33

to be announced, one as the Count d'Arstelf, and the other as Baron Gnitz. They found her reading the Gazette of Augusta. Signora," said the leader, "you are in the hands of justice." "How!" 'Silence, madam!" "But you have mistaken me for some other! "Silence!" "It's an abomination!" Silence, or But let me at least take a shawl, a pelisse.' "You shall have everything in less than an hour." One of them took her gently by the arm, the other placed on her head her bonnet, which lay upon the bed; they locked the door as they went out, and entered the carriage. In the street were three other commissaries, one of whom accom panied the chief, while his companion returned to the room to collect the papers, examine the trunks, and search the baggage: the two others waited for Mathis, who was not long in coming.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE HARP.

In Rome, Alisa, during the long absence of Aser, kept such strict guard over her heart, that her friends and acquaintances never once heard her pronounce his name.

Polissena in the meantime redoubled her snares; she practised every trick to corrupt her soul, introducing the poison of her impiety into every discourse.

One day in the beginning of the March of '48, she was alone after dinner, in her study; Polissena had gone out with a Hungarian princess, who requested her company to the house of Count Mimiani on certain secret business. Bartolo was reading, reclined upon a sofa in the next room. Alisa was in a sorrowful mood; her mind was sad, but her heart on all occasions, when left alone, recalled those good sentiments which remain silent amid the tumult of the passions. She raised her eyes; there hung suspended over her desk a paint. ing of the Virgin Addolorata, which seemed to look down upon her, with tearful yet benignant eyes, but with a maternal affection.

She took her harp, and seating herself in front of this image of Mary, with her eyes upraised towards it, she struck the chords, and commenced one of the most tender passages of the Miserere of Haydn, accompanying it with her voice. At the first sound of those notes, Alisa, with a sort of inspiration, swept the fingers of her right hand over the treble chords, while her left ran rapidly over the bass; and such was the power of this succession of celestial melodies-so soft, so gentle, and so sad was the voice of that chant, that Bartolo dropped the book from his hand, and remained absorbed in attention.

That small hand, those fair fingers, so beautifully tapered, dew with rapid but graceful ease, and equal measure. Alisa's voice was soft, capacious, and sonorous, modulating every tone with a delicacy and passion which so deeply moved the heart, that the piety of these divine verses flowed with redoubled tenderness and sadness from her lips. While Bartolo was listening with ecstacy to the singing of his daughter, her voice and harp broke off suddenly, he knew not why. Hastily opening the door, he beheld her with her hands still stretched over the chords, as at the moment when she stopped, her lips were half opened, and her eyes fixed motionless upon the Madonna, her countenance inflamed with love, while the tears flowed gently down her face.

Bartolo stood in suspense at this sight; he remained contemplating that angelic countenance, and dared not for a moment disturb her with questions. But advancing at length, he asked her, smilingly, "What has happened, my love?" Alisa, recovering her usual calm, and casting down her eyes, turned to her father: "Ah, dear father, what are all these occurrences that are daily passing in Rome? I am inore ashamed than I can express of the very name of Roman."

"Why, what is there new in Rome?" asked Bartolo; "and what are you ashamed of?"

"Do you not hear," returned the daughter, "that mob of madmen in the Corsa singing the Miserere, and shouting 'Death to the Jesuits?' And not one noble and loyal voice is raised in defence of those priests; not one generous breast interposes to defend them."

A few days after this observation of Alisa, Aser returned to Rome from his tour through Germany, with commissions for Young Italy; and in a secret council held with the Prince Canino, Sterbini, Galetti, Mamiani, and many others, he communicated the advices and laid before them the various plans to be adopted in conducting the affairs of Italy and Ronie.

CHAPTER XV.

PROGRESS OF REVOLUTIONARY FEELING IN 1848. One morning in February, in the year 1848, a private conference on archæology was held in the hall of the Prussian legation, in Rome, at which a small knot of learned men had assembled. After they had listened to an erudite dissertation upon a newly-discovered consular stone, which threw some light upon a controverted point of Roman history, they entered into a conversation upon the news of the day. Among other personages present were a Frenchman, a German, Bartolo, and Professor Orioli. "This Louis Philippe of yours," said a Prussian to the Frenchman, "unless I am much mistaken, will soon be caught in a net which he has for the last eighteen years been weaving with his own hands, and they who are eutangling him in it are the very men for whom he had constructed it: he thought he had them so thoroughly ensnared in it that they conld never shake off their bonds or move a step."

The Frenchman, raising his head, shook it like one who refuses assent. "To what nets do you allude? Louis Philippe is a veteran at bird-catching. I don't see how his game can well escape him; he holds the net-cords well arranged in his hand, and he can attract and ensure any one that he wishes."

"Let us drop the metaphor, if you please," replied the Prussian, "and I'll tell you in two words what I mean. Louis Philippe, after the days of 1830, in order to rid France of its troublesome characters, and to consolidate his own power, sent them to excite the people to revolutionary ideas in Poland, Belgium, Italy, and Switzerland; to introduce unbridled license among those nations, to overthrow the most valuable and cherished institutions, to reduce them to the necessity of perjuring themselves, to violate their engagements, to pollute their hands with the blood of their fellowcitizens, to despise the supreme authorities, to break the bond of reciprocal respect among the people, to disturb the harmony and tranquillity which should exist among the various classes of which human society is composed. Everywhere, flames were kindled, yet without being extinguished in Paris; and ́ while the conflagration raged elsewhere with irresistible fury, particularly in Switzerland, the fire was secretly smouldering under every political institution at home."

"But that was the fire of patriotism," rejoined the Frenchman; "the fire of civil and military valour-that noble fire which warmed every French heart to magnanimous enterprise, to elevated social views, to the resplendent glories of genius in every branch of art, science, commerce, and to public and private activity."

"And yet," replied Bartolo, "I am of the opinion of Signor Federigo, that this fire will consume Louis Philippe, for it must be remarked that it is a fire kept alive and entertained by every evil passion. What patriotism, what love of order can exist in a kingdom in which, for more than eighteen years, instruction has been taken out of the hands of the Church and of the virtuous, and youth educated in impiety and indecency?"

Therein we discover the envenomed and malignant ulcer," said the learned German, "which consumes every living com

:

munity there is to be found the incurable mortification, where science is not tempered by the revivifying fire of religion. In Germany, also, the universities are bringing up a godless youth, and consequently a generation devoid of every intrinsic virtue that leads to good, and I foresee, approaching and inevitable, the ruin of Germany. The example of Switzerland has shaken it with such violence, that the shock will overthrow the most ancient and most stable foundations of Germanic institutions, consecrated, as they have been, by the valour and wisdom of so many brave and great men of ancient times."

"I regret to say it in the presence of Signor Federigo," said Orioli, a liberal of enlightened views, "but Prussia itself is threatened with innovations and turmoils in every quarter: it is agitated by the most audacious doctrines, and involved in the dishonest practices and oaths of the secret societies."

"Well! well!" replied the Frenchman, "France is yet

:

unscathed with such life, vigour, and virtue as actuate it, the throne of Louis Philippe need fear nothing: he is surrounded by men of great foresight, of powerful arm, of minds unmoved by the wild beasts of the Mountain;* the administration is wisely carried out, the police active and well informed; Paris is fortified like a citadel; 2,000 cannon are ready to vomit forth their torrents of fire; he has an ininvincible army, which would not flinch before the combined forces of all Europe: can you for a moment suppose that he would yield to a few ragged rascals collected upon the Boulevards, at the Champs Elysées, or on the Place du Carrousel ?"

As you like it; said Bartolo, "but the Débats, which looks deep and knows where the shoe pinches, gave us, a full month ago, certain dark hints."

"What hints? The Débats is sold to the Reds!" "Sold! It appears to me that if it be sold, it takes small pains to conceal the transaction when it tells us in capital letters, 'The reform banquets have torn away the veil, and to every one who is not purposely blind, or who is not interested in blinding others, it is evident that the opposition is not solely to the Guizot cabinet, but to the entire majority of the Conservative party, and the government itself. The Radicals scarcely think it necessary to dissemble in following Odillon Barrot; they have left in the rear the Socialists, who are the corps of reserve of anarchy.'

"Pshaw! Louis Philippe laughs at this savage canaille, which he could scatter with a single breath from the windows of the Tuileries like mist before the wind."

At this point in the conversation, the Secretary of Legation entered with several letters in his hand, and in deep thought; he turned to the distinguished circle, and said: "Gentlemen, the Paris courier has at length arrived; the motive of his several days' delay could not be guessed at, but it is now explained by the information sent by our ambassador."

"Ah! what is this news?" was the general exclamation; and, drawing round the secretary, they waited with agitated and anxious faces for his explanation.

The secretary, opening the letter slowly, spoke as it were to himself: "Ah! what occurrences! what a downfall ! what a sudden explosion! God only knows where the ruins will fall, and what destruction will accompany their descent!" "Why, what has happened?"

"It has happened that Louis Philippe is no longer a king, and France is involved in fire and destruction."

"Is he dead?"

"Far better for him would it be: he would then at least have ended his long reign like a man of courage; whereas, he has ended it in a broken-down cab; and, while he had 200,000,000 of francs in his coffers, he has fled without a sou, and with nothing but the shirt which he wore."

The Communists were called the "Reds, or the Party of the Mountain." They threatened to involve France in fire and ruin, worse even than in 1793.

"But, the particulars, sir! Pray, satisfy our impatience!"

"It requires but a moment. The secret societies, led by Caussidière, Pornin, Ledru Rollin, Blanc, Proudhon, Albert, and their partizans, under pretence of ousting the Guizot ministry, made an attack upon the Palais-Royal, and next upon the Tuileries. They put arms in the hands of all the scum of the populace of Paris, barricaded the streets, and with processions of mobs in blouses, of abandoned women, of all the young vagabonds and pickpockets from ten years upwards, they have overthrown the constitutional throne of Louis Philippe."

Then followed a general discussion among these gentlemen : one made one reflection, another another; all were agreed upon the vanity of human greatness, and the weakness of governments not founded upon justice; they made prognosti cations on the new fortunes of France and Europe, and the agitations in Germany, but particularly on the late revolts in Italy, which had given room for hopes and fears, founded on the motives entertained by the Italians, who were divided into a thousand different factions and confederations.

Sicily was in flames; Naples had thrown down the gauntlet of its constitution in the face of the princes of Italy, who, either from their own want of foresight, or, impelled by domestic factions, sent forth complaints against the king, who adhered unflinchingly to the old institutions, and detested all innovations. The gauntlet had been accepted by Tuscany, then by Piedmont, next by the Central States, and finally by the Pope. Every one took the oath to a constitution, which, in the intention of the demagogues, was to bind the princes to its maintenance, but not the factions to its observance. The torches and bonfires which illuminated the public rejoicings were scarcely extinguished, before the constitution was violated by the latter; the liberty of the press degenerated into licentiousness, and inundated the land with a deluge of impiety, of imprecations, and of blasphemy against every right, divine, natural, and human; justice was upon their lips, while iniquity characterised every act; the citizens were secure neither in property nor in person; their homes were no longer inviolable, the public faith no longer sacred; peace and repose were banished, both at home and abroad; liberty existed only for wickedness, while chains became the portion of virtue, the Church, and the priesthood.

CHAPTER XVI.

DON SILVANO,

When Bartolo left the palace of Prussia, as he was descending from the Capitol he saw, at the bottom of the hill, a great crowd of people marching with flags in his direction; and meeting with the advocate Muchielli, who was on his way to Tordispecchi, he asked him the meaning of the commotion below near the Gesu.

"What!" said Muchielli, "don't you know that the old fox has fled precipitately from the throne of France? The people, my dear Bartolo, are a mighty power! These kings have the laws upon paper, but the people have them in their arms. Look at those people there below They are triumphing over the fall of Louis Philippe, and you see that in passing before the Gesu, they have halted to launch a few accidenti at the reverend fathers.

'You of the Circolo," said Bartolo, "ought to lead the people with moderation, whereas in these conjunctures you leave them to their own guidance; you throw the bridle upon their necks and administer some heavy kicks into the bargain."

Muchielli went on his way towards the Tarpeian Rock, and Bartolo towards the Gesu. When he reached the fountain of the Piazza Capitolina he saw an old priest come out of San Venantio, directly towards him.

"Well, Signor Bartolo, we have here enough of shouting

SKETCHES OF IRELAND AND THE IRISII.
No. I.

SUNDAY MORNING IN THE COUNTRY.

THERE is no country in the world in which the divine precept regarding the Lord's Day is more strictly observed thau Ireland. Nor is there any country on the face of the earth in which education shows its influence more effectually on the human mind, regarding the affairs of salvation, than Ireland, on a Sunday morning. It is, then, worth while to draw a picture of Sunday morning in Ireland. Let us proceed to that work. We take the country or rural districts, in our first essay the city shall follow in a subsequent chapter. Our time of sketching is the month of May. Charming month! In this month all the rich beauties of Ireland are beginning to approach their prime. The general feature of the land is a colour so peculiarly grateful to the human eye, that the most fastidious is pleased with it. The various productions of mother earth are in every form, enticing the passing rambler to admire them. If one stroll through the sequestered valley, or climb the heath-clad hill, all is beauty! The band of nature itself seem to love the admiration of the human eye for no matter where one may ramble in this happy month, all is new, all is gay, all is indicative of a return of that happy time when earth has put on her robes of joy and gladness.

It is on a Sunday morning, in the happy and joyous month of May, that we wish to paint out Ireland in her observance of the Lord's Day. In this our first picture, be it remembered, we speak of the educated portion of the Irish

race.

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ment of the master and mistress the family have only to prepare for the hearing Mass. The cows are all milked, the horses are out on the pasture, the pigs are all fed, and the fowl are all satisfied with their morning meal. The family are all dressed in their Sunday clothes, without any confusion, or any disputes about the requisite matters for a general dressing of the family. All such things were prepared upon the previous evening of Saturday. Let us now travel with this happy family to the chapel, to hear Mass. The old couple are seated, together with their daughters, and one son, upon a plain car, prepared for the purpose. The elder and stronger portion are quite happy to walk, for this is a fiue morning, and the breeze is redolent of the sweets of nature. Arrived at the chapel gate, we ourselves too soon for Mass; but we can see that our friends are not too soon for their own purposes. The old lady of the family has to go to the grave of a relative, to pray for the repose of the souls of the faithful departed; the young girls have to enter the chapel, to teach the Christian doctrine to their juniors in age and knowledge, and so also have the sons a similar duty to perform. Old Paddy, the venerable father of this happy family, has to rest himself upon the stone seat prepared for all such as he in the chapel-yard, before entering the chapel, for the long kneeling that ensues in the hearing of Mass. This interval between the arrival of Paddy Kelly and his family, and the commencement of the Mass, is not a time of idle gossip, so far as Paddy is concerned. He being the admiration of the whole parish, for his prudence and piety, as evidenced by the admirable rearing of his family, is looked upon with veneration by all who know his character; hence his resting for a while in the chapel-yard is rather to be wished for than regretted. Paddy is not long sitting upon his usual "chair of state," till he has occasion to enter into a conversation. A poor child is the first that attracts Paddy's notice, as he enters the chapel-yard-gate, holding by the hand a little sister. Paddy thus invites these little ones of Jesus Christ to his side.

"Come here, my fine little fellow, till I speak to you. Who is this you have with you, and what is your name?" Child. “Jemmy Boyle is my name, sir; and this is my little sister."

Paddy. "Well, and who is your father, and who is your mother, Jemmy Boyle?"

Child. "Oh, sir, sure my father died in the famine, when he was working upon the roads, with all the people; and my mother is the widow Boyle, that lives up there in the bosheen."

Paddy. "How does your mother provide for you, that is, how does your poor mother make out the means of life for you?"

Child. "I don't know, sir."
Paddy. "Does she work!"
Child." She does, sir."

Paddy. "At what does she be engaged?"

Child. She spins and she knits, and she washes, and she picks potatoes in the season; and she does a great deal of things that we see other women at in the country."

Paddy. "I need not ask you, does she feed you? You are so fine a little fellow, and your sister is so fine too. But does your mother teach you prayers?"

Child." She does, sir, night and morn."

Here Paddy interrogate the children in their prayers and catechism, and is quite delighed to find them clever in both. He dismisses them to enter the chapel, and join in the general instructions, conducted in part by his own sons and daughters. In a short time, another object calls upon Paddy Kelly's attention.

Wat Murphy. "Mr. Kelly, will you sell me that calf that you have, and I'll give you good money for him? You know that I'm an honest, decent man, that always pays my way, and wishes to provide for my family. Will you sell me the

calf? I offered you five shillins for him before. Will you give him?"

Paddy Kelly. "Wat, I am ashamed of you to make this holy place so common as to talk about such an affair; and, besides, it is the Lord's Day, when we ought to be all engaged in thinking upon other things than what belongs to the world. Where are your sons and daughters, Wat?" At home, Mr. Kelly, in care of their mother?" Paddy. "Will they go to Mass, to-day?"

Wat. No; they have no clothes."

Paddy. "And, Wat, is it thus that you expect to bring a blessing on your family, by making the day of the Lord a day of traffic, and permitting your wife and your children to be absent from Mass ?"

Wat. How can I help it, Mr. Kelly?"

Paddy Kelly. "Ah! Wat, that question is very easily answered. God ever helps them that help themselves. It is not for me to point out your duties to you as a husband and a father; that is the office of your spiritual pastor. Now, my advice to you is, to enter the chapel at once, forgetting the calf and all such things, and prepare yourself for the hearing of Mass, in a proper manner, and also for the hearing of the sermon, which I am sure our good pastor will give us today.'

The words of such a man as Paddy Kelly, are ever powerful when addressed to his fellow man. Venerable years and a virtuous life give such men a position of influence over man, that it is not easy to appreciate its importance. At the last words of Paddy Kelly, Wat, the butcher, entered the chapel and began to pray.

As Paddy Kelly remained upon his "chair of state," he had to respond to the salutations and the questions of a variety of characters, who came, like himself, to hear Mass. One wished to know how long it was likely the fine weather would last, as he had to finish the planting of his potatoes; another wished to know how soon people might expect rain, as he had a great want of grass for his cattle; John Darmody wished to know was it likely the war would be of a long duration, because he thought that the high price of Russian tallow would shorten his day's (labour), and render his trade very bad. Moreover, he would get neither peace nor rest from his wife or his numerous customers, unless he could furnish the said customers with their new shoes as fast as they demanded them. And then came Mick Brophy, the blacksmith, thinking his case worse than any other one's. The cursed Russian war is wasting so much iron in killing men that he cannot find enough to shoe his friends' horses, mend their ploughs and harrows; and as to anything that he knew to the contrary, the world was fast coming to an end, if all the iron was to be thus wasted in foreign parts. These, and similar cases without number, were subinitted to Paddy Kelly's decision, till the bell announced the time of Mass. Then it was that Paddy Kelly gave his general reply to all his interrogators. My friends," said this venerable man, you have heard the bell's tolls inviting us to appear before the altar of our faith; there offer up our sacrifice of thanksgiving to the God that made us. That same bell is one day to toll the note of our departure from this world of trial and affliction, and our being numbered amongst those who are gone before us, and whose ashes now rest beneath these grassy ridges that mark out their last home upon earth. Let us enter the house of God, attend at the holy Mass, listen to the voice of our spiritual pastor, and thus we shall learn all that is requisite for our various pursuits in life, and the means of meeting all our difficulties and trials."

་་

Ou this summons all proceed to the interior of the chapel, and this event brings us to give a true picture of the Irish pastor, his flock, aud his manner of conducting them to their eternal home, the kingdom of heaven. This shall occupy the remainder of our present sketch of Ireland and the Irish; and it is hoped that its truthful representatious shall find in the

hearts of Irishmen a new throb of love for the land of their birth.

Lest our sketch might seem to be the mere "ideal" of what a Catholic chapel and its pastor and people ought to be, we give such a close allusion to its locality, the chapels, it can be very easily found out in Ireland, and our remarks truly tested. Having crossed the river Suir, at Waterford, and commenced the ascent of the Walsh mountains, after about an hour's drive, one sees in the distance a neat and well-designed chapel. Around this building are resting, under the green surface, the remains of a race of Irishmen whom the hand of persecution drove away from the more favoured portions of the Irish soil, to live as best they could, in days long past and gone. Indeed, it were difficult to find a country chapel of such happy proportions for its position, in the centre of a populous district, or of so, in truth, enchanting attractions to the soul that loves the beauty of God's house. We shall delay our reader by a description of this chapel of Mt. As you enter by any door of this edifice, you are at once given to understand that it is a house of prayer. Whether you ascend to its galleries, or take your place upon the neat and well-cared earthen floor, you see around you indications of the house of your faith. But if you at first happen to cast your eye towards the altar, all the rest falls short of your visual investigation: there your very soul is caught by the beauty of all about it. Words cannot do justice to the object we would describe,-it must be seen to be appreciated.

Into this house of prayer, then, our venerable friend Paddy Kelly and his friends entered when last we had seen them. They were in their places in the chapel, and on their knees, making preparation for Mass, when a small bell announced that the holy sacrifice was about to begin. The candles were lighted upon the altar; the organ, for there is such in this chapel, was teeming forth its sweet sounds, in company with many sweet voices, when the parish priest, preceded by a happy and beautiful crowd of boys, dressed in soutane and surplice, emerged from the sacristy. The vestments were becoming the dignity of the sacred rite about to be celebrated, and all was in keeping with a Catholic idea of Catholic worship. Having placed the chalice upon the altar, and made the ordinary preparations for the celebration of the Divine sacrifice, the priest turned his face towards his congregation, and read aloud the Acts of Contrition-Faith, Hope, and Charity; after which he read the prayer before Mass. Then descending to the level of the sanctuary, he commenced the sacred duty of offering sacrifice. It is needless to proceed through all the details of the ceremonies of the holy Mass, for what Catholic is ignorant of them? We cannot, however, pass by one fact as connected with this sacred work, and one well worthy of deep attention: it was the music of an organ and well-trained voices. We who write this sketch of "Ireland and the Irish" can well recollect an event of our earlier years, and before we were dignified by the sacred character of priest of the Catholic altar. It occurred in a chapel upon the fair banks of the historic river Boyne, as it passes through and washes the rich land of Meath. We were there on a Sunday, and heard Mass. Never, never can we forget the effects produced upon our soul by the simple, the pathetic music of a few voices, properly trained, to accompany the various portions of the Divine sacrifice. We, in fact, almost vowed that, if we ever should have the happiness of becoming a priest, we would go and say Mass in the chapel of Boardstown, where we enjoyed such a heavenly treat.

Well, then, to return, the priest proceeded with the celebration of Mass till he came to the Gospel. There he paused, remained a short time in deep thought before the tabernacle, and finally turned towards his loving and expectant flock. How sweet that word flock, and how sublimely expressive! Now, even anxious as we are to give our reader the end of

this, our first sketch, we must detain him longer than we or he expected. So deformed is the picture generally given by the enemies of the Catholic faith of the pastors of the flock of Christ,-ay, indeed, and even by nominal Catholics,-it quite in accordance with our purpose to give a true picture of the real Irish parish priest on a Sunday morning, surrounded by his flock before the altar. Turning towards his flock, then, the Rev. Father T- -n read for them the Gospel of the sixth Sunday after Pentecost. It is to be found in the Gospel according to Mark, chapter viii. Having read the whole passage, as quoted in the Mass Book, the priest took a particular portion to make the text of his instructions for his flock. The text was, "I have pity for the crowd." Let us now listen to a sermon as preached by an Irish country parish priest. Simple but expressive language is to be found in the address. Such as the following:-" Beloved Brethren, -Having read for you the Gospel of the day, it is my duty to call your attention to a particular portion of it, and that portion is, the words I have repeated, I have pity on the crowd. Now, who compose the crowd upon whom Jesus has pity? This is a question well worthy of your deepest consideration. Let me ask a few questions, and thus we shall see, at least, who are not of that crowd or multitude who followed Jesus. Our divine Lord says that he has pity on them, because they have followed him for three days, and have not, in consequence, the necessary means of subsistence. Now, for what did the people follow Jesus? Was it to learn the wisdom of the world? No. Was it to learn how to amass money, and thus become able to carry a high head in society? No. What then made these poor simple people follow Jesus? It was, my brethren, to learn that wisdom of which few think. It was to learn the road to eternal happiness; and so, because these good people had left all behind them, in order to learn that wisdom our divine Lord was pleased to work a miracle, in order to sustain the corporal existence of those who had placed their faith in him." CATHOLICUS.

Poetry.

WHERE ARE THEY?

On! where are they with whom I spent my boy hood's joyous years ?

When merry, gay, and playful we knew no other fears,
Than Time's swift evanescence which curbed our happy play,
And the irksome hours of study that so curtailed the day!
Yes! where are they, the merry lads, the dear, light-hearted
few,

With whom I revelled merrily, before I ever knew

The world's cold, dark emptiness, so void of light and day, From which I turn in loathing now to ask,-Oh! where are they?

And not one of the multitude I daily meet around,
Can answer what I ask of them. Yes, yesterday, I found

A man who knew me in those days, and they for whom I sought,

For he then kept an orchard, and his fruit from him we bought.

He told me how one here had gone, another thither roved,
And how the bravest lad of all a profligate had proved:
I turned me from him then in haste, in shrinking, blank
dismay,

Regretting I had asked of him the question,-Where are they?

And so I thought, as on I paced, are scattered far and wide, By Time's strong swelling torrent, that deep, fast flowing tide;

The friends of early boyhood,-the beautiful and fair,--
The grave ones and the joyous, the merry and austere.

And I reflect, within myself, what truth is in that page,
Where the world is compared to a great extended stage;
Where all do but enact a part, and quickly slink away,
And so elude the search of those who're asking,-Where are
they?

But if in this cold earth of ours we're parted for awhile,
Why should we grieve about it? No, we should rather smile,
To think that through the troubles of this ever struggling
life,

If we imitate our Saviour, and with patience bear the strife,

And those terrible temptations to life so close annexed,
We are sure to be all happy, reunited in the next;
Where in actual possession of heaven's joys I pray
I'll meet those friends 1 love and meant, when asking,~
Where are they?
SHAWN.
Ramelton, Jan. 4, 1856.

THE

SEEK THE VIRTUOUS.
SEEK the virtuous-'tis a pleasurc
To a pure, enlighten'd mind,
To possess the love and friendship,
Of the purest of our kind.
From the words you hear them utter,-
Words of prudence, knowledge, truth,--
Gather wisdom, do not let them
Pass unheeded, gentle youth.

Seek the pious,-love, respect those
Who to God devote their days,
And in sweet and pious accents,
Humbly, meekly, sing His praise,
Ponder on the pure, the chaste thoughts
You have heard by them express'd,
They're a treasure, know their value,
Cherish, keep them in your breast.

J. L.

ULSTERMAN" AND MR. MACAULAY. THE Ulsterman takes Mr. Macaulay to task for his passage on Belfast, in which he attributes its progress and present prosperity to Protestantism. Here is an extract from our contemporary" Belfast prosperity and Belfast Catholicity grew side by side.-Fifty years ago there was not even one Catholic in every fifteen of the population-there are now nearly seven in every fifteen. Shortly before the beginning of this century Belfast had no more than twelve thousand inhabitants, of whom scarce five hundred were Catholics. To-day the extended borough of Belfast contains one hundred and twenty thousand inhabitants, of whom fifty thousand are Catholics. What does Mr. Macaulay say to these patent facts? In half a century the total population has increased tenfold in half a century the Catholic population has increased a hundred fold. These are facts, simple facts, that cannot be controverted."

WHY is wit tempered by politeness like tour letters in the alphabet. The first, deep in thought; the second, advancing to meet you; the third, holding a flaming torch; and, the fourth, singing psalms? Answer-Because it is, a-musing, b-coming, d-lighting, and n-chanting.

A PATRIOT-A deacon, who became rich in a grocery, used to boast how much he had done for the cause of temperance, by mixing at least a gallon of pure water with every gallon of liquor he sold.