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THE INDIAN ADVOCATE.
oxpedition, and was but a few stops
distant from him,. when a new wound
throw him to the ground. The enemy
immediately made him prisoner; and
not until the following day did the
French succeed in securing his release.
Ho had received four wounds, one of
which, breaking his thigh-bone, entered
into the intestines, where it lodged.
The wounded hero was carried to
Homo, where he was placed in the hos
pital of the Holy Ghost, attended by
the Sisters of Charity; their Superior,
Mother Lequett, sister of the Bishop of
Arras, gave him the tcnderest care.
Julius, making no allusion to the seri
ousness of his wounds, begged Lieuten
ant Leu, a former colleague, to inform
his parents of the results of the battle;
but first he desired to let them know
that he had performed his religious
duties before entering it. Mr. Poulct,
former Superior of St. Bertin's, how
ever, had notified that heroic little
woman of her son's injuries, before the
receipt of this letter. Her answer was
one worthy of a Christian mother:
"For that it was we let him go: to fight,
and to die for the Holy Father."
Poor mother! she spoke the truth;
for her son was slowly succumbing to
his sufferings. His comrades visited
him to strengthen themselves by his
exemplary courage. Not 'only these,
however, but such illustrious visitors
as the King and Queen of Naples, the
Countess of Limminghe, and many
others surrounded his bed. Pius IX.
himself wished to comfort and bless his
faithful Zouave, and spent nearly ton
minutes by his bedside, giving him the
Cross of Montana, and the Golden
Medal of Merit. These distinctions he
no longer appreciated, but preferred
a little medal of the Blessed Virgin
blessed by the Pope, which ho intended
to leave to his mother.
Seventeen days of suffering exhausted
his strength, and on the 20jji of No
vember, Julius Iienguenet, fortified by
the Sacraments of the Church, mur
muring a prayer to the Queen of Heaven,
breathed his last.
His body was interred in the ceme
tery of St. Lawrence, with the glorious
remains of his comrades; but a month
later, by order of Prin-Orsini, it was
deposited in the church of the Benedic
tines of St. Ambrose. There he lies,
awaiting the day of resurrection.
THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.
Toll, bells, toll,
As if for a parting soul!
The Year is waning, tlic Year is old;
His pulse is feeble, his breath is cold;
.Sadly, wearily lying there,
Let him die with a silent p raver.
Toll, bells, toll!
Toll, hells, toll,
As if for a parting sold!
Who knocks loud at the outer gate?
Hush his clamor and bid him wait
Till the midnight signal comes! at last
The Year is passing, the Year is past.
Toll, bells, toll!
Chime, bells, chime,
Ilreak into tuneful rhyme!
Cast the trappings of gloom aside,
Ope the portals and fling them wide:
The guest is coining, the guest is come,
Welcome, welcome the New Year home.
Chime, bells, chime!
Ring, bells, ring!
Youths and maidens sing!
(hither round him with shouts 6f joy,
Crown with roses1 the smiling boy;
(Hide with garlands yon sable bier,)
The King is buried, the King is here.
King, bells, ring!
S. H. in Air Muriu.
Let us all resolve: first, to attain the
grace of silence; second, to doom all
faultfinding that does no good a sin; and
to be careful, when we are happy our
selves, not to poison the atmosphere of
our neighbors, by calling on thorn to
remark every painful and disagreeable
feature of their daily lifo; third, to
practice "the grace and virtue of praise.
