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The morning star and Catholic messenger. (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, March 05, 1871, Morning, Image 1

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn86086284/1871-03-05/ed-1/seq-1/

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KWonrog Cathollol.. 'd .
. Ta .Mevorn )e sm, I
4.J.with the
aRw of Te Comptny Bret ° supPenn"
most Bev. oP1N. J. a , of t * n
oiqey . oaTroN, Va rtoetic Va u c 61
Rev. J.ns
ruw~ ff -S ý~wAII
Re. v. ." " zm,, e ......
Yr. J Gunors, ~yIW puv 1 Wse eeusIpau
Yr. JO !»T Treesuer. takiof os~an mmdtet0Chul
It Mr. Ts ý: R+eeoretary. t J. Y.Auafrwuo~e
* Oseat *. " HOW BEAUTIFUL ARE THE FEET OF TFýH T BRING GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGS!"
4 u w NSW 0LEANS, SUNDY G. MARCH 5, 1871..
..-- . . . . 1 the arounn.Il her to send me word. I There was that fat woman In thae  y ble Blk, Wa - .t t _
S Uli . IV.
Me g Star aud Catholic Messenger. .,
O Rl a , SU. DAT. MACH _ . 1871, . ras
MEMENTO MOI. -
an nm . muMr
Remember, man, thut thon att dust!
To indred earth return thou musat the
lay down thy head beneat the sell, my
In spite of tears, andprayes, and toil;
Told uhl lands pon thy breast die
na- tsa feet In lontla rest, Ma
Thy last look take on all that's fair, kin
And elose thine eyes in darkness theree! a
Iren youth and beauty, joy and pride. got
Are not exempt. They, too, have died,
And shall again. The doom is one, pr
And throughall ge still shall ran ! s
Ail-alt-sust bow to this decree
The yongs. the aid, the bond, the free, qul
The gifted, proud and lofty spiriat. bs
The poor, who hbaen ly graceninherit;
The fra a muset sleep beneath the sod
The oael may claim a home with God!
Remember, man, in guilt still dwelling,
The sentence of thy fate is knelling i
And thouen who desist unjustly here, 001
Shall find stern justice mooeeted there! o
Remember. man, in honors high
Who would'st not head the orphan's cry, isl
Nor stoop to soothe the widow's pain,
aps5 her las mght peeve thy gain- a
The hour is near when Death shall bow "e
Thy beed aslor a hrt's is now I or
Remember, man, who pawn'st thy soul
For burning draughts of Pleasure's bowl, `1
Whose heart is set on sinful toys. l4
Whose hands lay hold on shameful joys- an
'When heart and hand shall turn to du-t,
What then, oh ! man, shall be thy trust!
Remember, maid, with flashing eye * tb
And glowing cheek, and head so high,
And scornful words for virtuous worth, th
And flatterlng smiles for wealth and birth,
e The time will come when all shall stand in
Uncrowned, within that heavenly land, a
Whoe King His "great reward" shall give
To those who for His glory live,
Who in each brother's features trace
Some Ikenessee to His radiant face ! t
Remember, husband, child and wife, lc
But brief may be your dreams of life! t
Oh I then lay hold *n treasures sure,
On atlions high, on motives pure.
On generous impulse, loving words, r1
That heear the heart like songs of birds, ci
On kindly alms in mercy given
The golden key that openeth Heaven.
Remember all! The deom is spoken
Of this poor leash with anguish broken-
Alone it shall raturn to dast!
Bat for the soul-oh! blessed trust-
There is no exile 'neath the sod- t
It springs at once to meet its God! tl
New Orieans, Ask Wednessay.
[For the Morning Star and CatholieMessenger.] b
MARDI GRAS;
A Tale of Ante Bellum Times.
Br TIM. LIRn WAATER.
IContinued.
ChArrER II.
Two yeare passed by, and Percy MaoVain i
thought that he might now venture to visit
ara Murrey, and see the child through I
whom he had gratified his spirit of revenge. I
As the summer came nearer be grew more im- r
patient to make the proposed visit, which he
had not made when on hiis last summer trip,
for fear that something might lead to his de- s
tection. The cotton season was now nearly c
over and he resolved to olose up his accounts, a
so that his clerks could, as usual, attend to a
such business as required attention in the s
summer season. He had been moody and dull I
of late, many invitations, to social gatherings
had been neglected, the dity had become irk
some to him and he hoped that the excitement t
of a fashionable tour would restore his former
self-poasesion and good spirits. As he walk- i
ed along the street, a determination to throw
off the gloom that op ressed him strengthened
his mind, and he resolved to nidake a social vis
it. He had received manýnydtatione to the
Mardi Gras entertainments this season, all of
which had been allowed to remain unanswered
on his table. The most brilliant of these had
been given by Mrs. Robert McDonald, and, al
though it was now long past Easter, he turned
his steps towards the ine mansion of Mr. Me
Donald, to tender his excuses for past unsocis
bility. He was ushered into the spacious and
elegantly furnished parlor, where the lady of
the house soon joined him. He had known
her in the old country, where she had been a
sohool-mat6 and "companion of Mrs. Macourty.
She was a small lady, mild and pleasant, with
a kind heart that won her friends, and made
her welcome in every circle. Her health was
good, but she looked delicate, and this had
given hbr friends the idea that she was not
well, and extra care must always be shown for
her, lest something should happen. This
caused herself and her husband to spend mnch
of their time in taveling.
"I thoqght you hab taken orders and retired
from the world," Said Mrs. McDonald, as he
finished rehearsing the cnal exouses for not a
calling before. ,
"Not yet, Mrs. McDonald," he replied.
"I knew that if you were in love, it must y
have been with some of our Protestant belles !"
continued the lady.
"And why did you think that " he asked.
"Because I never see you in church," replied 1
Mrs. McDonald. "It must be nearly three f
years since yon were at St. Patrick's."
"Not quite so long,'" he replied, annoyed at c
the mention of church, "Yet I am prond that
my absence has been noticed" II
"Yes. I have heard some of our young la
dies," she said, "wondering where Mr. Percy
MacValn kept himself."
"My thanks are due to the ladies for their
kind interest in my welfare," he replied, "and I
as an evidence of my appreciation of their
good will, I shall be more social in future. 1
"Now that is well said, and as a further 4
proof of your desire to please, you should give I
us a wedding."
"But where shall I find a partner " he in
quired.
"Why, there is Miss Lucy Morton, how would 1
she dot'
"A beautiful lady, tall and commanding in 1
appearance," was the ironioal reply.
"Educated as refined, continued the lady.
"Just from the Louisville refinery," said he.
"Rich, anad of good, family," Mrs. MoDonald
continuned. "Plenty of money, and of illustri
ous ancestry," he sarcastically relied, "her fa
ther was a shoejmaker anr her--
S"Why Mw MacVain exclaimed the aston
ished lady.
"Isit not so.?" be replied, and then to give
sa les i remarks he said,
"Am ki.ow, Mrs. Me
Donald, oat 9f.11 s-a shoemaker's bench
or a tinke' fetases, with a bow of wooden
' I s a republican country," replied the
lady with dignity, "and we have no such proud
and umjust distinctions here."
"No f Well my observations of American so
ciety had led me to believe they were very
fon of aristocratic titles and exclusive in
their 'sets 1"
"I have seen pothing of that kind I" replied
the lady.
"Ah! but you are here, located like a star
in your particular circle of society, and you
see very little beyond it, bhut I move through
all classes, and there is no country where ti
tles are more cherished than in this, whether
it is General, Colonel, Major, Governor or
Judge, the title is pertinaciously, claimed, and
the general tendency amongst the people, is to
look down upon their fellows and exclaim, 'I
thank thee Oh ! Lord that I am not as other
men 1"'
"Really, Mr. MacVain, your long seclusion
must have roused your judgment," the lady
replied, "you owe it to yourself to be more so
cial in future, and shake off this unnatural bit
terness."
"I meant no offense," said he, "and as yen
are, like myself, from fair and beautiful An
trim, I did not expect yon to champion the
Amerioan nation."
. "I have spent many pleasant years here, "
replied Mrs. McDonald, "and have met many
true friends, therefore, I do not like to hear
them unjustly spoken ofL
"Prosperity Ways has friends, Mrs. McDon
ald," he rep dreopping once more into the
old oand r tonae that had of late suited n
his frame of ; "money makes respectabil
ity here, and without it, the descendant of any t1
of the heroes of the old revolution, is a nobody. h
while the cobbler, orpork-packer of yesterday, b
if he makes money, comes into the first socl&ty, 0
no matter how rough and uncouth his manner, u
or how ignorant and illiterate his mind."
"That the poorest citizen may by energy and t
talent rise to the noblest positions," replied r
the lady, "is only an evidence of the superior- t
ity of a true republican government."
"Although I cannot endorse your opinions,
it would be ungallant in me to try to contro- I
vert them", he replied, "aud I suppose the t
memory of a brilliant season, lends a charm to
your views of society here."
"We have had a season of mingled pleasure I
and sorrow," said Mrs. McDonald, "the death I
of Mr. Cummings, folloed as it was in so e
short a time by that of his wife, was a very
sad event, both of them snch excellent people, I
such good and kind friends to all around
them."
"Mr. Cummings was a gentleman of the old 1
school, hil mmded, refined, and the very 1
sonul of honor," said MaoVain, "and his wife,
an exemplory woman. What became of their
son t"
"He will return with Mr. Cnmming's brother,
who has come on from Brooklyn to attend to
the settlement of the estate."
"Poor Commings, he was unfortunate, one
f lose after another, until at last I suppose there
I is little left."
I "Mr. McDonald says there will be nothing
- after the debts and expenses are paid," replied
I the lady. 'Mrs. Macourty wanted Philip to
stay with her, she feels so attached to him for
the interest he took in the search for her
I child."
g "Yee, Ihaveheard-it's very natural," replied
a MacVain, disconcerted at the mention of the
a injured lady's name.
SPoor Mrs. Macourty," continued Mrs. Me
[ Donald wjthopt noticing his manner, "abe has
e never be6 the same since the little darling
a was stolen. She will not believe the child is
SI dead, but mourns for her all the time-pale,
,t thin and nervous, oh ! she has changed so
ir much."
.s "I no doubt of it," he replied, still on
h easy on the subject, "but she must feel better
since they have another eaild to occupy her
d mind."
e "Yes, I know she does," saidMrs. McDonald,
and a beautiful girl, too, bot then it 1oom like d
Cecelia and that constantly reminds her of the I
lost one. If the child had died, you know-bat |
you are not going " I1
"I think I have made quite a visit," he re- p
plied, preparing to leave, for the conversation f
had turned on a subject that he could no; fol- v
low with composure. "I am going north in a
fews days," he continued, "and hope that I p
may have the pleasure of meeting you aspome e
of the fashionable resorts during the season." d
"We shall spend the summer at Biloxi,* re
plied Mrs. McDonald ; "we have a place there,
you know, and I much prefer it to the fatigue
of traveling and the annoyance of changing c
from hotel to hotel on a long -tour."
SAfter a few more casual remarks, and an a
i exchange of friendly adieuns, MacVain depart- I
ed. As he walked along the street, his I
thoughts turned towards the home of MrsMa
courty. They had always been friendly with t
him, and although his offer of marriage had f
been rejected by the lady, she had treated him I
since as an old friend, while her husbat had t
welcomed him when he visited their house in I
1 the most cordial manner. As he reviewed the I
many happy hours he had passed with them, I
both before and since their marriage, he felt 
assured that he alone had treasured enmity a
and unkind feelings. He was a bold spirited
man, quick to anger, and deep in revenge, but
t when that feeling had been satisfied, his bet
ter nature returned, and he had often heaped
benefits on those whom he had before eonsid
ered enemies, as if he would cover up his evil
acts.with a load of kindness With an im
mense fortune at his command, be was careless
e of money, and when applied to for aty
I'gae with libersiut¶ _ad
-- Prpad'sa& aristocrat a be
h as a leading man by those of his ow le i
n society, and by those in the haumble walks of
life, he was treated with defference and re
e spect, which he received with the ease and
d grace of one entitled to it by right of rank and
education. The burning desire for revenge
- against Mrs. Macourty, which he had carried
y in his heart for years, and which he had satis
n fed by kidnapping her little daughter, had
long been on the wane ; the act which had ful
d filled the wish, had weakened the strength of
the feeling and he had begun to wish that he
ir could do the injured lady some act of
a kindness to make amends for his cruelty. He
was now fully resolved to visit Sarah Mur
1- ray without delay to see the child, and several
or times the thought passed through his mind
or that in the fall he would have her returned to
id her parents. As he formned these plans and
to turned them over in his mind, he came to the
'I corner of Canal and Chartres streets, where a
or lady and gentleman were standing looking it)
the window. As he was passing, the lady look
in ed up, and he recognized Mrs. Macourty. Rais
ly ing his hat, with a hasty "good evenimg,n he
o- hurried on. All that Mrs. McDonald had told
.t- him of the failing health of Mrs. Macourty
was more than true, her pale face overshadow
in ed by a look' of deep grief, through which
n- there was no ray of hope, sent a thrill through
he his heart that wasakin to fear.
When he entered his room, the gas was
" b ing, the furniture was arranged with care;
y but pdiffeeat to all this, he drew an easy
ar chailbefore the fireplace, although the weath
er w·s warm and there was no need of a fire,
u- see himself, and gave way to the visions
be thst the incidents of the day created in his
ed mind.
11- "I was a fool and a villian," thus ran his
... - a . _.... w.- . _.._. s .. T Ir 'h h ad
"I was a fool and a villian," thanus ran nis a
thoughts, "to commit such an act. If I bad o
killed the child it would not have been so a
bad, but this endless torture that I know Ce- ii
celia feels and which I begin to seare, is too h
much. If she should diet My God! and I her fi
murderer, bloodless, yet bloody ! A curse on F
this brooding mind, that, once injured never C
rests until some mean damning act of retalia- I
tion overpays the debt! What was it to me,
who Cecelia selected, since she rejected me t
Am I a man, and yet follow like a snake for b
revenge on an offense that I would be ashamed E
to acknowledge had even ruffled my temper ? a
What a foul blot it. would be on my name if I
once it was known-Percy MacVain a kidnap- s
per ! Oh! fool that I was-but'I will set it all
right, the child shall he returned, and they a
shall have proof of her identity, even if I my- a
self, museet face them with a fall statement of I
the facts."
He remained thus musing for a long time, I
formed plans for bringing the kidnapped child I
back to her parents, dwelt long on the joy I
this would bring to her mother's heart, and 1
enjoyed for a time a relief from the care that 1
had °ppressed him, by anticipation of the
pleasure that would flow from his act of resti
tution.
Going then to tie aunt window, he discover
ed a package layig on the riano, and, picking
it up, he carelessly opened it, saying to him
self: "A package from Muller-the coat-looks
well. Muller is a good tailor and an industri
ous man, deserves encouragement. Yes, that's
just the thing." As he spoke the paper fell
upon the floor, and he stooped to pick it up.
"A Troy paper, the Troy Budget, yes, but old."
As he was about to throw it down again, he
started as if electrified while he read:
"DIenO: On the Sd lnst., Misse arah li rey. a native
of Glenarm. County Antrim, Ireland, formerly of hew
York city, and for the gMat two years a resident of this
place."
" Dead! impossible!" exclaimed MacVain,
then, reading the notice again, he said: " Yes,
a it must be her. I knbw no other Sarah Mur
rey from our place. Dead and amoag't stran
gers, and the child-my God, what will become
of her? And my letters, if they have fallen
into some sharper's hands, what a wreck he
rmay make. Two months dead, and I not know
r It--aht well, if any one had fooncthq lettlm
they would have wrstten to me befor tbi, but
what of the child ? It Is strange Sarah
rr"·1
4 2ctell those around her' to send me word. T
H' ame she in Troy, when all her lotters w
we dated in New York, and I thought she a
ii there. This is mysterious. Can she have
pl ed me fdse, abandoned the child and used ci
fo erself the money I sent T" His anxiety to
vi the North was now greatly increased. n
Wi pg up his business as hastily as he could, ai
pa g attention only to such matters as be hn
co not leave to his clerks," he was in a few a,
da prepared to start for Troy. I
CHIAPTER IV. t
T Cummings' estate turned out badly. The n
old gentleman had been for many years a h
le g merchant dt New Orleans, and was
esc ful in amausing a very large fortune.
He as kind and generous almost to a fault; a
bein himself strictly honorable and just, he c
was nfiding in nature and judge every one
to above deception and frau. When the d
finan ial crisis of '36 and '37 came on, he was a
in th4 fall tide of prosperity, and his paper
belonked to the " gilt edged olass. To him
his fends applied for assistance when in
trouble, and he aided them without stint or
limit. To some he loaned money, and for many
others he became endorser. Then there came
a time when those who met their financial en
gagements were the erocption to the general
rle.  fastas the notes which he bad en
dorsed were presented, Mr. Cummings paid I
them, sacrificing, to raise the money, his .took
in trade, real estate and everything available.
To crown his misfortunes; an intimate friend
interested in some of his business transactions
ran awry with nearly a hundred thousand dol
lare an was never heard of afterwards. Be'
fore the accumulated disasters, his immense
w wy, li rOn1 y 8l maew be.
neath t e sun of June, and so it happened
that, a r the estate was settled, nothing was
left to is son Philip,. but the worthless book
ascoan a d protested notes of his father's
once eensive business.
Philie had lived with the family of his uncle
in Brooklyn for three years, during which
time he attended school, and in the leisure
hours performed such services about the house 4
qs wero required. It very often happens that
dhildren do not apppreciate the kindness of
relatives with whomtthey areplaced, when on
fortunately bereft of parents, and so it was
with Philip. The little services that he was
capable of performing became irksome to him,
and he began to think he was looked upon as
a servant in his uncle's family. As this feeling
grew within his heart, he resolved to strike
out boldly for himself, and be informed his
uncle of this determination. Mr. William
Cummings was a clerk in a leading Now York
day goode house1 with a .moderate salary, on
which it required much management and
economy to support respectably his wife and
four children. He was a kind-hearted man,
and had done all in his power to make Philip
at home and console him for his loss. He was
much surprised at the boy's determination to
leave a comfortable honiq and reasoned with
him on the folly of his couree. These remon
strances so far prevailed with Philip that he
consented tlSrd with the family, upon con
dition that jiOncle should accept half of his
wages in t for it. For the first few
months Philip worked in a clothing store near
the Catherine Ferry, and afterwards went to
the dry goods honese of Barege, Muslin & Co.,
on Grand street. This was large establish
ment, employing forty or fifty hands and doing
San extensive retail trade. Mr. Muslin was an
old friend of Uncle William, and took Philip
o as a package and confidential errand boy, pay
ing him two and a half dollars per week, the
b. ,1Ii,. hi,.l cn.. ......i oe the aforesaid
friendship and to make a distinction between t
Philip and the other young lade in the stoke. f
One morning in early JOne, about a year after r
Philip had commenced work, he was brushing a
np the embroidery department, preparatory to a
the business of the day. Mr. Peter Droll was I
head of this part of the store, and Mr. Samuel
Sellwell, was his first assistant. Mr. Drollwas
a short, thick-set man, with black hair and a
heavy 'beard. He was about forty years of age, t
and had been in the businese nearly thirty t
years, most of the time in the lace, embroldery c
and trimming stock. He was a quiet, genteel
man, a great favorite with the ladies to whom
be was "so polite and respectful." his assist
ant was a tall. slender man, with long, ncurling
hair, a light moustache, blue eyes and a good
looking lace. He was a man of iash and gal
lantry. knew how to be attentive and polite,
but had presumption and impudence enough
to push himself forward. lie was a ready
talker, and made whatever assertions suited
his purpose, with a bold and decided manner
that prevented contradiction, if they did not
carry conviction with them.
"Hiered Phil.," said Mr. Droll, "run over
the gay and tell Iill to send me a paper of to
hacco, Anderson's Solace-and tell hinm if it is
not fresh I'll chew it up and never pay him."
"There's one of the ten dollar valencieg col
Slres gone out of this box," said Mr. Sellwell,
opening the box and counting them over.
" I sold it yesterday," said Mr. Droll.
S*'Then why didn't you mark it off?"
"You mark off your own sales, my boy, and
Syou'll do well."
"That's all very fine; Mr. Simmons," said
a Sellwell, " but if the old luan saw that, there'd
be a row."
" He be d-d. I've forgotten in a week
more about the business than he ever knew."
" Who'd you sell it to, Pete r' inquired Sell
well.
S"A little squlnt-eyed-womma in black."
a " You had a good day yesterday, didn't you,
e Pete ?"
qGood day I Of all the bean, squeezing, Jew
a o 'f id rtaes I ever saw, yesterday's turnout
i wor. They eame from Jersey and Brook
h lyn, and every one of them same right to se.
a J
.4, ,
There was that fat woman in the sky blue .il,
with her daughter in a gray poplin, did you
see them "
"Yes, what did they want t" Selirell asked
carelessly. a : _
"The old woman says, 'Have you any Ja
noet edging t' says I, ' Yesmem, a very e lot,'
and I took down the bo~ She commenced to
haul them over, prioing this squinting at that,
and criticising the othas. saw in a minutet
what sort of a person r had to deal with. She
says, 'I want it to trim a baby's dre, and I
think a ard and a quarter wll do.' 'Oh no, t
mamma,' says the young one, 'a yard and a r
half,' then they had an argument whether it a
should be a yard and a half or a quarter;
'Show me how much is a yard and a quarter,
says the old one. So I showed her a little
over a yard, making it short, so she would take D
the half. Then she talked about pices, won
dered, oh'd! and ah'd! and fnally took ayard
and a half at eighty omts."
"What wuas it mars, Pete o
* " Sixty ents !"
(To be semnaust.)
DEPARTURE OP U PAGAb O'LE$AR."- -
Among the passengers by theCunard Royal
mail steamer Algeria, which left Queens
town on Sunday for New York, was Mr. j
Patrick O'Leary, who had been but a few
days released from nWoling Prison, where I
he had comntleted the term of seven years,
to which he was sentenced for useocing
soldiers from theft allegiance. This simple
announcement is the seq0el to a remark
able a career as eveg ame under owr obser
ration-M Mavdfq ruiewl iMbg e c
that in the winter'of 1lB4 thir was ar
rested at Athlone, a man who gave his
name as John Murphy, and who was
charged with inducing soldiers to become
Fenians. He was tried in 1865, and sen
tenced to seven years' imprisonment. At
the time of his sentence the prisoner re
quested the judge to sentence him to death
rather than to slavery. The judge replied
that atione time the law would have per- 1
mitted him to comply with the prisoner's .
request, but it had been since changed.
Although this, in itself, was a remarkable I
incident, the prisoner and his request were
forgotten until the State trials of a few
months later brought him into notoriety.
The informers then made frequent allusion
to one "Pagan O'Leary," and it was die
covered that the bearer of this strange title
And John Murphy arrested in Athlone were
one and the same person. The prisoner
bore still another name-and it is under
that, his real name-that we have in
troduced lhim as a voyager across the At
lantic. He was born in Macroom, and
having served his apprenticelhip at cabi
net-making, emigrated to America. For
thirty years he was a traveler in many
lands--in all of North America, in every
country in South America, in Australia,
New Zealand and Van Diemen's Land. In
the war between the United States and
. Mexico, he served in the division of Gen.
Shields, and received two wounds, one from
a bullet and the other from a sabre, but
a both in the head. One hle sustained at the
storming of San Jose. He was one of the
committee that accompanied the remains
of Terence Bellow McManus to this coun
try in 1862, and it is understood that he re
mained in Ireland until the time of his ar
r rest. Having served the fall period of his
sentence, his departure for America was a,
altogether of his own choice. Notwith- t
standing the rigors of prison life, he ap- pi
peared in very vigorous health, and his of
spirit was anything but broken. He spent "b
three weeks altogether in this country and fr
took shipping from Queenstown. For his a
outfit, which was suited to the season-al- ti
I,though from his life-long wandering he is g
well calculated to bear the most opposite p
climates with equal ease-and for his cabin
passage, he is not indebted to the Govern- d
ment. Whether it is owing to the truth of C
the observation that like results spring d
t from veryopposite '~e, it is at all events t
y certain that the departedtiooner, Ialthough E
familiarly styled "The Pagan," passesses i
r many attributes highly praised by every .
t Christian. For instance, he is temperate c
to a fault, and bears an almost unparalleled <
1 eeput atpn for rigid adherence to principle,
Sand abe all to truthiulness. He is also
singularly well acquainted with the Scrip
1- tures, and few laymen can equal him in I
1, the accuracy of reference in the matter of [
chapter and verse. He is fifty-seven years |
of age, and quite venerable in his appear- I
ance.-Cork Herald, Feb. 4.
id A man who was brought up at one of the
London police offices for assaulting and
ik nearly killing a woman, excused himself
by saying that he thought it was his wife.
A negro, who sued a Chicago saloon
, keeper for $2500 damages, jor putting him
w- out of his saloon after his refusal to comply
with a request to leave, has been awarded
is. one cent.
As many Protestanats,.qU DoU. ger u
opposed to the Pope'6 4mpor1.Pswqr, it
maybe well tocitte a t w. onhi:s epe -
sionsain rejardd to i;
He delivered two leetures in Munich on
the 8th and 6th of April, 1861, wich are
supposed to contain his most "-iberal"
views on this uestion. Yet$in toe first of
these he pe as followr: "Of the good
right of the Pope which rests upon the
strongest and most legitimate titles of aso-,
quistion and possession, acknowledg,
mankind, there es be o.doubt.
can exist of the aithless *llsm..
and the revoltipg lejou . opt te , polioy
pursued towards t Sw." In the
same letat~~~e, moting Beltarmine'i remark
that is the earlier ages the Chfteo did not
need prineely authority for the sapport of
her majesty now it seems to be asrieeslt,
Dollinger adds, "The eesiy ditpntab5
exists in our time as strongly as--ever.
Again, towards the end of ths first lecture, .
lie says : "The Pope cannot become a sb
eet ; he cannot belog eclolslsiveagl' one i
ingdo m; he must exercise his hfj l oae"'
freely and independently, as the common
father of all." "
In the second lecture he says: "The
Pope is bound by the most sacred pledges,
to surrender nothign of that which has been
entrusted to his keeping; lie must contin
ually protest agtint tihe spqlidtlit0, of
territory."
I Not to spread quotations too numh,, we
iShall merely add one or two frotp his
"Church and Churches," a work written -
after.the two lectures, and" intended-to ex
plain portions of them. In this work, page
3 of the English translation oi 1882, pub
lished by Hurst and Blackett, of London,
Dollinger writes: "The Church can exist
by and for herself, and did exist for seven
centur es ithout the territorial possessions
of the Po es; buat at a later period this
property, through the condition of the
world, became neesEeJry." " * "As long
as the present state and arrangement of
Europe endures, we can discoverno other
means to secure to the PapalShe its free
dom, and through it general confidence."
Again, page 10: "What we want, before
all.thinge, is the truth, the whole truth, not
merely the acknowledgment that the Tem
poral Power is required by the Ohbreh, for
that is obvious to everybody, at knet out of
Italy."
Again, page 430, Dollinger writes of. the
Sardinian Government: "It unites the
r shameless tyranny of a convention, andthe
impudent sophistry of a government of ad
vocates, with the ruthleiss brutality of a
, military despotism. Far more secure could
I Plus feel upon the Turkish soilnad in his
I dealings with the Sultan, than in the neigh-,
borhood of the Piedmontesebeast of prey,
0 or in the power of a Rioasdli, or a Ratazsi,
.t or above all, of those 4awJers and Hteratr,.
e those land plagues that, with trumpery,
e pompons rhetoric, and hollow-sounding
s phrases, are now, and mayhap for some lit-
- tie time longer may be, permitted to survive
u- pon the surface of society."
Again, page 447: "The greatest men
is among the Italians in modern times, have
amongst toe iAaKllan in moueru susp, uarw -
avowed that a monarchical unity was an
tagonistic both to the eharaeter` and the
past history of the population, and did vi
olence to the Italian municipal spirit. Bal
"bo, obeir, Boesmis. Galeotti, were all in.
favor of a confederation as being most in
accordance with the Italian trdition and
the popular sentiment, and therefore re
garded a united Italan Kingdom as an im
possibility."
This is what Dollinger tlinkq of the Sar
dinian Government, (Idem p.149): "Is a
Government that prides itself on itsqern
dy, and respects neither the rights of na
tions, nor the faith of treaties, nor the le
gitimate possession of property; that has
no regard but for brute force and the power
of the stronger, and -the authority of ac
complished facts; is a goverr ment that in
one of its decrees declared the memory of
a murderer to be holy and sanctillied; is a
government that is restrained neither by
the bond of law, morality, nor religion, to
be the government that is to secure to the
f Church its freedom, and to the Pope his in
I violability and independence1" Again, I'
450: "That the Papal See could be, in a
kingdom like the  ed fso eee, really free, i
an absolute impoSMbi/i.ty"
These assags will shee to show hoy
false is the assertion of Bev. Dr. Thomp
son at the "Italian Unity " meeting, that
' "Gioberti Boemsii, and boUisge', eminent
and saintly Boma Catholic clergymen," were
opposed to the temporal power of the
Pope.--N. Y. Tablet.
A pious lyceum lecture. committee in In.
/ diani has its ticket printed, " Blessed are
I the pare in heart fbr they shall see God.
Admit oae."

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