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The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, April 16, 1871, Morning, Image 1

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VOLU IV. NhW ORLEANS, SUNDAY MORNING, APRIL 16, 1871, NUM
wi
Morning Star and Catholic Messenger. ,,
52W ORLI AWS, .UYDAT. APRIL 16. 1871.
For the Morning staraud atbeiioo P
MARDI GRAS;
A Tale of Ante Bellum T tb
BY Ta. LZNKINwATZB. be
iContinnedi sh
CUAPTER XI. ti
The sun rose clear and bright gilding the an
nrch spires and house tops with a ood of of
ghtc)eering wherever it penetrated, and dis- de
elling all thoughts of the storm that had th
e so imminent the night before.. It was eI
calm winter's morning, and, although the pl
d were leafless, and the grees was withered
d brown, the warm rays of the san made a as
leasant mellow light, making it seem like a in
y in that loveliest of seasons, Indian sum- a
er. The busy hum of the .eturning current to
of merchants, clerks, needle women and labor
as they came from their homes across the fo
wo rivers, or from the upper part of the is- se
d, soon grew strong, and the preparations to
or the days business were noticeable on every- In
here. The boys at Barege, Muslin & Co's., at
ere sweeping out and dusting, the porters m
do great piles of calicoes and domestics a
d hung out attractive shawls at the doors, hi
e clerks who came early were arranging and w
rting up their stocks and everybody about is
e store was busy. ti
" We'll have a fine day after all," said Mr. tt
Droll, who was marking a lot of handker- ti
chiefs that had just come in. ca
"Yes, we are likely to do a good trade," re- of
plied Sam, with a look at the agreeable warmth
outside, "and the more the merrier." for I just vi
want a roaring trade to keep me alive to-day." ii
"Youtre 'owly,' to-day, heyf" said Peter, rc
"were you at a aire or frolic last night " ft
"A little of both, especially the fire busi- as
nees," replied Sam. "Eh! gad, yon ought to to
have been there, you never would have wished w
to see another fire." o
" What was it, Sam."
" A tenement house, chock full of people, fc
not more than a dozen of whom were saved," s1
Sreplied Sam. "Such a eight! My God! to hear b
the poor people shrieking for help! Well, all a
I've got to say-good morning madam, mourn- It
ing collars f Yes, madam, a fine lot." 1I
At this moment Philip came in, and being ti
Slate, was met at the door by Mr. Crape, who a
angrily nquired where he had been ; but k
Philip seeing Mr. Muslin near the lace stock, a
S-pped.over to him and made his explanation. is
, was up nearly all night," he said, :'with a ti
friend who has been very ill for a long time, 1
and died this morning." tl
"Indeed, Philip," replied Mr. Muslin, "I am c
sorry to hear it. Any of your uncle's family" p
"No, sir," said Philip, "an old lady who e
lived near nus, and as they have no one to as
sist, I should like to be absent until to-morrow n
afternoon."
" Very well, Philip," replied Mr. Muslin.
"What is the news ?" asked Mr. Droll, as be I
came forward.
". She is dead," replied Philip.
"Poor old lady, I am very sorry," said Mr. I
i Droll. "How is ary 1
"8he is very quiet, but seems to feel her loss d
'"" very much."
f+ " Yes. yes, poor girl," replied Peter, "it's a a
terrible loss to her."
"I am going to see about the funeral," said e
Philip, "and 'il sit up there to-night."
"I'll come over," repliedPeter; "I will be
with you about nine o'clock and keep yo tuou-,
pany in your watch."
Mrs. Collins had been failing very rapidly,
and the physieian who had been waiting on I
- her, had long known that he could do nothing
more than give her temporary relief from i
pain, and make her death more tranquil and i
easy. When Philip called the previous even
ing, Mary said that hermother was much worse,
and when be went into the room he was sur
prised at the change which had taken place
since the morning. He insisted upon remain
ing during the night so that he might help
SMary in the trying time that he knew was now
close at hand. Mrs. Collins looked up, when
he spoke, and recognized him with a smile
and a kind salutation, after which all were
quiet again. She was quite free from pain and
breathed softly and freely, except a slight rat
tle now and then, which seemed to annoy her
more by its strangeness,than by any pain it
gave. About midnight the death look became
more distjnct, lIcleyds wandered uneasily
about the room, and Mary, thinking that she
wanted a drink, gently raised her up and of
fered her some, but she still continued to look
anxious.
" What will you have, dear ?" asked-Mary.
"I am-going now-Mary-I know-I can
not live--"
"Oh! no, no, no, dear, do not think of that,"
said Mary.
"Yes, ~ ary-I must-I cannot put it off"
and she looked at Philip.
"What is it, mother dear?" said Mary ten
dery.
.'Io- am not-" again she passed and
S looed anxiously at Philip.
"Will you have the priest, mother dear?"
asked Mary.
"Yes-yes--quick Mary-quick."
Mary requested Philip to go to the Cathedral
for one of the Fathers, which he did at once.
During his absence Mrs. Collins talked to Mary
a much as her strength would it, ad
vised her abont her future life, and unburden
ed to her the few thoughts that had laid buried
in her mind for years, and gave her an outline
of the history of the family, many of the facts
and incidents of which were new to Mary.
When Philip returned with the priest, she in
was quite calm ag1al and received the Father ni
with evident satfestion; ca
After this she fell into a gentle sleep, so
peaceful and calm that the watchers. were al
most peresuaded that she was getting better wl
and would soon be out again. ti
About four o'clockshe awoke; and requested at
that shy-might be allowed to sit up in bed. fr
Mary rased her with tender care and held her ap
head in her arms, while Philip arranged' the ea
pillows so that they would asppprt her when If
she was laid back again. WhIe in this i
tion, she looked lovingly into Mar' faace, as
smiling upon her, and sayng with the depth in
of true heart-feeling, "God bles y, Mary,
dear," she quietly passed away* her faeu brs ax
the peaceful repose of an Intint's in deep' to
sleep, and Mary laid her back upon the snowy at
pillows-dead. at
The peighbore eame in early in the morning
and kindly assisted in the aragements, lay- a
ing her out in the parlor of`thelittle house,
and preparig Mary for the funeral, which was Ci
to tame plac  nest day. bi
When Mr.Droll came over in the esening he as
found all these preparations copoladed, and si
several of the neighbors who hadbome in, some fa
to stay all night, and others to spend the even- h
ing. The furniture was arranged with care, t
and the few ornaments of the room were re- hi
moved or covered up. The remains, dressed in b
a black silk dress, were exposed on a large ta- it
ble covered with drapery of white,over which at
I were strewn flowers and evergreens, arranged tb
t in wreathes, boqueta ant festoons. Around a
the corpse wax candles were burning, and at k
the head a large rucifix was pleced. Many of 0
the callers noon entering made the sign of the g
cross, and kneeling, said a prayer for the rest y
of the soul of the deceased. i
For an hour or two after Mr. Droll arrived, h
I visitors wur comla 4ging, each one say
ing some kind d or o g some consoling
refleetion to Mary, who sat by one of the little ii
front windows, her heart-too fhll of grief and a
sadness, for relief through the medium of it
a tears. She felt that now she was alone in the w
I world, there was no. relative to whom she Is
could go, no friend upon whom sh-could rely, y
or from whom she had a right to expect com
fort or assistance. Alone in the world I The
' strong man loses mother, father or wife, and I,
r he feels alone in the world. The woman, with a
1 a mind fully formed, trained and educated, S
loses these dear friends upon whom she has a
leaned for support and kindness and she feels d
g that she is now alone in the world I And these ti
o are terrible. But Mary was a mere child, lh
t kindly and tenderly cared for, raised to love e
and cherish home and home influences, taught J
i. in the paths of virtue and goodness, her mind d
trained to adore and venerate the Church, a
,, Her Redeemer, and God. .How unprepared for d
the battle of life was that innocent, confiding t
a child I The change from this home, humble and a
plain as it was, to the rough, designing, wick- 5
o ed world, would begreat-very great.
,- As the night wore on, the watehers became t
r more sociable and passed away the time in a
conversation.
"The old lady looks very natural," said Mrs. I
.e Boddice, a broad shouldered,goodnatured lady, e
who kept a small variety store over the way. o
"As true as life," replied Miss Catherine, an I
r. Irish servant girl, who had known Mrs. Col- t
lin's folks In the "ouldeountry," "nice well-to- a
sa do people they were too," she often said.
"She was an exellent lady," said Mr. Droll,
a as he took a seat near them. a
" Ye might well say that, aur," replied Cath- I
d erine, "she was a well eggioated woman, as a
was her mother before her."
S "You knew her at homer' inquired Peter. a
a- "I didn't know herself much," repliedCathe
rine, "she was older thfi me. I remember well I
y, when she was married to Mr. Collins, and a s
in few days after left to come to this country. I
ig was quite young then, but I never shall forget e
mn how handsome she looked and how beautiful. a
id Miss Sarah Murray was as the bridesmaid. It c
a- was the handsomest sight I ever saw."
e, " I have talked with her often about the old a
r- country," said Peter. 4
He " Her folks had a nice farm, and everything
n- comfortable," replied Catherine, "and were
Ip well connected, the mother was a born lady. I
w knew the younger children, and lived once
in for a short time with the family."
le "She came to this country while she was
re youn, I have often heard her say."
ad Yee, her husband was mixed up in poli
at- ties and was crazy to come to a free country,"
ier replied the girl.
it " Thousands have left their homes," replied
no Peter, "for no other reason. The persecutions
ily that have cursedtbhat country have been a
be great benefit to this, by bending out many a
of- good and brave man to seek a home here."
ok "Oh I that's true," said the girl. "Now there
was the young Squire, he was suspected of
r. having something to do with trying to get up
an- a revolution and was compelled to sell out and
leave. Ah I that was a fine estate, a whole
t," country side which bad belonged to his family
for generation after generation. He was afine
'- looking young man and never a tenant was
distressed by him or his fathers."
en- " It was a sad thing for an old family to be
broken up so."
md "MSo it was, sir, and one of the best in the
country," replied Catherine. "Before the
ra? union, as they call it, they belonged to the no
bility of the land, and forTliir opposition to
Inglish rule and the abuses heaped upon our
Iral country, their titles were taken away and their
ace. estates cut down, and after all the young
|ry Squire was compelled to leave. I don't re
ad- member the charges brought against b' him
len- I hae often heard the people>,r.ses for the
tied and Sarah Murrey. She w . intelligent girl,
line family, a.very handsol ,, In love with
tte and tue ouiksg bt of course their positions
in life were too different to admit of their hi
union. After he sold out and came to Amerr- sa
ca, she came out here also." c
"pid they get married 1" asked Mr. Droll. to
"Oh!ino. He lives way down south some- tb
whereandshe lived here. It is only a short tb
time since I was speaking to Mrs. Collins ti
I about her; she and Sarah were always good M
Sfrieds, Sarah died very suddenly, while sl
Spenditg some time in Troy. I don't think she ax
ever saw the Squire after she came out here. p1
i If she did no one ever knew it." di
" Very ml, such breaking up of families," or
said Mrs. Boddice, who had sat quietly listen- ox
ing to this conversation. at
,t's swful,"- : lied Catherine, "but friends as
Sare iena in life and death, and Mrs. Collins it
2 told me that she knew Sarah was dead before t
h she heard of it through the papers, because ra
she saw the banshee." as
" You don't believe in the banshee, do you'" or
asked Philip, who now joined the circle. Ut
"Not believe in the banshpe e1'exolaimed as
a Catherine, "there's nothing truer than the oi
babshee. Sure my own cousin saw her. You
a see, coansl John was much in love with my ti
I sister Mary, a lovely girl, the darlin' of the rJ
s family. It was no wonder that John loved a
- her, for everybody done that, and so he wasn't ti
, to blame. But you know the holy Church for- t
bids such marriages, and me mother wouldn't t
a ha' listened to it at all. Mary loved John, and it
I in truth he was as fine a young man as ever an
h struck a blow for the oulndeountry or emigrated al
t to free America to esompe oppression and t1
d wrong. One morning John he comes up to
t Mary, as she was standing at the front door, oc
if God love her, and he says, ' Mary, darlin', I'm w
e goin' aroes to the good country, and won't ri
it you come along t' John, I can't, because a
mother would never forgive it.' 'Sure, Mary,' Is
i, he says, 'an' after the knot's tied and all over, as
your mother will say God bless yoe' ' Now, o1
g Jolm de' says she, an' heaven restthe ar. II
lin', Joh,' says she, ' yon know the Father ai
d would not marry as.' ' The onld man will do sa
f it,' says John,' an', if he don't, the Squire ti
e wilL' 'John, John,' says Mary, her eyes
e standin' out wid horror, 'I didn't think, John, a
, ou'd speak so disrespectful of our Holy bh
Mother, the Church.' Is it I,' says John, a,
e ' would say anything agsinst the Church I not oi
d I, my darlin, but sure it we played a httle trick de
h on them, and got the Squire to do the Job
, first, they would add their blessings after- la
a wards.' 'No, no, John,' she says, ' I never can w
Is do anything behind backs, like, an' yon better ca
a try an' find some one more deserving of your al
i, love, John,' and so,-after a long talk, they sep
e orated, both of them feeling very sad indeed. dl
it John be came to America, and from that very is
d day Mary kept failing in health, just pining to
i, away like. Now, one morning, it was a sun- ti
ir day morning, and John was Iayia' abed later an
g than usual, mind, he were here inNew York, h
d and we were in the ould country. In his room p
t- there wus a pair o' stairs, which led up into b
the-room over head. He looked up, as he lay ri
ie there in bed, and who should he see but me c,
u sister Mary, a comin' down the stairs. He was li
surprised and sat up in bed, and she, looking s
P. him right in the face, kept on down stairs, b
r, came round the foot of the bed, up to the side t1
of it, and stood there, looking steadily at him. v
a Her face was very pale, but natnral, and her E
1- big brown eyes seemed filled with compassion Ib
a- andlove for him. That way shestoodformore'n a
a minit, and then-she was gone hbow or where a
1, hecould not tell. At tbatvery moment, in these si
arms of mine, me sister Mary, Our Holy Mother b
1- pray for her, took her departure for a better b
as and happier world."
This story, told in a low, full tone of voice, t
r. and with an earnestness that left no chance to r
e- doubt the speaker's sincerity, told, too, in the ,
11 presence of death itself, made quite an impres
a sion on all present. c
I "The old country is full of legends of inter- 1
et eat," said Mr. Droll, after a brief silence, "and in
II. my own country it is the same. .There's not a s
It crag, or peak, or rocky pass but has its wild s
story of former days. In our town there lived, e
Id and, for aught I know, lives there yet, a sturdy
old fellow, by the name of Hugh McFall. lie
ag was a brawny, roaring boy, a good worker at.
re his trade of blacksmith, and when at his forge I
I could make the sparks fly with the next man ,
ce who came along, no matter who he was. Hugh 4
was s-good man to his family, a wife, a gentle, a
as kind-hearted creature, and four or five healthy, I
blooming children, and for all the country 1
1i- round there was not a man more esteemed as a ,
h," mechanic, nor more welcome as a friend, than
jolly Hugh McFall. But Hugh loved his pot
ed and his glass, and, after a few weeksoefteady
ins toil, on an extra good job, he was sure to wind
a up at the public house of the town, and there
a spend his money, and an hour or two, or may
hap a whole night of drinking and carousing
tre with a lot of boon companions. He was an
of inveterate card player, and would play day or
up night, tunday or Monday and never knew
d when to stop. This cost him nearly all
ale his earnings, and at times his poor family
ily would be distressed for food. One Sunday
mne night he was coming home from drinking and
'as card playing, and had to pass through a po
tato field for a near cut. When he came
be to the stile-where he had to cross the fence,
a strange man, very well dressed, was standing
the there, apparently waiting for him. 'Good
the evening, Mr. McFall,' said the stranger. 'Good
no- evening, sir,' says Hugh, 'but you have the ad
to vantage of me.' 'Oh, tiat's nothing,' re led
our the stranger, "I have that of d would
eir ple. I know you wail ....e nd woLd
ike to play ame of cards with you.' 'Not
gh. says Hugh. 'Oh, come man, it's a
ism hghte oo light night, and we may as well
im hve a little fun,' replied the stranger. ' No,
the I'm going home,' nsisted Hugh. ' Yo better
irl, try me a While,' says the stranger, ' I'd like
rith Ute fun just now.' 'But Ive bbhgteu ling,'
one replied Hugh, and I'm going home.' ' I have
heard you were the best player in the town,'
says thestranger, as~ he produed a paeek of I
eards, and now you back out when I ask you c
to play.' The sight of the cards, coupled with
this banter, was too much for Hugh, and so i
they pt down by a large, tt stone that lay in t
the 'iaddef ' or foot path, and began to play
Money was staked by both, and paled up be- t
aide tlem on the stone. Hugh won and lost, I
and no did the stranger, irhen, after they bad a
played for nearly an hour, Hugh accidentally
dropped one of his cards, and, when he stooped t
over to pick it p, his eyes came near flying
out of their oekets, far, lo, and behold the y
traner, badl'. cloven foot! RBeovering him
self, Hugh who was a Catholic, hastily made y
the aig of the cross. 'What do you mean by t
that r exclaime4 the stranger, getting up in a
rage. RoHugh dbvoutly repeated the action, r
saying the words aloud wen the stranger at I
once vanished and Hugh hastened home. From d
that day he never touched a card, or got drunk t
again, but many a time he told of his game of
cards with the devil." a
Mary bad been absentfrom the room for some
time, and returned as Mr. Droll finished his sto
ry. Her black clothes, pale and bare-worn face,
and sorrowful expression, as she looked at
them, hereyn made peculiarly and unnatural
ly bright by the excitement and trouble
through which she was passing, made a deep 1
impression on the watchers. In a quiet man
ner, which showed how great was the emotion
she had subdnel within her heart, she asked t
them to go into the back room.
Here they fountl prepared for them a lunch
of coffee, bread and butter and boiled ham, c
whieh they partook of heartily, chatting du
ring the time about the weather, fashions and
general topics oeinterest of the day. Return- t
fug to the ptlo, after a look at the corpse and
some slNa  about the life-like looks
of lMr.ts. ii y once more took theirseats.
MAry had dmd- her seat near the window, ]
and, although the night was well nigh gone,
she gently but firmly refused all entreaties
that she should retire to rest.
" That people do sometimes revisit the earth
after death," said Mrs. Boddice, that subject
having been introduced by Mr. Droll, "there a
are many persons who will testify, persons 4
of such character and standing that their evi
dence is beyond question." C
"We have a thousand such tales in Boot- C
land," replied Peter, "but'l thought those
who saw the wonders were like Burns, when
counting the horns of the moon,' but whather v
she had three or four, he cndna tell'"
"That is the popular idea," said Mrs. Bod
dice, " people hoot at such things beaeuse it 13
is fashionable to do so. What I am going to t
tell you rests on too good authority to be ques
tioned, except by those who are determined t
not to believe. In our church, down here, we c
had a sexton, who.served there for many years.
Old Joe was knovn everywhere and esteemed t
by all who knew 'him. He was a pious, up
right maan, as near a saint as human nature
can be. He would deny himself evey comfort,
live on the least possible moiety, that lie might a
save his salary and the alms that were given
him, and with this money he would hunt out
the deserving poor, and assist them, and few, t
very few' people ever knew of his obarities.
Every morning, long before daylight, he would
be In the church, doing the stations, saying I
sonime litany or prayer, and throughout the day
and night much of his time was spent in the
same manner. So well known were his pious
habits, and so highly was be esteemed, that
be was frequently requested by people of the
parish and from other parishes, too, to pray
for their deceased friends, or the conversion or I
return to the Church of sinners. These charges
were always accepted by Joe with evident
satisfaction. I think I see him now, that good I
old man, so tall and straight, With no extra
flesh on him, a nuscular man, used to austerity
and penance in his personal habits, but with
I a face fall of expression, so kind and gentle,
I and the finest, most expressive dark brown
eyes I ever saw. One of the members of the
church died and was buried,it's no use wound
s ing feelings by mentioning names, for he has a
Slarge family living here yet, but I will call
e him MNV B. About six weeks after Mr. B's
a death, as good old Joe was saying the stations
h early one morning, he felt s6mething run
i, against him like a man. He got up and
r, looked around, but nothing was tobe seen. He
y knelt again, and was again jostled, and this
a continued so that he could scarcely say his
n prayers. This continued for several days.
it Whenever Joe entered the church he was rnn
y against, pushed and jostled around so that he
d could hardly attend to his duties or say
e his devotions. Finally he went to his confes
F- sor, and asked his advice, giving him a history
ig of all that had happened, and the good Father
s advised Joeto spea and ask what was wanted.
ir He had no sooner returned to the ehurch than
w the same demonstrations were commenced,
ll and, making the sign of the cross, he demand
iy ed, in God's name, what was wanted, when,
'y right there before him Mr. B. appeared, Just as
d he had often seen him in life. 'What do you
o- want V asked Joe, again blessing himself. ' I
me want you to make a restitution for me.' said
es, Mr. B. or what had been him when he -ss
alive, and I can never rest ntil idone.
'Very well, what shall I dox hr JoI kept. Go
d to ... hou go -l - .n nnx where I kept my
AuiY- ri 'i you will find. a watch, a fine
Spv u h which I never need, because I came
y it uejpstly. Tell my wife to give it to you,
d and take t to Mr. D., to whom it belongs.' Joe
ot not only promised to do this, but also to pray
a for the poor sinner. He went to the house and
ll told Mrs. B. what had happened, and they to
o, gether looked for the watch and found it. It
er was avery valuable article, and Mrs. B. refused
ke to give it up, saying that Joe had been dream
,' ing and she did not believe Mr. B. had come by
ve the watch dishonestly. While she was talking
-f'-
her huaband appeared in the room and ted
her to give the watch to Joe. She di so, of
course, and Joe took it to Mr. D., who at
once recognized it and was glad to get it
back again. The family were very mush dies
tressed about the matter for fear it would: be
come known, which it never would, it some of
them had not had long tongues and told it.
However, very few people have heard it and I
suppose it will go no farther."
The first faint light of morning was by this
time appearing in the eaet and the friends got
up and walked around the room, through the
yard, and finally took their departure. At ten
o'clock a few friends assembled, and the un
pretending funeral procession took up its way
to the cemetery, where the last solemn services
of the church were performed, and the ground
received the mortal remains of one, who when
living had well and faithfully discharged her
duties to her family and to society, and with
truth and sincerity, as weu as frail human
nature may, had sought to follow the teachings
and precepts of her Divine Master.
(To be continued.)
"What about the Cathollo Newsiaper T"
The following article appeared in the
Western Catholic, of April 8, and by a note
in another part of the paper we learn that
the writer " is an eminent priest of one of
the regular orders, whose talents as an
orator and writer are well known among
the clergy and people of the West." That
the Catholics of the United States are not
sufficiently impressed with the importance
of a Catholic press, is lamentably too true.
Bishops and priests have urged its claims
on the faithfal, and been themselves moat
generous patrons. But, we regret to say,
a deplorable apathy exists, which is as un
accountable as it is disreputable. It is
little creditable that, with eight million
Catholics, there is not one daily paper under
Catholic influence in these United States. Is
there a necessity for it Let as see. Last
week the Administrator of Finance of this
city delivered a speech in the Council, re
Electing in the most damaging manner on
the conduct of our charities. In effect,
their managers were characterizel as hypo
critical speculators.' Every daily paper in
this city published the charge among the
proceedings. To reply through a weekly, ,
such as ours, -ould hardly suit the case, ,
as it would no" m'eet the eye of one in a r
hundred of those who read the administra- !
tor's disparagtng remarks. A pung mer- i
chant pf this city wrote a reply, and design- 4
ing its-publication, was refused a hearing
in two of the daily papers of this city,
which derive no small support from the co
religionists of the parties aspersed. To the
honor of the Bulletin, our friend found a
medium of communication to the public,
and that, too, not at the expense of a
picayune, nor doing aught which would
compromise an honest man in these trucu
lent times.
The following is the article alluded to
above.
Human nature has ever proved a riddle, in
the variety ot its manipulations; and such it
wilt continue to be till the end of time, no
matter what inlutience may be brought to bear
upon it, or in what circumstances it may flrd
itself. This seeming riddle might probably be
solved by one who should be, at onu, an able
physiologist and a profound theologian But
as I do not lay claim to either of thee" titles, I
shall leave the solution unattemrped, and,
taking the known fact as granted, make some
practical observations upon it. Is i not true that
all of us Catholics earnestly vish to see our
religious views respected, arJ dar Christian
practices ably defended sgsmet the calumnies
and aspersions of either tba wilful elanderer or
the ignorant bigott I a, sure that such is the
desire of every true Csaolic. Now, do we al
ways act consistently with the wish of our
I, hearts Experience ells us, no. As a body,
although earnestly actiesl in many respects,
we are sadly deficiat in others. No doub, we
have plenty of Caholio books, doctrinal, con
1 troversial, histoleal and critical, in which all
I that ras been aid or could be said against us
d eas been refuted in a masterly manner; yet I
s fear not to Assert that this is not suMoient to
cause as to lie lazily upon our oars, indulging
the thought that nothing more is left for us to
r do than quietly to work out our individual
e salvation. Socially, we have not been made
e exclusively fur ourselves ; and the same truth
, is applisable to religion. We know, it is true,
ta hat we have to begin by ourselves, for it is
y said: "He thatis evil to himself, to whom will
d he be good f" But is it not also written: " He
gave tpifirey-nsefhem oommandments con
t corning his neigiborn" This admitted, and
d who can gainsay it, it seems to me that our
first endeavors esould be directed to the prac
y tiMos defense of our holy religion; so that our
children and our friends may not be led astray
and beoome the prey of unscupulous wgitsrs.
SThis  o may tell me, is suaietlO
or y 7th nn eronad ur·et
books whiob we possess. In-speculation this
may be truebts in practie, I donbt it. Do
your children, or will they, read those books
It is, to say the least, very doubtfl. And
even if they should, the remedy might not
prove adeuate; for the attacks that are daily
belOe e agaipet as e various, and as
sume such proteas forms, that a continual
change of tactics is needed to oppose old cal
umnies and accusations clad in the ever chang
ing panoply of error. .
Does not this point to the neessedt of
Catholio newspapere? An antlpopery ser
mon, propped up by falsifed-history, a
leoourse on the reasonableness of indif.
ference in matters of religion, or a discourse
on the recent progrees of Itellanised Iome; is
reported in our political papers, and, perhaps,
favorably commented upon by their editors:
What shall we Oatholice do Write a book or
pamphlet in refutation f This every sensible
man would pronounce absurd. Shall we allow
our children, who will eossionally read such
articles, to imbibe the poison without reoeiving
the antidote BSuch a course would bepeak
little love, and less care on our part. Then let
us resort to the use we con make of a atholi -
newspaper, where these foes can be combated, .
and if not silenced-for prejudice frequently.
blinds one to the strength of an argument-ar
least made harmless and incapable of produ
cing the evil they aimed at.
British Justice and Humanity.
We have been looking overtsome returns
of all paupers forcibly removed from Great
Britain.o Ireland for thi4 three years from
185e7 to 1809. The details furnish evidence
of the grossest cruelty that can be well
imagined. Those having the unwdlcome
rduty to perform of carrying into effect the
decrees of the law have in numerous in
stances lamented their inability to mitigate
its terms. This law of deporting paupers
demonstrates that the English Parliament
has hardly ever made an enactment for
Ireland which was not disfigured by najus
tice, either by direction or omission, and
the irritating characteristic has generally
been so flagrant as to be altogether inde
fensible. The flagrancy of the injustice to
Ireland of this Scotch and English re
moval system has been most forcibly point
ed out, without redress. Stolid indiffer
ence to Irish complaint has characterised
each successive government. Althougbh,.
according to the Freeman's Journal, the
subject has been frequently agitated, of
ciais have been deaf to representations,
except when sounded in unison with the
terrors of disaffection. Persons who have
been born in Ireland, and removed at any
age to England or Scotland, may be forced
back to an Irish workhouse, if, after a life
of toil, old age ends in pauperism. The
injustice of this system is manifest enougb;t r.'
but it is converted into a hardship unspeak
ably more cruel by the extraordinary enacet
meat that English and Scotch paupers in
Ireland cannot be forced back to their-re
spective countries. Not that the Irish
would demand power to deport to Great
Britain British paupers who mnay have
spent a life in Ireland; bat it is no
more than right that that country asould
support the poor, who within its shores
have labored to maintain themselves, an-,
by whose labor enterprise has been nour
ished and capital increased. According to
the returns above alluded to over 39(M) had
to be maintained by Ireland, who had spent
their vigor in British work, th~eir iotsey in
British produce, and their lives on LBriteah .
soil. Says the Freemsa :
" It is almost incredible in these days that
pauper lunatics, manacled in irons, should be
exported from Great Britain to Ireland; but
such outrages have been perpetrated.- The
1 Commissioners reported, in 1!70, that there
were few asylums in Ireland which did net
I contain lunatices born in Great Britain, the
Colunies, or Continental countries. They also
alleg*. that it is no uncommon cireumstance to
discover in Londonderry and Cork same insane
I creatures who have been ship ped 4iro the
s Unite States. In presene of all his mon
sa e t ito*+i."s3a5much to expect that
Parliament will be called upon to remove this
blot from the statute-book, and that Irish
I members will speedily exert themselves to
a make the demand? For our part wi shall-be
h- ppy to lend our best support to such .
I righteous cause."
Mgr. Darbey has  m ds pastora l ordalsijg
service st Notre Dame for t seols of the rmaeb
Siedtrs who have died d ties lat. war.

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