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. i " rflgStarandC essenger _gt"C.. * e vw OrL"-a G tM.Um Ob..3. a s.. 1M Ci s Eddd Poydraa and w .ý _ tr lice ao Ulzseteme peay are uia~a1~ dievoted tg,,th. ne rets(f h teetof pany a: CatholUo Churc A. mbhb J. PECe,., r` To prover i. (1h P.ment. , T~ the s.mmnenoy oe the I pleat based on a joint stoc coant ?. ao a " ", oL which. Is one htn . ". 'pl. r".a , in ,ve thousmid sha r s _ rl ýr t, ...+ .,Join FI ; dollars each. c. . x AP si he Mt e. . .. Tos. G. We approve of the a. ",'s'spy* taming, and commen it t te an .beasi'sethe of our DIoose. N tersofas.Mrw'ng et ." 'i. t Aao mo or5 `s1 i • ,___,___._ __ __ _ __ _ - 7. t,. ++, .. . , - . .............. . .. . 1551 S•anesost+ r+m. "HOW BEAUTIFUL ARE THE FEET OF THAT BRNG GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS!" e-ream VOLUMR `'` NEW ORLEANS, SUNDAY MORNING FEBRUARY 1g, 1871. NUME orning Star itholic Messenger.I aiW ORLanss. AT. BRIARY 12. I, ten. . NOT. " t A. iPOCTOL. S Jude net; the et his brain _ A2nd ofl lIS m mo see; SWGad look te ae stain. Ti od'e re ioray lsbe S A -ar-m brought aeme o~ l.won field, i WheTle thou w y lains amd Steld. The loaD, pueat fetos thy sirt, Me y he ra lto e, below With come f tor n eat the le, n thy smli r. t The fall thou da despise eay be the as a okened hand Has suffered it t may rise Aend take ai stond; Or, trusting less y thinggs. May heneefortb to use aiwionge. And Judge none t wait altl e, SWith kopefpJp t disdatn; The depth of then may be ?eI measere s sight of pain. And lore, and gl may raise This ioul to Gnd ter days. or. WHlY I APPENED. A year to-day e t be-so loung? and yet I id I could not., r not bear y sorrowfoul fe for three moot And I am sittlug here, - t I 'at that , sing o my cooming to inp : the May ' is tpctling the leavre the ehestnuts-- pliat c is fanuous for its lorse.chestnlt-tos i are all in a yellow elow with buttercu a they were then; the •aent of the lilac c up just the some from the garden, mingl eith th e more delicate sweetnss from othe of-tbo valley bed just beneath my windos as glad thlilies were there that night, gi nd yet sorry, for there were lilies in jst s bed n the old home garden, and the litta were spoke to wt of the dear ones I left r ago this day. I remember how, ang out of mywindow, I watched the twili aepen, and niht come areepinglup, and ie rst star shine out ; and I wosdered ho we going to live on Samidst sangers, so far frorm ny home in the wl * of Eng It hada happe suddenly." Krnowing, nis we did, Vtat p 1 alt not get well, we were so use to ha mailing, sometimes in his room for Sahs or, theo again so mnach better that he wo- eep round the broad walks of the asn -we were so accnus tomed to all h ge that I don't think onpf nsreally mach of hia leaving I us--only our moth se suffered silently as she watched or ortening life. I shall always herow well he was that last day. It eik~wedding.day, and had always been r fa;iley festival, and he sat up at tea-ti d talked o hopefully of getting better, i lag able io enjoy the 1 summer that was ng. And when at last hlo left us for the t, leaning ontArthur's I arm, while mamm wed with his cubshions, he was laugining nkig all the nay op S stairs-we hnt nol so melry for weeks. I suppose it m ave been about mnid- I night, but it did asif we had been in bed long, when I Arthur say at the door, "'Chrissie, come qt and bring the othea;; papa is much wor Was wide awake ina moment then, an to call Agnes, whco room opened oint ; and %bwhen we hai dressed hastily I t tp little Rose fron p her sleep, half-f ri and wondering, an hurried into papa'i e n, for I teemed to know ien was dying then Y' li It was v hey 1it Tlnherne wmnjt oun tie oCtlhe ticking oft ck, dl suoimetirmes oif a cinder falling fro tire; no other sound, no mnovemeats an eords, for thnse ne his pillows, white an usted from the sudden toss of blood, oau r lany dying. IIo could not speak to us, b knew us all-we were nure of that be the loave in his eye. And so, whilst th k ticked on we stooee by, and mamma c ed on the bed by his ide, clasping his as if she could not let um go. iren all co there was a change, short convulsiv ti and his eyes closed; was all over tb d in obedience to a sign om my mother I up little Rose to press kiss on the cold d then I carried her, oderinogl and q sing, back to her little and lying by side ctoed myself into a eavy sleep. Th Lid me afterwards that mma gave no uttered no cry, but set ered old Janet ( ad been our nurse) to cad her away an 1 was arranged in the death-room. B dr she stole noiselessly back, and shuttin f in, spent the night alone with herd ud there they found her in the early morn kneeling by hi side al most unconscious fingers pressed tightly on the wedding-r had put on twenty years before. How strange a nshed the house seemed during the next daysl even little Bose crept silently abe wide old paseages and stars, and her IS died away into silenee. We told her that a was dead And all his paia as gone, e would not have It so. 0ie was asle p, d in the room up stairs, wi Sweet whi olets and early spring fowers round hi People case to nP for the funeral, and we were mes nited for our mourning, and it seemed ve ble to hear about such things-about and gloves, and the diptb of crape, all busIness-like way-when oar father wasli 1d and still in the room boeve. The fau day earme, and we all Went. Mamma a rthur, myself, Agnes and little Ros, andou o hsb ad beenwith a10 olon: i.n.,t . hoeared for. him and 3no strangmt _ý, d ca t, narow church yrd 'oe pgrave under kui oasr ý; , A ftw paces It seemed more dreary e come back and leave him out there fe; and the san went behind the clouds, ani the wind rose, and a drizzling rain set in towards evening, and we thered round the dne and talked in whispers til bed-time; but mad mm never came down stair and would not a~ one of us. Old Janet told us she was sitti at the window that looks on the church with her eyes -fixed on the new-made lNext day the sun a e out again, and tbp windows were unc , and yet. it .did seem more cheerful tl in the dalanes and rain; it was a gl bireakfast-table, and still mamma did not Hours afterwards waw her, and then she told na ie must ezpeoigrat changes, and that we must not only leavenar dear home, but that she feared we could aet be all together; and then she cried so bitterly that we could only kiss her and beg her t go and lie down; and when Rose was in bedwe three talked together over what we were tolio, and what was to be come of us, as papa had not left much money to help us on. Arthur warbuildita castles-saying that we should all live in Lol;on, and he could earn sufficient to give na beautiful home-when there was a sound ofsbesl, and next minute the door-bell rang dat bOudly, and Janet opened the drawing-room door, and we heard the rustling of a lady's dries, and a gentle man's heavier taead, Who could tt.' ware looking at each other and windfl -ory "muchl, when Sarah, the housemaid, came in and said: "Miss Arnold, will you go in and see your aunt, iMrs. Bay, if you please ' Then I knew it was papa's /ter, whom I had never seen. I fansy- she not written or kept up any intimacy with'ur parentssince her marriage with Mr. Ray; but I had heard of her, heard that she was very rich, and !ived near London, and that she had no children of her own. .1 felt a little shy as I went into thedraweing room, and a very tall, stately lady took my hand, and looked straight into my eyes, and then kissed me. "'You are Christie. I suppose f" said she; then turning to her grave-looking husband, " Walter, this is my niece, poor Robert's eldest child." I could not help it; I burst into tears. But she seemed kind, and said a few words in a gentle voice: and then Arthur and Agnes came, and I grew calmer, and between us we managed to tell our aunt something about papa's death. We were sitting, so, when a message came to ask aunt and iuncle Ray too go to my mother in the library, and then there was a bustle in the house to prepare refresh nments and a room, for they would be staying with is for a few tldays. The next morning, when I went down to breakfast, aunt Ray was there, and she said l she had seen mauima, who would be down later; and then she took her seat at the head of the table, and signed to us to take our t places. I I daresay it was very silly, but I began to cry, because it was such pain to see her iun ulantulla's place, which was may place when mamma wa. not there. It seemed the first beginning of changes, though it was such a little thing, andu I felt from that time that I could never love aunt Ray. Yet I Ilt sure she didnot mlean to Ibe unkindi -she thought we were children, and that she i must manage for us. I had not told her then that I vis seventeen years old; but shit knew t afterwards, whbe we were having a long r lk over what was to be done. "Seventeen !" she said; "I wish you were t e her a ftev years younger or older, it is su: hIt a wkwatd age." • id the\,I again felt that I did not love ait Ray. ' A cr a fea days it was settled that Arthur I sho be articled to Mr. Phillips, the solicitor 1 in ti town, and amma and Rose abshould re- t iove ito a lttle cottage so'near that he could live h then. Agues-who was only thlir teen as to go to a school in London at aisunt Ray's peuset she had taken a fancy to Agnes t and mn t to adopt her as her own daughter, t she sait Thene was only myself to bu dis- 1 posed o ad poor mamma mourned* terribly t that sh could not keep me with her. But aunt Ra new a lady who wanted some young c girl like to live with her, and read and sing and amus er; she was very rich, but in ill i health, i felt lonely in her home near Lon- i don. So a a few letters had passed between C them Mrs. hiot wrote to my aunt to say she a wotldh like have me make a trial of how Ir could p1 er, and that I must come very sounthe d week in May. Ap was re than half through then and v the ti very short. Mamma and the a other. to leave the Done until midsum- I mer, an it used very hard that I might t not stay tb end in the dear old place; be. a sides whi I old have been so useful at the 1 moving. ow er, aunt Ray said it would t never do t Mrs. Eliot; it was an open- a ing that w Id eldom occur, for I should be C treated qul i ocordance with my position, r and I shol eher own daughter. Steep- f hill, too w o ly, and a little society would e quite take o h slight rusticity of my man- i ners. That was at aunt Ray said, and as she c seemed to ma us all, we made no appeal. And so the da w by, and May opened, and t then one sn mtorning, when it seemed so e hard, so bitte ard, to leave the Dene, I was t standing at thb -door, with the others kis- c bint d ryI fr, er whilst uncle Ray ~, Stood W-atchih 'db es being placed on tbhe - carriage, and waiting to hand me in, as he was r to take me to London.' sAt last it was over. I just looked back once, and then I cried nearly all the way to London. 1 It was a long Journey. But I was glad of it; SI did not want to get there quickly, and it t seemed that the end came too soon; and amidst a the noise, and bustle, and shouting of the ter minus, my uncle said : "There, Christine, your journey is ended t this is London." t Ilooked out then. Was that London-the I London of Arthur's fair visions? I thought I never could see sneh confusion, dirt, and dis a comfort again, as we rattled along the streets i in a cab, which drew up at a large hotel where I we were to pass the night. I How forlorn and helpless I seemed; as I fol lowed a chambermaid along some dark pas sages, and up flights of long stairs, until she t showed me my room! I felt so certainI should t never And the way down to the sitting room, L that I be gedher to wait a few minutes,whilst r Iurriedly removed my travelling-clothe.: I She wsa looking curiously at meland my deep r mourning all the time, too. I conld not sleep much that night there r was so much noise in the street, that I quite expected to hear there badbeen a fire or some thing terrible occur, and was so surprised in the morning to find it was notse, and that my i uncle considered the hotel In a very quiet part of town. SWe breakfasted together-s, how different I it was from the breakfast-table at the Dene, with the scent of flowers oomiua in at the win dows, and the fresh breeze waving the curtains and stirring our hair!-then-I was told to get ready, and we went through the passages a]tl out amongst the srtliný IIndlady and4 ne r two waiters, to a cab which was to drive us do the terminus front which the train for Surr'y started. I did not look out much; I don't Le lieve I cared very much where I was going or what the country was like, although I said "yes" and "very pretty," as uncle Ray pointed out a view or a pretty knot of trees as we passed. It sceemed only a few minutes, and then we were at our journey's end, and found a carraigo waiting to take u:s to Steephill, some two miles distant. It was a "steep hill" certainly. I know-I thought the. name very appropriate as oar horses toiled up the steep dusty road, nnd we saw the chimneysof the hoose peepiongi tbrn h a mass of trees. Then we drove in ht the b-g gates-they clse.d upon me as I should pic- I ture the gates of a prison closing, and gave F rue an involuntary shudder-and we pulled \ up before the stone portico amnidst a shrill c chorus of dogs. . "Here is steephill," said uncle Ray, "and I here you will le very happy, I think, Chris tine." Andtihen hostepped out lirst and help-, ed me, and we went up the broadatctps and in- I to the wide hall, where an elderly servant i waited to conduct us to to Mrs. Eliot. t She looked sharply and inquisitively at me, antd greeted mcy uncle respectfully; then ush ered us into a large drawing-room, where Id felt lost, it was so big and grand; and turn where I might, I only saw the reflection in the huge mtirrors of my slight black-clothed ig- I rre, whicu looked very forlorn. i IConcluded 'next week. - c TH" CURE OF BAZEILLES. -a 'iThe ftllowing interesting yirrative is taken q fromt the London correspondence of the New York Ilorld. Much as we are reminled ,t the t necessity of condensing as much as ltossibl, n into a given space, we c:tnLnot, for a mlontUt, it think of abridging what is so absorbing in its minutest details: t: This war is full of surprises; every war is tI full of them, and this above all. It is so start- u ling to find man-who it always vaunting of a his likeness to the angels, nud who now and a then manages to do some merciful deed that not unusually countenances hint in the delis- 5a sion-so very much of a devil afte4ill. It is a so strange to se the energy with which he des- sm troy's God's work, himself, and man's work, tl the fair cities and the fertile plains. I have a had these thoughts forced upon me a hundred si times with the arrival of every fresh bulletin of fi slaughter, but I have never had them seize up- si on me with such overpowering might as to- h day when I talked with a priest of the gospel, tl whose sole mission in life had been the spread- ti ing of Christian sentiments and the doing of o Christian deeds, and who yet, figuratively h speaking, was walking about with a rope a round his neck. 54 That priest was Monsieur le Cure de Baseil- b lees, the priest of the forever-to-be remembered tl village which was burnt down by the Bavari- it sMs after the capitulation of Sedan. Monsieur ii lc Cure has come to London to solicit subscrip. n tions for the partial rebuilding of his village fi and the bodily salvation of the few of his vii- o lagers whom the Bavarian fighting men have n burned out of house and home to lJive the life as of nature in the desolated fields. Monsieur le P Cure is charged with having headed an armed I resistance of his fock against the German IB forces-which resistance, by the way, was nov- p4 er made-and on the strength of this charge tI he had been made to understand that if he at venture to show his face in any part of his hi country occupied by the German armies he 1 will be incontinently hanged. And yet for all oi that, it will surprise no one to learn who has *I ever known a Catholiopriest, it is the fixed in- nu tention of Monsieur le Core, his subscriptions be once gathered in, to go back and see personal- p; Sfoun tir dtrihe cbut heart of the busy City I found the cure In the heart ofthe busy City LL as of London on this cold, raw, fogty, dispirit ing January day. A computriot,-M. Paul Pier :e, rard-has very generously given tip a portion a. of his business premises for the uses of the t; committee formed for raisintg the subscription, it of whichhbody he is the honorary secretary. at It is imrious to find a priest In such a place- ir- -more curionus still to find a priest of France. sBpt sinoe-the care has not disdained to take - up his temporary quarters there, my readers must not disdain to remember the address--it) ie Moorgate street, London, E. C., where sub I scriptions addressed to Mi. the Abbe Baudelot, is- the priest, or to M. Pierrard, will fall into the •s proper handl, re Yes; hAe, amidst le2lgers a desks and of ficestools and other paraphernalla consecrated il- to the wonahipof mgammon, stood M. Bandelot, s- who bnte few short weeks ago had no other' se surroundiags, and no other associations than Id those conserated to the worship of God. At n, miserable place and a miserable day and a at miserable environment of things altogether s. for an eile from the sunny land, and that ex tp ile a priest. But the breviary on the table made all plaeee seem one, I dare say, to Father re Battdelda. to The father, as I have sailhas come to have e- a rope round his neck in this wise: The Ger In mans have thought fit to accuse him of having iy organised and headed that alleged resistance rt of his villagers which led to the burning of Bazellces. Their anxiety to- vindicate the at character of tle saered oficoe is equal to their e, zeal in the cause of self-preservation. And a- thus the father Stands doubly condemned, as a as fighting parson and as 'an enemy to the inva et ders of h country. Either offence is deserv- 1 id ing of death in German eyes, and for both of I Sthem ittYra;ounldmmake a man die twice over, i if that ero sposible. o theyhav threaten- 1 r ed this priest with a shorter shrift than even a- that of a; Frane-tireur if he fall iun their way. ir Lest they should not have tipe to listen to his t dl defence, if they do catch Kium, it may be I d well to lay it beforethem in advance. Father e Bandelot never organized anyreslstance on the part of the villagers, for the simple reason I d that..no such resistanee took place. "How d I, c mul y parishlonaers ghtthe German army " t ase, the father; '"an&s foxy me, wag l their a I gesoeal or the pastor of theirasola"' 5 SOf all men I should say tie least likely one s o titspriest to bhre hop Mpd men to the work c h otatnan shlfna8ter, in aii f cause soever. A t K- mao who appeared to be, though in the world v - ot of it, so wholly .absorbed did be seem by h e superior subjects 'of contemplation to any e Swhich this world has to offer; quiet, subdued, a 1 one might alpst say dreamy and absent in ii nanner, he might be a poet rapt in soMw, vis- a 1 ion of a grand destiny in store for his kind, a 11 philosopher dwelling on some mighty schemue of human perfectibility-anything, in short, a Sbut one thing, a shedder of human ltond, even t in the sacred cuaso of country. Meet him in the street, and the swift summary of the mio- a ment would set liinm down emphatically as a u man of prace-. And this impression would be c: I derived ftromt a genuine effort of physiognoim- I: I ical skill, li, n,othing in his garb would help tl 3 you to ariight guess at his character or offlice. ti - The cure of Ilzeilles lihas, for the umounent, put at off every sign of his sacred calling. Ilis dress ii is that of ithe English layman of the middle 8 class. It becomes him well, for he is still on a the right side of middle age, and the repose of b his manunr, not always found so perfect in as- p, sociistiiiktitlm the lay habit, gives himi that tr "look of a gentleman" which call be taken ill r at a glance, but which no description can a:de- a quately define. at And front this quiet nan, in this peaceful oi I money-grnbbing London that prays regularly twice a week to be delivered fromn battle or oi nmurder, and front sudden death, and that has tl its prayer heard; from this man, I say, I heard fe suaOe part of the story of Blazeilles-a story to tlhat will take its place among the reddest of si the red deeds of history for all time-s story tc that will be quoted in this world and in the .t uext against War and against the makers of iii war till both shall cease to vex the soul of moan l I and to tempt the wrath of his Maker. ,t "It was on the morning of Wednesday," ti said the curate, "and .I was celebrating mnass ii among my peolle in Bazeilles, I could almost hi say that we knew nothing of the war beyond nm the fact that it had been declared and that it ht was being waged in France. Our village ui Sseenmed to lie out of the way of all trouble; le for though of its kind it was a somewhat con- at siderable place, containing a population of ct ' 2000 souls, it had known no other strife than 8i that friendly one engendered by the competi- as tion of an industry that held out the prospect if of some reward for all. We were but a short or half-hour's Journey from Sedan--or hamlet ti a might amnost bo said, in fact, to be a distant tt suburb of that town. Yet none of the city's tt bustle reached us. The strife, indeed, had not n0 then reached the city itself. Mighty armies, m it seems, were all about preparing to enfold us to in their black and hateful wings, yet we had p no notice of their presence beyond a rumor of from some terrified villager, vague enough to occasion no otherfeeling than one of thankful- ne ness for our own security. The alai mist him- pl sult had no sooner breathed the air of our he peaceful dwelling than he began to ridicule at his own fears, for it was impossible to look at fi Bazeilles and belie've that it could ever by any !t possibility become the bone of contention be- w tween two great nations struggling for the vi empire of the world. We were comipletely m happy then because oar minds were complete- hi ly at rest. There were all the soothing' minu- ge onces of religion to intensify this impression, as and as I stood at the altar and looked down lu upon my kneeling flock, I thought I had never w beholdsa more beautiful exempiicastion of the w peace of holiness. For the waz maet and w be in our minds at every heoa and q e of d the day, and our repose was intensiaednby this In t striking contrast of what we saw to that of tr- which we thanked heaven we had only heard. an The service went on, it wac drawing near its he close, when on a sadden the low.goeutle sound n, of the raurlnured responses of the congrega y. tion was overpowered and lost to the ear by the lond report of a single gun. The great bat a. tle of Sedan had comtietced. •o "It was impossible for the worshipers to re repress a movement of anguish and of terror. li) This was but momentary, however, and our b- supreme obligation to give the irst thoughts t, of our hearts at all times to the solemn obeerv to ances of our religion was rendered to the full. The service over, I did not even pause to ad f- dress my parishioners-as I should most as d suredly have done had I known the extent of < t, our danger-but I hurried to my -dwelling 1 'r which commanded a good view of the sur n rounding country, in order to ascertain, the i A exact condition of affairs. a "I left my aged father and mother in the I basement, and I mounted to the roof of the t c- house alone. A spectacle met my eye which I La will never be effaced from my memory to my I r dying day. Not alone had the great battle of I Sedan commenced, but we were in the very t 'o centre of the battle. The strife was raging all r- around us, and the very horizon seemed to i g flash with fire on whichever side I turned my a gaze. The air trembled with the reports of a tf the guns, and soon the great masses of smoke e e began to converge towards us till they rested I ir above our heads like some great cloud-omen of I d doom. Teou from out of the cloud, as it seem a ed, camne down an iron hail that crashed. t- hroLh.the rafters of houses or the bones of men wherever it fell. The time for contem- t of plation had passed, the hour tur action had t r, come. I loft my poet of olservation and des- t i coended to the salle-a-manger, whither my foot- I a steps wiro attracted by a aonifused sound of f mingled weeping and praying which tolk me p" a that the territied women and children had l a lied for support and consolation to the shelter i r of my roof. o "a "For a moment I hesitated as to what to do. b a It was evident that in their present mortal Ii r danger my first duty was to administer to di " them the last oonsolations of religion, and yet II r such was their intense anguish of terror thbt I oe shrank from increasiag at by any act whieh al Swould serve to remind them of their peril. I I could not, out of regard for truth, tell them t, L they had nothing to fear, while all around the to t very place in which we were assembled could bI be heard very distinctly the rattle of the ti enemy's shot. I was about to say some few di words to put them in a more Christian, because vi in a lmore composed frame of mind, when I w was at once relieved of all further difliculty by lii the spotauncotts request of one woman, which tl was speedily echoed by the rest, tart I alhould iii administer final absolution to tle:it at Dnce. of '1 ws enngaged in the per fl,:l'ancne of this di solenun, rite whou it dreadful ,,lpror waus heard 1t at the end of the street, and soon a erowd of our disbanded soldiers rushed jast the door, m calling on tus to shut ourselves p,) in the col- II l:ra at once if we valued our lives. I hurried vi the terrified crowd out of sight of the coming lii tumult as quickly as I could, remaining lmy- tl self to watch what. was passinig in the street t In in a post which I judged to be tolerabl," secure. to Soon on the heel.s of the fugitive I'rencrl:en, It a troop oflBavariafnstore along the narrow way ru but they lhad scarcely passed when thely :enrne i pouring back again atr even greater speed, and i sit frautic with rage and disalpointnlent. The of retreating Frencl had found time to throw up of a barricadel, and it was ordained that ib., no stand of the day .should be made it tlhe village I lis of Bazeillyh . -i n; " Meanltim the Prnssian shellls i:had i.t sirle, of our houses on fire, and bl, the light of the Ilr hflames, for it was now growing dark, the morst he fearful conflict I think it could ever have been uanu's lot to witness was waged for the poses sion, of thne hIarricadus. 1 cannot trust umyself to trace correctly the episoie&sof tbhat iihumatn I an .struggle. Desperate and mnaddedul creatutres wn the uniform of either army by turus ashed I, and repassed illy house at one momnlitt Us putt suers, at n:Ither as pursued. In tile moulen- iU tury intervali of the deadly fusillade amnd the tri deadlier bayonet charges, we darted from our tee hitting place to drag in some wounded brother, Ch never pausing to look at his uniform until we dit had attended to his bodily, and in someni meas- ret ore to his spiritual wants. Utter darkness at pil length caused a partial cessation of the strife, di' and the women, who have been so falsely en charged with having participated in the con flict, for the first time appeared on the scene as tender nurses of friend andfoe alike. Here, (ii if there had been any disposition to vengeance me on the part of my unhappy parishioners, was ani the time to show it, for the wounded were at chi the absolute mercy of those in whose houses Jec they ray. And yet, as I unhesitatingly affirm, thi no unchristian deed disgraced any member of the my flock. The occasion was indeed inoppor tune for that, for mere national hatred seemed ea penrile bes:de the awful feelings and emotions bil of the hour. " With the dawning morn the battle was re- tie newed, and not alone in oar streets, but in the I, plain beyond the village where one of the main body of the enemy was making a determined attempt to gain possession of the place. The fighting centred about a bridge which spanned or the swollen river, and the possession of which rea was absolutely necessary to the success of the the vwat military plan which it seemed the Ger- or mans had formed. This bridge should have coa been blown up on the first appearance of dan- tie ger. It had been undermined for the purpose, or and moreover the very powder had been stored in the village some days before. The materials were all in readiness, but alas, the man for the work-the men was wanting in Baseilles as he lo was wanting everywhere else on that fatal y dpy. T bride was lost, the enaPy poared In into the town; the barrieades remained in his me of possession; BaseiIles (and in due time Sedan) rd. was won, and on the eveniag of Thursday the its Emperor sent his d o tothe King. ad "It was then tht, believing all danger or a- us was over, I wont through the village fLem by one end4o the ohsr to make an exat tanven it- tor of our loeses. Exactly thirtbtwo houses and no more had been burnt-the m~Jrlty to were therefore left standlag. Not a wamsa or or. child was injured. This faeet is oonolalve to or my mind as to the no share these defenseless ts creatures had in the fray, for had they taken v- part in it, as was afterwards alleged, the en 11. emy would certainly not have scrupled to d- shoot them with the arms in their hands." a- The priest paused here as if, fm some nan. of conquerable unwillingness to continue. He ig appeared to be greatly agitated'in spite of re r- peosted attelmpts to maintain his self-posse so eon. I could not fall to guess the cause, and yet I was compelled to urge him to proceed to to give the necessary completoness to his nar to rative. I had observed that the order of his th relatidn was chronological, and that he car ried it down to the Thursday night on which the Emperor had sent in the formal offer of his ey capitulatIon. 11 "And what followed the events of thoThurs o day night, reverend Father f" I asked. y The priest made no answer, but he looked f straight towards me, though not at me, for his to eyes seemed fixed on vacancy, and as he gazed d the color began to fade from his face by )f patches until his cheeoks and forehead were a- one great stain of deadly white. d. I repeated my question. "y son," said the fItlher. " there aire stow. - things which are too dreadful for augr ,, to, ld zuonrnola for pity, which are, in short, bieyond - the utmost range of expression permitted ti, h- uman emotion. Such at thing was that whic!: if followed after tie anuiouucertant of the ca e pitulatiou of the Emperor on the i'hlurslayv I ulght, that thing being the hnrning of ita-' r zeiles and the massacro of its inlabit.aiitte. My outline of the barest facts of the atrocity shizlt . be of the briefest pussible kind. Let this aut 1 lice. In the midst of the profound calm, as of death, which followed the ressatiou of th.' t lighting all along the line, and while I, with I others, was engaged in an equally asniduone I attention on the wounded, botlrfriend uad foe. [ I was horrified, on leaving one dwelling to pas' i to another on the opposite silo of lhe street, a to discover.that the whole village was rapidly I becoming a nass of newlyakindled luames.. The t thirty odd houses which htad been burning during the strnggle for the possessiotn of th. village had long since beest put out. The fires which were now raging had been deliberately lit since the capitulation of the Emperor, andi the consequent cessation of all resistance on the part of the regular armies, to a~y nothing of the delfenceles itvil uopulatiuu i who,.e tlwellitugs hIappenel to lie within til.- circle s o itrife. "'The work was lreguit :t night, ,sut ti:.: nmornuing was reserved for its ct,:nF:leti on. Hlouse after hoIse was deliberately fltedl. .he villagers were more bent on saving their owe, livie thatn oni defetiing their property, but they werte not tw bc perwitted to do either. Irn the mricddle of the Jane of fire formed by the two sides of the bullting streets stood tie con: qtlering, and. na r tit, wot,nel and children rushed l shrieking frontm the flaincs-Oh, Mr sicur!" (The priest htut broken down.) "M,'on Ssiur, I etinot, I dare not go fglt'lurt: tite tnr of sBageilles hb:s yet to be written inl eharacter of liret and of blood, but the time has iot 'e coume for this supremewo'rial of dlity to tbh living ;td devotion to the dead. I catoit I t:neit uit go on2. I tnltderstood liair, and toik tmy a;e 0tt 'nce,l, with :In .tt'eetionate pre,.r e·~ ,!' : ~----·eme- The direntaliheiudi Episcouallanas of. Ie.lar lt , i,, . Iad opuctketr. YWhat' in a name" may be very well in a iluhkeaperian poit of view, but In tie et es of the Irish parsons no little importance seema to attach to tht question of nomencttture. They demand for thetnsete. the st3le of the Church of Ireland, and esrenuouuly pr.t test against being dalled the l'rotestalt lEpisoopal Church. Indeed so far have some carried their ,obs tions as to have irl'esed to enter any marriaget in t• registers supplied to them with the above dlaelgnatton lptioted thele n. That inecoveniaecea anrt serioVtt legal diticulties might hereafter asie 'from tuiluwijzg etch a course, these sticklers for their own absurd notions r fuse to admit, whilst they advance the ridiculous idea that, instead of being now in the eyes of the dritte mere 'rotestant sect, such as those of the I'Pr·byter, ans or Methodisat, their system is the tonly oragin. church of Ireland. If so, we do not wonder at their out jectlng to the title Iatestat, in which most asuredly the true Church of Ireland never rejoiced, though why they should display a similar repugnance to the word Episeopeaian, io rather difficult to understatd, it, at. least, they hold that for valid mlnistratlons the older us bishop, as well as thoese of priest and deacon, is essen tila to every body which lays claim, however etrrnout. ly, to be a Christian Church. Professor Sbarbalo, of Genoa, a dotermined nmusy *. everything Catholic, writes as follows on the outrage. recently heaped on the Jesalts n Rote: " In what .i., the Jesuits differ in their teachings, whether dogmat r. or moral, from that of the Catholc Chnrchl On tL contrary, to-day the true logical, perfect Catholics :· the Jesuits. This ia their merit, and this is tie cast of all the hatred and animadversions which are be..~ poured on their heads. Had they more hypocey .i, less courage, they would have been less peraeout.ld - perhaps they would have been caressed and protect, , by the government. You think toestinguish Jonaseitr in this way; yoo deseive youreeves. It will hbl urt.h more vigolrous and iore powerlul."