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The morning star and Catholic messenger. (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, February 19, 1871, Morning, Image 1

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VOLUME NEW ORLEANS, SUNDAY MOR G FEB,UAR Y 19, 1871. NUMBE
Morning tiar nd Catholic Messenger.
Naw O3LanassN SUNDAY, nBUAAY 19. 1871.
THE BARK OF PETER.
Two thousand years, two thousand years,
Out bark o'er billowy deas m
Haa oeward kept her s.ady course B
Thoulh hurricane and beeze. a
Her eLptain was the Rsle One, d
beebrave thpe ato oy f. a.
Andt ~ L~rl siea who guided her t
T o then sad yeats ago. t
Sound Scripture and tradition were b
Thi ars her cours to steer, a
Her helmsman was the Holy Oue- d
A helper ever near. t
Though nilny a beautiful boat has sunk
'lTheo reaheroun waves below,
Yet oans s sound al she was built, I
Two thounasd years go
Theind that illed her swelling sheet,
From Rome' great centre blown, a
Still urging her unchanging course ii
Through shoals and breakers on. a
Her utlring pennant still the cross.
Whao1ser rease might blow
It poted, s it does, to Heaven
Two thasand years ago.
When first our lant ship was launched, I
Aihak ourhands were few
Yet dsuoeawas each bosom iound, ft
And eery eanrt was truo.
And sftll, ttough in their mghtly lull
Unnumbered bosoems low.
Her crev fathtul as i was
Two thousnd years ago
True, some had left their noble craft
To sail the seas alone d
And made them in their hour of pride at
A veael of their own.
But they.o vsn clouds portentous rise,
And atorm tempsatuous blow,
le-entered tt old veseel bauilt
Two t o end ) sag.
H o ta a wreabk
Her m he p ritggng torn, d
The A on he oer do
There ik Fibsher. More did fall.
Queen Is blood did flow
Delendi o 00ood vessel built
Two · ys sgo. P
Ab! marls yr'sblood wa shedd
We maR name them all- ii
They to e nt from his but,
The utale his hall.
•When o vs thy children's blood
For fath freely now,
As pure ite an as was the fount
Two de o.
Yet onvid our vesselursasati "
TAnd outthe saler
be clead dwreck and spliced the st
And ever sail
And 5wse d ., mightier far.
Upoef d S hearts had she
Twn d years o.
True to ulding Star, which led
Her stsdy tte polinteth yet
To boody top.
Yes, tS fieats, that good old ship,
roS keel below
fleawory a.s ert ahb was
Twoot d year ao.
Not un O ot unto no,
Be pae d glory given,
But no who watch ad ward
Rt or us in Heaven.
Who qr a whirlwind in his wrath,
a to cease to blow
Ti at Lrd o unched our vessel forth
Two 74t ago.
Then 1fed the brave old bark,
"Telod ne thy gluide. .
And air each plank and spar,
Unran by friend or foe.
Juat ls f JerUsalem
Ywo~h ud years ago.
Tb v m rid years ago.
WLY dT HAPPENED.
Concluded.]
Perhabs i w only a few minutes, but it
appearea me my heart's beating sees
ed to race tb ti lig of the timepieee-when
Mrs. Elliot el ; a small, slight, delicate
looking wess with a melancholy tone of
voice and a lue d manner. She spoke kind
ly to me, aid tb turned to converse with my
uncle about his urney and other trifles, giv
ing me tide t look around the handsome
room. It tSes y eleganut, very fashionable,
but so nuonle-l c sod fferent from the Dene,
that my eart k still lower, and I felt ut
terly miserable. y uncle could not stay, and
almost immedia y rose to take leave; I did
not love nude , but I felt very dreary when
he was gone a the last link to my west
country bone h failed me.
A pretty ram as assigned me, a room with
S windows lodin over the Surrey hills, taste
folly thongi si ly furnished; at any rate I
felt I should ik y room; that would be all'
my own, who was a comfort. And' when
evening can d Mrs. Elliot was dozing on
the sofa-ben n al habit, she said, after her
late dinner-- le upstairs to my room, and
sat at this wnd as I sit now, watching the
waving lease the chestnuts, the golden
tinted feldebe rd, and glad to .think that
the faint scent im the bed of lily-of-the-val
ley should seal at my window just as it did
at the Dune. 11 desolate I felt that night I
it was my firt ting from home, and it was
under very e. ful circumstances. How far
away they al s ed how ha . felt it that
I could not be ngst them in a the trouble,
that my lot slme be east amongst strangers
and leanningny ead on my hands I cried bi
terly, and tre dropped through my fngers
upon the leavre the rose-tree that clustered
round my window.
At last I re mTssed that the evening was t
asesing by, and T m go down. I was Mrs.
lllot's companion n d expected to make
myself worthy of the.l`-lW amnume that was b
my stipulated eslm7.. n
SWell, I dried myt, Ian went b
downstairs to iin6d just asking for m
me, and coffee bein the drawin
room. Perhaps abse red eyes 'ad fel
a little sorry for ber manner was a t
sbade more cordial, sensaed herself to e
talk to me of my i " eued
that all that would iredf would
be to read to Mrs. E rite notee bhes,
walk with her in the' sof gt , oe. I
drive when she des company t a
talk or be silent, be at or present,
adapting myself to le moods as best
I might.
"And I do hope, Yas Arnoln maid
my employer in seo "that yoa are of 1
an amiable and e dspostiotl; it is e
indispensable that . ay narveos t
ament should not by the unequal
spirits of my comfn It seamed ta
that no answer was required, eae
tainly I had none so I received her-e
marks in silence, and very thankful when
a few minutes later, me ring.ths bell
for her maid, and !must feet a tigd,'
gave me permission .for the night.
And when I maB s yselflate my pret
ty room I thought tb ht as wa the du
ties assigned to mea r a hoae
maid. For in no free
dom, no solit u- to me tltet
suebh an existen ble. Batl
went to sleep v my sorrow,
because I was a. of home,
of railwayes nd Steeý
bill, all in i , until the
bright sunslb -h reoam
aroused me I t
To got ay,or
the many irotine,
ting library in t e
most constant occupation, whilst Mrs. Elliot
did elaborate wool-work, which never seemed I
to get finished, however.
Sometimes we were driven through the
winding lanes and roads near Steephill by a
pair of sturdy white ponies; sometimes we
walked short distances, or paid dreary morn
ing-calls at some of the neighboring houses.;
but I would gladly have changed lots with
any of the hard-working women who looked
after us from the doors of their cottages. It
was such a dull level life, without any congen
ial companion, without interests or even
hope.
My only comfort was in the constant letters
from the D)ene. The weeks were gliding away,
and midsummer sb close at band that they
were packing and arranging fur departure.
Sad as it was for them, I thought it a happi
ness compared with my life, so far away. Ar
thur wrote me word that they had taken a
small cottage, only six rooms, but they were
pretty.and airy, and there was a nice little
garden for Rose, and mamma seemed to take a
little interest in making all as snug and home
like as could be. Uncle and aunt Ray had left
the Done, taking Agnes with them; and she
wrote cheerfully, and seemed: contented with
wrote cheerfully, and seemed contented wit of
her home, and the prospect of school-life,
though she said, "Nothing would ever be like
the dear old Dene ."e
How mbuor thought of them all those last m
daysal-how I pictured my mother takings a
farewell of every room and its furniture; how hi
I fancied abe would linger longest and last in
the chamber where our father died, and gaze cl
out ince more at the white gravestone in the
chrtch- ard When the 24th of June had
passed I knew it was over; the Pene empty,
all but of those who were preparing it for the
sale that was to take place. Ah, tiat dreadful
sale; how it hurt my pride to think ofour things
being looked at, commented on, and finally q
knocked down to the highest biddefen How "
hard it seemed to know that neighbors would t
gatherin those rooms, the very rooms where
they had met before so differently, and talktd
with pity of "those poor Arnole .' J
Mrs. Elliot complained that I was very dull
and unsociable those last few weeks in June, w
bqt I did not tell her why; Ifelt she would e
not comprehend me. But I was learnintg pa.
tience in a hard school, and resolved to try and
fulfil my duties, and earn my £25 yearly sal
arnd so the summer faded away-that
strangly and summer. My home letters grew
gradually more cheerful. Mlamma seemed try
ing tofbe happy, if ench a thing could be
when she had buried hit who made her hanpli
ness; urhaps I should rather say she was
strivi to be content in seeing Arthur pros
per and little Rose so well.
I would not grieve her by my own sandess;
I wrote cheesrflly syd hopefully every week,
dwelling upon the easy service required of me,
and te oomfprt of p sephill, e utsryiyg noth
ing of how my henarieed out for love, bow I
longed or a fond w o or gentle touch, that I
might not feel s loie ly.
in the autumnI I had a visit from aqut Ray
and Agnes-Agnes looking quite a fashionable
Soung lady. So much grown, and so modh
Sm foved,- aunt said; but somehow she did
I not seem so much my sister as in the days we
I had roamed about the old Dene garden togeth
Sor. We were a good dea alone, for Mrs. Illiot
r and aunt Ray seemed very friendly, and had
t much to say to each other; soAgues and I
could talk without restraint, and I heard all
about her school-life and her companionu but
in return I had very little to tell of Steephill
a nothing ever happened there.
a Tben oae the drery time when autumn fa
ded into wintesr, and trhe wind wistled in the
tall trees, and at every fresh gust came a
shower of dead leaves on the paths, or blow
ing up against the window. I looked out
hopelessly, for the lovely gardens had helped
me to bear my life at Steephill ; it seemed ites
home to be with the trees and flowers. What
should I do all the winter And I theught
with dismay of the novels I should have to
wadethrougb for Mrs. Elll~ts benefit, ad of
the small-talk betwek'~'imes, of she "ong
evealngp when eshe desed in, ber  wek -
and I must sit there watohtng, lest; dbse d
wake and want me.
One morninRg-it was mild I
bar-when I went down to
a home letter, and I was d
when an exelitsron fsea
me, and her own letter fell fWOehs_
was a blae-beodmi d liater
border and a strong feellao .
her £le4 my hearL -erb. a
dray as earer. - <ea.. --,,. , --a
It wi some time before abe 51.Nk to
me ut she seemed to And it Iomb oomrir- to
heb my beads within hsi.' i e 'ter
streamed l.4.beISe. I had hider tbe6tat
teM rt what --- t-+-··
Sehild. had diod o
a son, butl his nse orr mentione and
I understood lutit itbets Was ate
paitafl mysteg r eon with the eibjeot.
By degrees sbe conAded to. ati nr a be
grew up to manhood, bhe had hea esavoerted ie
the Boman Cathea rel lgtebad se bad ban
ished him from her booeaen otried to banish
bin from her heart.
News had come of hit marriage, sbseqent
ly .5 his wife's dea26, leaving him with
bjyW But rs. at efused to
repntanoe em. too late.
or thing! howa I pitied her under tIa
heavy grief, which seemed to age her day by
da could even have borne that he should die,
if only I might have spoken one word to him
-just to have -asked him to pardon nev," she
moaned.
And gladly as I would have comforted her I
had nothing to say, for I knew no words would
touch so deep a sorrow. I might even reach
her better by my silence. But the little child
was coming; I was gladof that.
" I leave tmy little one to your care," those
were the lines hastily scrawled with hlsldying
hand; "but I beg you to alfow her to grow
tip in the religion of her parents-that faith
which has comforted me when all else'failed."
" And it shall be so," said Mrs. Eliot, "never
would I prevent the little one front following
her father's dying wish. Poor Horace! his
piety was more real than mine."
And so, after a short delay, the little one
came. A rosy-faced, dark-eyed girl of five,
,Kith a pretty mixture of French and English
chatter: quite at home with us directly, and
,__ ~. r in na, tine" from the
forgetting all her gried in partingi ru . a
rriends who brought her amidst the novelty
of 8teephill. She took a great liking to her l
grandmanmma ; and I was glad of it, for it
seemed some comfort to Mrs. Eliot to make !
mnch of the ehild-the child "with HIorace's
eyes, and Horace's voice," as she said, when
he made the old house echo with his laughter
long years before.
But I think that the little one clung more
closely to me. She followed me about by day,
"-ud slept in my arms at night; and her comin"
turned my life from shadow into sunshine.
was so glad of her baby-love. As she grew
more famuiliar she would talk to us of her dead
father-her mother she ciould not remember
tell us how, when he was well enough, he
would lead her along the streets of the old
town they lived in and take her to hear Mass.
" And I was so good !" she exclaimed; "yes,
dear Christine, so good; bacause, you know,
Jesus is there upolthe altar."
Then, as Sunday came round, she would ask
to go to Mass. Once we took her to the village
church, but the childdit'not like to go. She sat
there with the tears in her eyes, and when we
wele home again I asked her why.
"Ah, I do not wish to go to )our hunrcb,"
she said. "Our Blessed Lady is not there;
you have not Jesus; you have no altar, no
candles-you have nothing."
After that the child seemed sad when she
saw us go to church on Sundays, but she said
nothing; only shook her head if we asked her
" Would she like to go with us ?" Mrs. Eliot
looked very serious about it.
" Mary is but little more than a baby," she
said; "yet I do not feelthat f am obeying my
son's wishes and bringing her up in the faith
of the Catholic Church. What am I to do,
Christine F"
We had been more sociable together since
the little Mary came, and the formal "Miss
Arnold" was dropped. So 4 answered, how
would it he if I took the child to Mass on Sun
days? There was a Catholic church within
walking distance, and it would please her; as
for the rest, all religious education could be
left until she was older. And thus we settled
it; only the white ponies drove us to St. Jo
i seph's Church, and we walked home.
I Mary seemed delighted with the plan; and
E it did me good to see the reverential behavior
I of that child. She seemed, in her littto way
I to have found something she bad missed, and
I was struck with tbere lity of her ohildist
faith, little as I understood the oeremnmy at
which I was present. For as yet it was to m7
e mind orly ceremony ; I did not yet know thi
ard truth of which it was but the
outw form.
So as a weeks came round, I went with
Mary: Mass on Sunday morning; in the
I filled my seat in Mrs. Eliot's pew
at church. It was strange how un- t
how meaningless the service seemed (
es to please Mary, Mrs. Eliot too I
St. Joseph's-only to please Mary,
nt I began to think there was an
pleasure and comfort in it to her- °
I watched her closely, because II
so with me. But I would not have
No; I meant to prove that I could
necathed from the ordeal of being I
to the "insidious influences of Ca
Perhaps it was for this reason I
ttle Mary's appeal that one of the
ther Russell they called him--might
lee her.
L been used to see a priest visiting I
.a e, Mrs. Eliot," I urged; "and if she
atholic, it is only propershe should 4
have wish, or how can she be rightly
t., her religious duties r'
~ perfectly right, Christine, and I
4 every way to forward my son's
as. Eliot; and that day a crested
Ispatched to St. Joseph's Church,
that she had the guardianship of a
C ild, and would be glad if the priest
w at Steephill. So he came, and we
wre , with him, with his gentle man
ar agreeable conversation. But Mary
Sts fted. She seemed as if she had found
w I shall be quite happy," she said
to -I pat.'her to bed that night, and
w she said "Our Father" and "Hail
Mary never missed that; she had
p "dear papa" she never would.
es the w and months passed by,
a , : doubts as to the
increasing sonvio
light to w a Go was drawing me; and not
only me, for I fonad that Mrs. Eliot was pass
ing through the same mental conflict.
One evening; sitting in the firelight, when
Mary had gone to bed, she told meohis:
told mse how the conviction was gaining
strength in her mind that there was a reality
in the Catholic faith which called for at least
candid investigation and much thought. And
I, in my turn, confided to her my own
feelings; bow the faith of my childhood was
powerless to satisfy my heart's deepest need,
and how I longed for something more real,
more satisfying. • . ,
"We will talk to that good Father Russell
when he next calls here," said Mis. Eliot.
And she did so. During the n t four weeks
we listened to lil teaching, n med all our
doubts and ditliculties, and as on by one they
dioappeared, and the cloud of prejudice was
displled Ifrom our nmids, a pace came to us
that neither hled found before. Mrs. Eliot,
after her life of varied pleasures and sorrows;
I, in my girlhood, with an untried future be
fore me--together found happiness and rest,
thus safe on the rock of the iallible Church son
of Christ. his
Since then I have been able to see why it all i
happened; why my earlv bhappiness was cloud- CDO
ed, and sorrow and separation darkeped WY
lifo. Through dtlsappointmelt and through ten
triIals God drew me to Himself, into the fulness tee
of light pud knowledge. And how changed poe
emy lift seems! So much to do for the Great vii
Muster, de~,ones to pray for, to win to the tin
truth; work all around, in my own heart, in tnt
ne home, and in the world.
.o I sit at my window this calmn May night,
as I sat a year Ago-so much the same out- 01
wardly, allso changed within. Mary is sleek. Eu
lug pieeoflly-may God bless MDary, the little sic
messenger of peace and joy to Steephilll By
and byl shall lie down by her side, and her in
soft arms will twine round my ucok, audeause ro
happy, dreams of home and my little sister. l
And soon, very soon, I shall be among them, hu
for I amt going for a visit to the west to see my
nmother and Arthur and Rose after this long
absence. Just a year! part of it so and and so i
a hopelebs, part of it so peaceful and happy; but th
Snow that it is closing-this first twelvemonth th
e of my separation from home I can say from my at
heart I am thankful, even for the sorrow, as it pi
brought me to Steephill and little Mary. ri
o0- - cc
The New York Denmocrat, referring to the laxity of 0
e tho marriage relation in the most "pious %f States." f
Isays : A State so good and pare and loyal as she has al- i
er ways been, would never have been suspected of such a 1
thing " having lfteen hundred divorce cases on the r
1 docket of the Supreme Court, and yet it has. To mc- t
cuse women san ehildren of witebery and then burn I
them at b stake. and to tear down Roman Catbolil t
Lo, baildings and lastitutions, appeared rather bad for
Maasashusettea but now that it has come to dlvorre, and
ce divorce by wholeae-who will fnd language to exprsess
1so the horror of the situarton? We want to know if Ben t
,w Butter, and Wendell Philllps. and Charles Sumner are -
not ashamed that they live l the midst of such crine I
n and demoralizatlesa Have the great moral examples o
be furnished by the lives of these three great men been so I
ed utterly lst upon Maesohusetts
ho
Of the nine Cathollo professors of the Theological
nd Faculty at Munich, four have declared in favor of the
ior unoonditloal acceptancesof the dogmatic deflnitlon con.
in earnlag the Infallbility of the Sovereign Pontaff, two
ish havegien conditional consent, and three have declared
at against the dogma. We believe the Bishop ouf be-dste
ey sae has easpended these latter, aotwithastmlen g the
the We a. of the Gevesumemt.
Eugente at Chiselhurat-Father O'Connell.
One of the New York Tworld's correspon
dents recently had an interview with Fa
ther O'Connell, the pastor of the Catholic
Church at Chiselhurst, Engijad. The Rev.
Father has just arrived in New York from
Cbhiselhurst, where he was almost daily in
compatb with the Empress Eugenie. Oaur
readers w, be pleased to learn that Eu
genie, touche, by the chivalrous respect
manifested towaN her by the Irish resi
dents of Chiselhurst,t warm in the expres
sion of her regard for Ii qupd and its brave
people. We subjoin a pohta of the re
port: '
Father Curian's pretty little' hllo
Church of St. Andrew, near the Ci- all
park, is locally well known, but on
New York throughout the two hemisphere
it is probably the best known of all the
Roian Catholic churches of the city, for
from whatever part of the globe the pil
grime ecclesiastic of that faith comes to
New York, it is there that he. almost cer
tainly says his private mass or preaches his
first sermon to si American audience. Its
rectory may be described as the temporary
headquarters of the numerous Roman ec
clesiastics who annually pass through this
city on their way to missions in all parts of
the globe. "To the ends of the earth its
fame hath gone forth." As a consequence,
the Sunday sermon is preached frequently
by some distinguished Catholic clergyman
from distant regions. Last Sunday the
preacher of the day in this church taught
from the portion of the gospel read durinn
skill, and with an earnestness which aM
not failtt to add to his argument In pro
ducing conviction on his hearers. It was
within his power to allude t* matters
which had come within his knowledge dui
ring the past few months which would have
been the most convincing evidence of the
vanity of hiuman joys and the poignancy of
human trials, but he closed his sermor
without touching on them; and after Fa
ther McCready had concluded the mass, the
congregation departed without any suspi
cion that the last time the preacher had ad
dressed a Catholic-audience an exiled Em
press was among his hearers. The preach
er was the incumbent of the Catholic par
ishl of Chlselhurest in iient-Wnu e.v. ru
J. O'Connell, now on a visit in the United l
States. A World writer, who has seen him kel
on a former occasion, believed that the
pastor of Chiselhurst and the preacher of lrkl
tie day in St. Andrew's were the same per- Fr
son, and, on making inquiry, found that
his surmise was correct. Indeed, there an
could not be a doubt of it for, once known, coe
Dr. O'Connell's face could never be forgot- shi
ten. The writer sought, throngh the cour- Ce
tesy of the pastor of St. Andrew's, an op- loi
portunity of renewing his acquaintance Irn
with him. After some remarks on old- ex
time topics, the conversation naturally es
turned to Chiselhurst and its imperial visi- in
tors. So full of interest were Father in
O'Connell's recollections of the dethroned wm
Empress that the writer requested permis
sion to make public some of them. en
,Twelve miles from the busiest metropolis m
in the universe, on the Southeastern Rail
road, is the pretty inland village of Chisel
hurst. Its beauty of hill and dale is probably F
unrivalled in England.
In an English parish where there are so Ia
many rich residents it is safe to suppose E
that there could not be many Roman Ca- ti
tholics, and the Catholics of Chiselhurst si
are, compared with those of a New York
parish, very few, being chiefly the very "
rich and the very poor. The rich are the v
converts who in England are daily "going r
r over" to Rome, and a few of the very old I
families who are Catholic since before the r
Reformation, and the poor are some 500 c
i Irish residents of the villages on the little
e river Cray. All the region was once Ca- ]
tholic, aodthe Catholic names of the vil
a lages are still unchanged. There are still I
o the St. Mary's Cray and St. Paul's Cray.
r The village church owesitsexistenceto the
a charity of a gentleman once Protestant.
r His wife had become aCatholic, and gradu
a ally led over him and all his family except
S-one son. 'This son, an officer in the Guards,
e laughed at what he called the superstition
'a of his parents, and during long years railed
as at Bomne and Romanism. Three months
since, he, a convert to this superstition,
like Ignatius of Loyola, laid down his
el sword, and in the order of which Father
be Newman was so great a light was ordained
o. a Catholic priest, a member of the "Oratory
r of St. Philip Nor."
ad Such is religionas We in England-the
o raling Guardsman bdhomes a devout Ora
Storitn. One of the first duties of Mr. Boden
on becoming a Catholie was to crown one of
the heights of Chiselharst with a neat Ca
tholic Church in the Gothic style. Its
situation is most charmnig./ It looks down
a beautiful wooded valley, whose glades
are dotted with villas. It was dedTeated
" under the' invocation of Our Lady." It
is a modest church, not -very rich, but in
spiring devotion in all who visit it and the
five or six hundred Catholics of Chiselhuat
love it as much as if it were a Notre Dame
des Victoires. It is here the Empress Eu
genie and her suite weekly satisfy the ob
ligations of their faith.
"I presne, Father O'Connell," said the
writer, "yu have frequently met the Em
press and the Prince Imperial since their
arrival in Chiselhuret "
"Yes, frequently, and it was often my
duty to pay my respects to her, and when
she was at home she visited our little
church every Sunday and holiday."
" How did the people receive her 1"
" Always with the most profound and
"erential sympathy ; all classes, Protest
ent .d Catholic alike, united in their si
that he ression of respect; and I know
esty was much touched by the
and the Iri n to her. The sturdy yeomen
Iaes would habitants of the Cray vil
very slight d r native royalty with.
always saluted te on indeed, but they
awt ra exiles. In onu
little church-I har Makno es no
fashion spraung up-they yn rose when
she entered." rose wn
" It would be naturalto sup that her
own sufferings had so preoeupi er
she forgot the cares of others '  that
" Oh. not at all; that is not the cha
of the Empress; there are few women
considerate as she, and still fewer as kind
i hearted and , i_ L IA ,.
constantly reminders of her interest -o
them. No, sir; the Empress Eugenia in
her own sufferings did not forget the
troubles 'of others. She got up a school
festival, and she proposed to attend it, but
the weather was too inclement when it
came off. I could multiply instances which
would display the remarkable thoughtful
ness and consideration of the Empress.
There are no traits of her character so
strong as her unselfishness and her con
siderate devotion to others."
"I suppose the Irish of Chiselhurst shared
some of this interest."
" They did, indeed. More than once she
remarked to me how cleanly and neat they
all were, and how tastefully many of them
kept their homes."
"Was she aware of the sympathy of the
Irish at' home and in this country for
Francel"
"She was. She spoke of it frequently,
and once, in reply to a remark I made coa
corning the devotion of the Irish to France.
he replied, quite emphatically, 'Ab, I. le
uare, if Ireland loves poor France, she
eves it not more dearly than France loves
reland.' I knew of an invitation being
xtended to her to visit Ireland, and I as
ured her of the warmth of the receptionr
I store for her. She smiled, and, speak
ng of 'dear Ireland,' she said she feared it
would be too enthusiastic."
"Probably she feels that it would niot bt
intirely satisfactory to the English govern
nent."
"Probably so."
"Did she feel that England had stood by
France as she ought have done 1"
"I suspect it was her opinion- that Eng
land did not, and that site believed that
England would one day find to her cost
that she could not with impunity desert
sueach an ally as France has been for years."
"I once," continued Father O'Connell.
"expressed a hope to her that after peace
was arranged the powers would unite and
repair the desecration to the Holy City.
b'.t she sadly smiled and said, alas, all Eu
rope, is asleep; its awakening will be, in
deed, bitter.' "
"She was devoted to the cause of the Holy
Father, I suppose T"
"Sue spoke of him in the most touching
and affectionate terms, and deeply sympa
thized in his sufferings. She thought that
the policy of the English Catholics in try
ing to induce him to leave Rome was not
the wisest, and that he should remain in
the Eternal City at all hazards."
IJEFW Tr Axo 5r rnurcM a NZGLAD.--The Ree.
Mr. Spurgeon, the great Baptist preseaer of England.
in a recent sermon at his tabernacle. is reported a"
using some strong asguage, such as the following :
" Through sad thrmagh I believe te very heart of Eng
land is boney-combed with a damnable lfdelitty whioh
dare still to go into the pIlpit and call itselt Cbhr
SAt the eeoosrstion of the Jewish Synagsgue in t;.
Iambus. Obehio. reely, the pulpit wsee oepied not
merely by rabble, but also by six mniasters, four of thec
Mebodiaee, sme a Psbytsitese. sad the sixth a Cong
f Csetss

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