince had asked Isberga's hand in marriage; but in order to preserve the vow of virginity which she had made, she besought God to send her some disease which would disfigure her. Her face was soon covered with pustules, and the suitor no longer insisted upon marrying her. Heaven then revealed to Isberga that she would be cured by eating the first fish that would be caught in the Lys. The men whom she sent for that purpose toiled long without succeeding in taking anything but an eel, along with which they brought up in their nets the body of Saint Venantus, a hermit (the saint's director), who had been slain and cast into the river by the princess's lover, for he blamed the hermit for the resolution taken by the virgin whose hand he sought in marriage. The discovery of the body brought the crime to light, and made known the sanctity of Venantus, to whose merits Isberga ascribed the efficacy of the fish in delivering her from disease. (AA. SS. Maii, t. V., p. 44.—Dancoisne, Numismatique béthunoise, p. 165, sqq.)

Saint Enimia of Gevandan, virgin; 6th of October, about the seventh century. She, too, is depicted with a serpent because she is said to have delivered the country from that dangerous animal. (AA. SS. Octobr., t. XI., p. 630, t. III., p. 306, sqq.)

Saint Crescentian; 1st of June, 287. Coins of Urbino represent him armed cap-a-pie, on foot or on horseback, and killing a dragon with his lance, or carrying a flag; at other times he is seen in deacon's costume, trampling a serpent under his feet. He is said to have been a Roman soldier, and to have introduced the Gospel into Citta-di-Castello. (Brantii Martyrolog. poeticum, 1 jun:

"Letifero Crescentinus serpente Tipherni
Occiso, gladio victima cæsa cadit.")

Turning to another part of Father Cahier's work, we find that the following saints are also represented with serpents:

Saint John the Evangelist; 27th of December. He is represented holding a sort of chalice surmounted by a little serpent or a dragon. The Golden Legend says, that, to prove the truth of his teaching, he was compelled to drink poison. Some of it was first given to two men condemned to death and they died on the spot. The saint made the sign of the cross over the cup, drank, suffered no inconvenience, and then restored the two dead men to life. Father Cahier adds that this story seems to have given rise to the custom especially prevalent among Germanic nations of drinking to friends' health under pretense of honoring Saint John. He says that this custom has sometimes been put under the protection of Saint John the Baptist, but that it is not probable the Germans would have cared about putting their healths put under the protection of a saint who drank only water.

Saint Chariton, hermit and abbot in Palestine; 28th of September, about 350. Near him is represented a serpent plunging its head in a cup. A native of Lycaonia, and released by the Pagans after being tortured for the faith, he went to Jerusalem, where he was taken by robbers, and confined in the cave which was their retreat. A serpent came and drank out of the vase in which their wine was, at the same time poisoning it with his venom, and the robbers died in consequence, whereupon the saint made the cave the cradle of a monastery. (Menolog., græc, t. I., p. 73.)

Saint Pourcain (Portianus), abbot in Auvergne; 24th of November, about 540. He is represented with a broken cup from which emerges a serpent. King Thierry I. was ravaging Auvergne, and the holy abbot went to intercede with him for the poor people. The King was still asleep when he came, and the principal officer offered him a drink, which he refused because he had not yet seen the king or celebrated the office. Pressed, however, he blessed the vase which was brought him, it broke, and a serpent came out of it. The whole court considered that he had been saved from poison. (Gregor. Turon., Vitæ PP., cap. V.)

Saint John of Sahagun, Hermit of Saint Augustine; 12th of June, 1497. He is represented amongst other ways, with a cup surmounted by a serpent. This is because he was really poisoned by a dissolute woman in revenge for the conversion of her lover by the saint and his consequent dismissal of her. (AA. SS. Jun., t. II., p. 625.)

Saint Louis Bertrand, Dominican; 10th of October, 1581. A cup with a serpent indicates that in his missions in America he had poison given him more than once by the Pagans, without being injured by it.

Th. Xr. K.

The Poems of Rosa Mulholland.[4]

Miss Rosa Mulholland has at last been induced to gather her poems into a volume which will be dear to all lovers of poetry into whose hands it may fall. No person with the faintest glimmering of insight into the subtle mechanism of literary composition in its higher forms could study the prose writings of the author of "The Wicked Woods of Tobereevil," of "Eldergowan," and many other dainty fictions, without being sure that the writer of such prose was a poet also, not merely by nature but by art; and many had learned to follow her initials through the pages of certain magazines. The present work contains nearly all of these scattered lyrics; and, along with them, many that are now printed for the first time combine to form a volume of the truest and holiest poetry that has been heard on earth since Adelaide Procter went to heaven.

The only justification for the too modest title of "Vagrant Verses," which gleams from the cover of this pretty volume, lies in the fact that this most graceful muse wanders from subject to subject according to her fancy, and pursues no heroic or dramatic theme with that exhaustive treatment which exhausts every one except the poet. The poems in this collection are short, written not to order, but under the manifest impulse of inspiration, for the expression only of the deeper thoughts and more vivid feelings of the soul. Except the fine lyrical and dramatic ballad, "The Children of Lir," which occupies eight pages, and the first five pages given to "Emmet's Love," none of the rest of the seventy poems go much beyond a page or two, while they range through every mood, sad or mirthful, and through every form of metre.

We have named the opening poem, which is an exquisitely pathetic soliloquy of Sarah Curran, a year after the death of her betrothed, young Robert Emmet—a nobler tribute to the memory of our great orator's daughter than either Moore's verse or Washington Irving's prose. But the metrical interlacing of the stanzas, and the elevation and refinement of the poetic diction, require a thoughtful perusal to bring out the perfections of this poem, which, therefore, lends itself less readily to quotation. We shall rather begin by giving one shorter poem in full, taken almost at random. Let it be "Wilfulness and Patience," as it teaches a lesson which it would be well for many to take to heart and to learn by heart:—

I said I am going into the garden,
Into the flush of the sweetness of life;
I can stay in the wilderness no longer,
Where sorrow and sickness and pain are so rife;

So I shod my feet in their golden sandals,
And I looped my gown with a ribbon of blue,
And into the garden went I singing,
The birds in the boughs fell a-singing too.

Just at the wicket I met with Patience,
Grave was her face, and pure and kind,
But oh, I loved not her ashen mantle,
Such sober looks were not to my mind.

Said Patience, "Go not into the garden,
But come with me by the difficult ways,
Over the wastes and the wilderness mountains,
To the higher levels of love and praise!"

Gaily I laughed as I opened the wicket,
And Patience, pitying, flitted away.
The garden glory was full of the morning—
The morning changed to the glamor of day.

O sweet were the winds among my tresses,
And sweet the flowers that bent at my knees;
Ripe were the fruits that fell at my wishing,
But sated soon was my soul with these.

And would I were hand in hand with Patience;
Tracking her feet on the difficult ways,
Over the wastes and the wilderness mountains,
To the higher level of love and praise!

The salutary lesson that the singer wants to impress on the young heart, is here taught plainly and directly even by the very name of the piece. But here is another very delicious melody, of which the name and the purport are somewhat more mysterious. It is called "Perdita."

I dipped my hand in the sea,
Wantonly—
The sun shone red o'er castle and cave;
Dreaming, I rocked on the sleepy wave;—
I drew a pearl from the sea.
Wonderingly.

There in my hand it lay:
Who could say
How from the depths of the ocean calm
It rose, and slid itself into my palm?
I smiled at finding there
Pearl so fair.

I kissed the beautiful thing,
Marvelling.
Poor till now I had grown to be
The wealthiest maiden on land or sea,
A priceless gem was mine,
Pure, divine!

I hid the pearl in my breast,
Fearful lest
The wind should steal, or the wave repent
Largess made in mere merriment,
And snatch it back again
Into the main.

But careless grown, ah me!
Wantonly
I held between two fingers fine
My gem above the sparkling brine,
Only to see it gleam
Across the stream.

I felt the treasure slide
Under the tide;
I saw its mild and delicate ray
Glittering upward, fade away.
Ah! then my tears did flow,
Long ago!

I weep, and weep, and weep,
Into the deep;
Sad am I that I could not hold
A treasure richer than virgin gold.
That Fate so sweetly gave
Out of the wave.

I dip my hand in the sea,
Longingly;
But never more will that jewel white
Shed on my soul its tender light.
My pearl lies buried deep
Where mermaids sleep.

Some readers of this Magazine are, no doubt, for the first time making acquaintance with Miss Mulholland under this character in which others have known her long; and even these newest friends know enough of her already to pronounce upon some of her characteristics. She is not influenced by the spell of modern culture which has invested the poetic diction of recent years with an exquisite expressiveness and delicate beauty. But, while her style is the very antithesis of the tawdry or the commonplace, she has no mannerisms or affectations; she belongs to no school; she does not deem it the poet's duty to cultivate an artificial, recherche, dilettante dialect unknown to Shakespeare and Wordsworth—if we may use a string of epithets which can only be excused for their outlandishness on the plea that they describe something very outlandish. Her meaning is as lucid as her thoughts are high and pure. If, after reading one of her poems carefully, we sometimes have to ask "What does she mean by that?" we ask it not on account of any obscurity in her language, but on account of the depth and height of her thoughts.

The musical rhythm of our extracts prepares us for the form which many of Miss Mulholland's inspirations assume—that of the song pure and simple. Those last epithets have here more than the meaning which they usually bear in such a context; for these songs are not only eminently singable, but they are marked by a very attractive purity and simplicity. There are many of them besides this one which alone bears no other name than "Song."

The silent bird is hid in the boughs,
The scythe is hid in the corn,
The lazy oxen wink and drowse,
The grateful sheep are shorn.
Redder and redder burns the rose,
The lily was ne'er so pale,
Stiller and stiller the river flows
Along the path to the vale.

A little door is hid in the boughs,
A face is hiding within;
When birds are silent and oxen drowse,
Why should a maiden spin?
Slower and slower turns the wheel,
The face turns red and pale,
Brighter and brighter the looks that steal
Along the path to the vale.

Here and everywhere how few are the adjectives, and never any slipped in as mere adjectives. Verbs and nouns do duty for them, and the pictures paint themselves. There is more of genius, art, thought, and study in this self-restraining simplicity than in the freer and bolder eloquence that might make young pulses tingle.

This remarkable faculty for musical verse seems to us to enhance the merit of a poem in which a certain ruggedness is introduced of set purpose. At least, we think that the subtle sympathy, which in the workmanship of a true poet links theme and metre together, is curiously exemplified in "News to Tell." What metre is it? A very slight change here and there would conform it to the sober, solemn measure familiar to the least poetical of us in Gray's marvellous "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." That elegiac tone already suits the rhythm here to the pathetic story. But then the wounded soldier, who, perhaps, will not recover after all, but may follow his dead comrade—see how he drags himself with difficulty away from the old gray castle where the young widow and the aged mother are overwhelmed by the news he had to tell; and is not all this with exquisite cunning represented by the halting gait of the metre, in which every line deviates just a little from the normal scheme of five iambics?

Neighbor, lend me your arm, for I am not well,
This wound you see is scarcely a fortnight old,
All for a sorry message I had to tell,
I've travelled many a mile in wet and cold.

Yon is the old gray château above the road,
He bade me seek it, my comrade brave and gay;
Stately forest and river so brown and broad,
He showed me the scene as he a-dying lay.

I have been there, and, neighbor I am not well;
I bore his sword and some of his curling hair,
Knocked at the gate and said I had news to tell,
Entered a chamber and saw his mother there.

Tall and straight with the snows of age on her head,
Brave and stern as a soldier's mother might be,
Deep in her eyes a living look of the dead,
She grasped her staff and silently gazed at me.

I thought I'd better be dead than meet her eye;
She guessed it all, I'd never a word to tell.
Taking the sword in her arms she heaved a sigh,
Clasping the curl in her hand, she sobbed and fell.

I raised her up; she sate in her stately chair,
Her face like death, but not a tear in her eye.
We heard a step, a tender voice on the stair
Murmuring soft to an infant's cooing cry.

My lady she sate erect, and sterner grew,
Finger on mouth she motioned me not to stay;
A girl came in, the wife of the dead I knew,
She held his babe, and, neighbor, I fled away!

I tried to run, but I heard the widow's cry.
Neighbor, I have been hurt and I am not well:
I pray to God that never until I die
May I again have such sorry news to tell.

The next piece we shall cite has travelled across the Atlantic, and come back again under false pretences, and without its author's leave or knowledge. Some years ago an American newspaper published some pathetic stanzas, to which it gave as a title "Exquisite Effusion of a Dying Sister of Charity." One into whose hands this journal chanced to fall, read on with interest and pleasure, feeling the verses strangely familiar—till, on reflection, he found that the poem had been published some time before in The Month, over the well-known initials "R. M." As the American journalist named the Irish convent where the Sister of Charity had died—not one of Mrs. Aikenhead's spiritual daughters, but one of those whom we call French Sisters of Charity—the reader aforesaid went to the trouble of writing to the Mother Superior, who gave the following explanation: The holy Sister had been fond of reading and writing verse; and these verses with others were found in her desk after her death and handed over to her relatives as relics. They not comparing them very critically with the nun's genuine literary remains, rashly published them as "The Exquisite Effusion of a Dying Sister of Charity." The foregoing circumstances were soon afterwards published in the Boston Pilot; but the ghost of such a blunder is not so easily laid, and the poem reappears in The Messenger of St. Joseph for last August, under the title of "An Invalid's Plaint," and still attributed to the dying Nun, who had only had the good taste to admire and transcribe Miss Mulholland's poem. In all its wanderings to and fro across the Atlantic many corruptions crept into the text; and it would be an interesting exercise in style to collate the version given by The Messenger with the authorized edition which we here copy from page 136 of "Vagrant Verses," where the poem, of course, bears its original name of "Failure."

The Lord, Who fashioned my hands for working,
Set me a task, and it is not done;
I tried and tried since the early morning,
And now to westward sinketh the sun!

Noble the task that was kindly given
To one so little and weak as I—
Somehow my strength could never grasp it,
Never, as days and years went by.

Others around me, cheerfully toiling,
Showed me their work as they passed away;
Filled were their hands to overflowing,
Proud were their hearts, and glad and gay.

Laden with harvest spoils they entered
In at the golden gate of their rest;
Laid their sheaves at the feet of the Master,
Found their places among the blest.

Happy be they who strove to help me,
Failing ever in spite of their aid!
Fain would their love have borne me onward,
But I was unready, and sore afraid.

Now I know my task will never be finished,
And when the Master calleth my name,
The Voice will find me still at my labor,
Weeping beside it in weary shame.

With empty hands I shall rise to meet Him,
And when He looks for the fruits of years,
Nothing have I to lay before Him
But broken efforts and bitter tears.

Yet when He calls I fain would hasten—
Mine eyes are dim and their light is gone;
And I am as weary as though I carried
A burthen of beautiful work well done.

I will fold my empty hands on my bosom,
Meekly thus in the shape of His Cross;
And the Lord, Who made them frail and feeble,
Maybe will pity their strife and loss.

It might have been expected that so skilful an artist in beautiful words would be sure occasionally to find the classic sonnet form the most fitting vehicle for some rounded and stately thought. About half a dozen sonnets are strewn over these pages, all cast in the true Petrarchan mould, and all very properly bearing names of their own, like any other form of verse, instead of being labelled promiscuously as "sonnets." The following is called "Love." What a sublime ideal, only to be realized in human love when in its self-denying sacredness it approaches the divine!

True love is that which never can be lost:
Though cast away, alone and ownerless,
Like a strayed child, that wandering, misses most
When night comes down its mother's last caress;

True love dies not when banished and forgot,
But, solitary, barters still with Heaven
The scanty share of joy cast in its lot
For joys to the beloved freely given.

Love, smiling, stands afar to watch and see
Each blessing it has bought, like angel's kiss,
Fall on the loved one's face, who ne'er may know
At what strange cost thus, overflowingly,
His cup is filled, or how its depth of bliss
Doth give the measure of another's woe.

As this happens to be the solitary one among Miss Mulholland's sonnets, which in the arrangement of the quatrains varies slightly from the most orthodox tradition of this pharisee of song, I will give another specimen, prettily named "Among the Boughs."

High on a gnarled and mossy forest bough,
Dreaming, I hang between the earth and sky,
The golden moon through leafy mystery
Gazing aslant at me with glowing brow.
And since all living creatures slumber now,
O nightingale, save only thou and I,
Tell me the secret of thine ecstacy,
That none may know save only I and thou.

Alas, all vainly doth my heart entreat;
Thy magic pipe unfolds but to the moon
What wonders thee in faëry worlds befell:
To her is sung thy midnight-music sweet,
And ere she wearies of thy mellow tune,
She hath thy secret, and will guard it well!

Unstinted as our extracts have been, there are poems here by the score over which our choice has wavered. Our selection has been made partly with a view to the illustration of the variety and versatility displayed by this new poet in matter and form; and on this principle we are tempted to quote "Girlhood at Midnight" as the only piece of blank verse in Miss Mulholland's repertory, to show how musical, how far from blank, she makes that most difficult and perilous measure. But we must put a restraint on ourselves, and just give one more sample, of the achievements of the author of "The Little Flower Seekers" and "The Wild Birds of Killeevy," in what an old writer calls "the melifluous meeters of poesie." This last is called "A Rebuke." Was there ever a sweeter or gentler rebuke?

Why are you so sad? (sing the little birds, the little birds,)
All the sky is blue,
We are in our branches, yonder are the herds,
And the sun is on the dew;
Everything is merry, (sing the happy little birds,)
Everything but you!

Fire is on the hearthstone, the ship is on the wave,
Pretty eggs are in the nest,
Yonder sits a mother smiling at a grave,
With a baby at her breast;
And Christ was on the earth, and the sinner He forgave
Is with Him in His rest.

We shall droop our wings, (pipes the throstle on the tree,)
When everything is done:
Time unfurleth yours, that you soar eternally
In the regions of the sun.
When our day is over, (sings the blackbird in the lea,)
Yours is but begun.

Then why are you so sad? (warble all the little birds,)
While the sky is blue,
Brooding over phantoms and vexing about words
That never can be true;
Everything is merry, (trill the happy, happy birds,)
Everything but you!

The setting of these jewels is almost worthy of them. The book is brought out with that faultless taste which has helped to win for the firm of No. 1 Paternoster Sq., such fame as poets' publishers. A large proportion of contemporary poetry of the highest name, including till lately the Laureate's, has appeared under the auspices of Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., who seem to have expended special care on the production of "Vagrant Verses."

And now, as we have let these poems chiefly speak for themselves, enough has been said. We do not hesitate to add in conclusion, that those among us with pretensions to literary culture, who do not hasten to contribute to the exceptional success which awaits a work such as even our brief account proves this work to be, will so far have failed in their duty towards Irish genius. For this book more than any that we have yet received from its author's hand—nay, more than any that we can hope to receive from her, since this is the consummate flower of her best years—will serve to secure for the name of Rosa Mulholland an enduring place among the most richly gifted of the daughters of Erin.

Rev. Matthew Russell, S. J.

Dublin, 1886.

Confidence is a plant of slow growth in an aged bosom.

About Critics.

A critic is a judge: and more, he is a judge who knows better than any author how his book should have been written; better than the artist how his picture should have been painted; better than the musician how his music should have been composed; better than the preacher how his sermon ought to have been arranged; better than the Lord Chancellor how he should decide in Equity; better than Sir Frederick Roberts how he should have pursued Ayoob Khan; better than the whole Cabinet how they should govern Ireland; and far better than the Pope how he should guard the deposit of faith. This, no doubt, needs a high culture, a many-sided genius, and the speciality of an expert in all subjects of human intelligence and action. But all that goes for nothing with a true critic. He is never daunted; never at a loss. If he is wrong, he is never the worse, for he criticises anonymously. Sometimes, indeed, the trade is dangerous. A well-known author of precocious literary copiousness, whose volumes contain an "Appendix of Authors quoted" almost as long as the catalogue of the Alexandrian Library, was once invited, maliciously we are afraid, to dine in a select party of specialists, on whose manors the author had been sporting without license. Not only was the jury packed, but the debate was organized with malice aforethought. Each in turn plucked and plucked until the critic was reduced to the Platonic man—animal bipes implume.

Addison says, somewhere in the Spectator, that ridicule is assumed superiority. Criticism is asserted superiority. Sometimes it may be justified, as when the shoemaker told Titian that he had stitched the shoe of a Doge of Venice in the wrong place. Sometimes it is not equally to be justified, as in the critics of the Divine Government of the world, to whom Butler in his "Analogy" meekly says that, if they only knew the whole system of all things, with all the reasons of them, and the last end to which all things and reasons are directed, they might, peradventure, be of another opinion.

There are some benevolent critics whose life is spent in watching the characters and conduct of all around them. They note every word and tone and gesture; they have a formed, and not a favorable, judgment of all we do and all we leave undone. It does not much matter which: if we did so, we ought not to have done it; if we did not, we ought to have done so. Such critics have, no doubt, an end and place in creation. Socrates told the Athenians that he was their "gadfly." There is room, perhaps, for one gadfly in a city; but in a household, wholesome companions they may be, but not altogether pleasant. These may be called critics of moral superiority. Again, there are Biblical critics, who spend their lives over a text in Scripture, all equally confident, and no two agreed. An old English author irreverently compares them to a cluster of monkeys, who, having found a glowworm, "heaped sticks upon it, and blowed themselves out of breath to set it alight." We commend this incident in scientific history to whomsoever may have inherited Landseer's pallet and brush, under the title of "Doctors in Divinity," for the Royal Academy in next May.

This reminds us of the historical critics who have erected the treatment of the most uncertain of all matters into the certainty of science, by the simple introduction of one additional compound, their own personal infallibility. The universal Church assembled in Council under the guidance of its Head does not, cannot and what is worse, will not, know its own history, or the true interpretation of its own records and acts. But, by a benign though tardy provision, the science of history has arisen, like the art of extracting sunbeams from cucumbers, to recall the Church from its deviations to the recognition of its own true misdeeds. Such higher intelligences may be called and revered as the Pontiffs of the Realm of Criticism.

We are warned, however, not to profane this awful Hierarchy of superior persons by further analysis. We will, therefore, end with three canons, not so much of criticism as of moral common sense. A critic knows more than the author he criticises, or just as much, or at least somewhat less.

As to the first class: Nothing we have said here is lèse majesté to the true senate of learned, patient, deliberate, grave, and kindly critics. They are our intellectual physicians, who heal the infirmities of us common men. We submit gladly to their treatment, and learn much by the frequent operations we have to undergo. If the surgeon be rough and his knife sharp, yet he knows better than we, and the smart will make us wiser and more wary, perhaps more real for the time to come. There is, indeed, a constant danger of literary unreality. A great author is reported to have said: "When I want to understand a subject, I write a book about it." Unfortunately, great authors are few, and many books are written by those who do not understand the subject either before or after the fact. The facility of printing has deluged the world with unreal, because shallow, books. Such medical and surgical critics are, therefore, benefactors of the human race.

As to the second class, of those who know just as much as the author they criticise, it would be better for the world that they were fewer or less prompt to judge. The assumption of the critic is that he knows more than his author; and the belief in which we waste our time over their criticisms is that they have something to add to the book. It is dreary work to find, after all, that we have been reading only the book itself in fragments and in another type.

But, lastly, there is a class of critics always ready for anything, the swashbucklers of the Press, who will write at any moment on any subject in newspaper, magazine, or review. Wake them out of their first sleep, and give them something to answer, or to ridicule, or to condemn. It is all one to them. The book itself gives the terminology, and the references, and the quotations, which may be re-quoted with a change of words. We remember two criticisms of the same work in the same week: one laudatory, especially of the facility and accuracy of its classical translations; the other damnatory for its cumbrous and unscholarlike versions. The critic of the black cap was asked by a classical friend whether he had read the book. He said, "No, I smelt it." This unworshipful company of critics is formidable for their numbers, their vocabulary, and their anonymous existence. Their dwelling is not known; but we imagine that it may be not far from Lord Bacon's House of Wisdom, the inmates of which, when they "come forth, lift their hand in the attitude of benediction with the look of those that pity men."

Henry Edward, Cardinal Archbishop, in Merry England.

The Celts of South America.

The exiles of Erin wandering far from their native land, are always sure to make their presence felt. Their power is well known in the United States; and it is, therefore, gratifying to note the progress which the Irish race is making amongst the people of South America, and especially in the Argentine Republic. To our countrymen is mainly due the development of the sheep-farming industry, which is carried on to a greater extent than in this country or Australia. Many of them number their acres by thousands and their flocks by hundreds of thousands. And the pleasure which the knowledge of this prosperity gives us is exceedingly increased by the many evidences in which we observe that National spirit and feeling is strong, active and energetic amongst them. In their educational institutions, and notably in Holy Cross College at Buenos Ayres, the study of Irish history is made a special and prominent subject of attention. In the capital, too, an Irish Orphanage has been established, where, under the kindly care of Father Fitzgerald, the children of the dead Irish exiles are lovingly tended and preserved from contaminating influences. In the breasts of the Irishmen of the River Platte there is love for the Old Land as warm and generous as can be found in the green and fertile plains of Meath or Tipperary. There are young men born in this country of Irish parents who are deeply read in Irish history, and who follow with loving anxiety the progress Ireland is making on the road to liberty. There are nearly a quarter of a million of Irishmen in the Argentine Republic, and they may always be relied on to aid their kindred in the Old Land. The chain of Irish loyalty to Ireland is complete around the world.