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