She had scarcely said these words when her father entered. The father was as much changed in Mat's eyes as the daughter; he could scarcely walk; his feet seemed just able to bear him; and his hand was palsied. He did not at first recognize Mat; and when at last he knew who it was, said in the old voice, the familiar words which Mat so loathed, "Ah! the crachure! Ah! the crachure!"
Mat now had the key to the hideous tragedy which had separated him from the woman he loved, and who loved him. He looked quickly at her; but the light of momentary excitement had died out of the face, and the expression was now perfectly serene. Several reflections passed rapidly through Mat's mind. He saw clearly that the girl had not a particle of self-reproach; not a doubt of the rectitude or even the nobility of her conduct; she had immolated herself with the same inflexible resolve and unquestioning faith as the sublime murderer of Marat. Then passing rapidly in mental review the history of so many self-murdered hearts, he asked which was the more cruel—the Irish or the Indian suttee. Perhaps in that moment Mat gained more knowledge than is given to other men in years of that strangest of all, even feminine, problems—an Irish girl's heart.
For a moment the two were left alone, for the first and only time in all their lives.
"What?" said Mat, in an audible soliloquy, "is Irish life?" And then he answered the question himself as she remained silent. "A tragedy, a squalid tragedy!" But she looked at him cold, irresponsive, defiant, and he rushed away before the old man came back with the whiskey.
The wreck of this girl's nature; her acceptance in full faith of the sordid and terrible gospel of loveless marriage; the omnipotence of even a little money in a land of abject and hopeless and helpless poverty, brought the realities of Irish life with a clearness to his mind more terrible than even uprooted houses and echoless streets.
He accepted the invitation of a friend to take a row up the river, beautiful with its eternal and changeless beauty amid all this wreck of hopes and blasting of lives.
They passed a small island.
"What is that called," asked Mat of the boatman.
"Dead Man's Island."
"What did you say?"
"Dead Man's Island."
"A——h,——Dead—Man's—Island!"
The End.
Going on Foot to Rome.—In these days, when pilgrims go to Rome and Jerusalem by railway and steamer, it is refreshing to hear that the old-fashioned pilgrim may still be found. The last of these appears to be Ignacio Martinez, a native of Valladolid, who has nearly completed his pilgrimage to the Holy Place begun two years ago.
Going on Foot to Rome.—In these days, when pilgrims go to Rome and Jerusalem by railway and steamer, it is refreshing to hear that the old-fashioned pilgrim may still be found. The last of these appears to be Ignacio Martinez, a native of Valladolid, who has nearly completed his pilgrimage to the Holy Place begun two years ago.
After reading the Reminiscences of the Ninth Massachusetts, Volunteers, published in late numbers ofDonahoe's, it occurred to the writer that a few incidents which came under my own personal observation, in which that regiment figured, occurring over twenty-three years ago, may be of interest to the survivors of the gallant Ninth, or their descendants. It may also interest the general public, and your Irish-American readers in particular, for my experience will speak more particularly of the corps with which my fortunes were cast—Gen. Thomas Francis Meagher's Irish Brigade. It was originally composed of three regiments, viz., Sixty-Third New York, Eighty-Eighth New York, and Sixty-Ninth New York, all organized in New York City, but some of its companies hailing from Albany, Boston, etc. The writer of this was connected with the Albany Company K, Sixty-Third Regiment, in the capacity of "high private" when the regiment was organized. This paper is merely intended to give an account of a few incidents in which the brigade participated, not by any means as a history of that organization.
It is well known to those familiar with events at the beginning of the war, that the Washington authorities decided to change McClellan's base of operations in the movement against the rebel capital (Richmond, Va.), to the Peninsula. Accordingly, in the spring of 1862, over one hundred thousand men and material of the Army of the Potomac, at that time, and subsequently, the largest and best disciplined body of troops in the service of the Republic, were sent by water to Fortress Monroe, Ship Point, and adjacent places for disembarkation. Very few people in civil life have any conception of the labor attending an operation of this kind. Not alone was this immense body of men carried by water, but all the material as well: heavy and field artillery; animals for the same; horses for the cavalry; and baggage, ammunition and supply trains. Thanks to the superiority of our navy at the time, the movement was entirely successful. It is true a few sailing crafts, and some armed rebel vessels showed themselves; but they took refuge up the York, Pamunkey, Elizabeth and James Rivers, to be afterwards destroyed as the Union Army advanced.
The writer was at the time on detached service (recruiting) in New York City; but at the period the advanced vessels of the Flotilla reached the Peninsula he received orders to rejoin his regiment. Accordingly I left Albany (depot for recruits) April 11, 1862, in charge of twenty-two men, eleven for Sixty-Third and eleven for Eighty-Eighth Regiments, reaching Fort Monroe April 14, by steamer from Washington. I shall never forget the impression made on my civilian mind as we steamed under the frowning guns of the weather-beaten Fort, in the gray of the morning. It impressed me with awe, as the black muzzles of the "War Dogs" bade defiance in their silent grandeur to rebels in arms and European enemies, who, at the time, entertained anything but friendly feelings towards the Republic.
The achievement of the famousMonitorwas, at the time, in everybody's mouth. Your older readers will remember how the "Yankee Cheese-Box," the gallant Worden in command, put in appearance in Hampton Roads, a day or two after the finest wooden war ships in the government service were sent to the bottom, by the guns and ram of the rebelMerrimac. When the saucy, insignificant-looking craft boldly steamed for the victorious rebel iron-clad, the officers on board could not believe their senses, never having seen anything like the mysterious stranger before; but when fire and smoke belched forth from theMonitor'srevolving turret, they were reminded that they had better look to their guns. Not being able to damage the stranger with their British cannon, the rebel tried the effect of its powerful ram; but the "cheese-box" divining its intentions, nimbly got out of harm's way. Its powerful eleven-inch guns in the turret continued to pound the iron sides of theMerrimac, until the latter thought "discretion the better part of valor," and sought safety in flight by ascending the Elizabeth River to Norfolk, not before being badly damaged in the encounter. Notwithstanding the rebel had numerous guns of the most approved pattern, their shot glanced harmlessly from theMonitor'srevolving turret, the only object visible above water. You may think we looked upon the champion with no little pleasure as she peacefully lay in the channel, with steam up, waiting for the appearance of its powerful adversary, which never came. (TheMerrimacwas so badly damaged in the encounter, its commander, Jones, blew her up sooner than see her in the enemy's hands.) The masts of the ill-fatedCumberlandand her consorts were plainly visible in the distance, where they sank with their brave tars standing nobly by their guns.
I am afraid the editor of theMagazinewill get impatient with my description before coming to the Ninth. The writer goes into these particulars because another generation has come on the scene since they happened, and it may interest them.
After landing with my detachment of twenty-two men, we turned our faces landward to find the army then moving towards Richmond. On the way we passed through the village of Hampton, and subsequently were much interested in looking over the battlefield of Big Bethel, where Magruder made his first fight on the Peninsula, not long previous, and where the Union troops were roughly handled. Gen. Joseph B. Carr, of Troy, N. Y., in command of the Second New York Volunteers, one of the most successful Irish-American soldiers of the late war, took a prominent part in this battle. It is thought he would have retrieved the blunders of some of the Union officers, if he had not been ordered to retire by Gen. B. F. Butler, who was in command. Gen. Carr is now serving out his third successive term as Secretary of State of New York. He recently ran for Lieutenant Governor on the Republican ticket; and although he failed to get elected, he ran nearly nine thousand votes ahead of his ticket. The rebel field works were just as they left them. The neighboring forests told the story of the desperate conflict by the manner in which they were torn from the effects of the artillery.
It was a long and tedious journey before we struck the army of"Little Mac;" and when the shades of night began to envelope us, the little squad was footsore, tired and hungry, having covered twenty-four miles since leaving the steamer. To add to our inconvenience, we had eaten nothing since leaving the vessel, and then a limited supply of "hard tack," washed down with coffee. The location of Meagher's Brigade was among the uncertainties. All our inquiries of troops in the vicinity were fruitless.
Learning from the men of a battery, encamped on the edge of a clearing, that an Irish Regiment was not far distant, inquired the name (State and number).
"I think, sergeant," said the officer addressed, "that it is an Irish Regiment from Massachusetts, but I do not know the number; they have an Irish flag anyhow." Thanking the captain for the information, we sought the locality of the Irish boys and their green flag.
"Halt! who comes there?" demanded a sentinel, pacing his beat, a few yards from the road, as the squad approached in the twilight.
"Friends!" was the response.
"Advance, friends, and give the countersign!"
We had no "countersign," and could not give it. I did the next best thing, and addressed the sentinel thus:
"We are Union soldiers, trying to find our regiment, having landed this morning at Fortress Monroe. We are tired and without anything to eat, since early this morning. Be good enough to tell us the name of that regiment yonder."
"That is the Ninth Massachusetts, Col. Tom Cass," was his response.
"Call the corporal of the guard; I would like to see the colonel."
"Corporal of the guard, Post Five!" he lustily called out, at the top of his voice.
"Corporal of the guard, Post Five!" was repeated in succession by the respective posts; bringing that officer on the run, in a few minutes to the post designated.
I repeated the request to the "corporal of the guard," a bright little man, about twenty-four years old. He requested us to remain where we were until the "officer of the guard" was consulted, "for ye know we are in the enemy's counthry, and we must be cautious." We assented, of course. Presently a lieutenant made his appearance, and after hearing our story, told us to follow him. We passed the guard and made our way to the colonel's quarters, before which a soldier was leisurely pacing. The lieutenant entered, but returned in a moment and desired me to follow him. I did so, and found myself in a group of officers. I saluted and came to "attention."
"Well, sergeant, what can we do for you?" kindly asked an officer with the eagles of a colonel on his shoulders.
"We are benighted, sir; my men and I landed at the Fort this morning, and are on the way to find our regiments. We have had nothing to eat in twelve hours. We're hungry and tired, and claim your hospitality for the night."
"May I ask what command you belong to, sir?"
"My regiment is the Sixty-Third New York, colonel, and the detachment is for that regiment and the Eighty-Eighth New York."
"What! Gen. Meagher, the Irish Brigade! Consider yourself at home, sergeant. The best in our camp is at your service. You can have all you can eat and drink, and a place to rest. Orderly," addressing a soldier in front of the tent, "send Sergeant —— to me."
"I see by your chevrons you are a non-commissioned officer. May I ask your name?" addressing me.
"Sergeant J—— D——, Company K, colonel," was my response.
The sergeant made his appearance, and Col. Cass (for we learned, subsequently, it was he) gave him directions to take Sergeant D——and his men, and give them everything they wanted for the night, and their breakfast before leaving in the morning. As we were about retiring the colonel remarked:—
"The night is chilly, sergeant; fog is heavy, malaria abroad, and you are tired. Wouldn't you like something in the way of liquid refreshments?"
"Thanks, colonel," I replied; "but the Sixty-Third is a temperance regiment.[9]We took the pledge from Father Dillon, last January, on David's Island, New York Harbor, for the war."
"Is it possible? I am glad to hear it! God bless you. I trust you will keep your pledge, not only for the war, but for all future time." I thanked him, gave him a salute and retired.
We certainly found ourselves in "the hands of our friends." Sergeant ----(unfortunately my diary is silent as to his name) took us to his quarters, and that being inadequate, lodged out some of the strangers. Coffee was made for us at the company's kitchen, and in less than half an hour there was enough of that delicious beverage steaming hot before us, with a mountain of "hard tack," to feed a company, instead of twenty-three men. The wants of the inner man being attended to (and we did the spread full justice) brier wood and tobacco were called into requisition. We found ourselves the centre of an interested crowd, for it got noised abroad that a squad of Gen. Meagher's men was in Sergeant ----'s quarters. "Taps" were sounded at the usual hour, but, by permission of the "officer of the day" the lights in the sergeant's tent, and others adjoining, were not extinguished, out of respect to the New Yorkers. During the evening song and story were in order, and at this late day it will not be giving away a secret to say that the "liquid refreshments," so kindly offered by the colonel were not ignored by many present, for the Ninth had a sutler with it, whose supply of "commissary" was yet abundant to be taken as an antidote against the malaria.
At day-break the regiment was roused from slumber by the soul-stirring sounds of the "reveille" which reverberated through the dark pine woods of the "sacred soil." The strangers were prevailed on to take a hasty cup of coffee, and as the men were forming for company drill, we bade them "good-by," and sought our own regiments, which we found in camp in a clearing, at Ship Point, nine miles from Yorktown, then held by the enemy.
The writer did not see the Ninth again until the 27th of June following (1862), and the occasion was a sad one. When McClellan's right wing was crushed like an egg shell under Gen. Fitz John Porter, on the north bank of the Chickahominy, two brigades of Sumner's Second Corps (Meagher and French's) were ordered from the centre of our lines at Fair Oaks to check the victorious march of the overwhelming masses of the enemy. After fighting like Spartans for two days, the twenty-seven thousand men under Porter were outflanked by the enemy who were sixty-five thousand strong. Porter's troops were compelled to retire, and by sundown they were in full retreat towards the temporary bridges constructed by our troops, over the Chickahominy. At this juncture the two brigades mentioned were ordered from our centre to check the advance of the now victorious enemy.
The force engaged at Gaines' Mill was: Union, 50 Regiments, 20 batteries, 27,000 men. Confederate: 129 Regiments, 19 batteries, 65,000 men. Losses: Union, killed, 894; wounded, 3,107; missing, 2,836; total, 6,837. Confederate: Somewhat larger, especially in killed and wounded. Perhaps in the whole history of the war there was no battle fought with more desperation on both sides than that of Mechanicville (June 26), and Gaines' Mill (June 27). Fitz John Porter handled his army with such ability that his inferior force repelled repeated attacks of the flower of the rebel army under Lee and Jackson; and if it were not for the blundering of the cavalry, under Gen. Cook, through whose instrumentality Porter's lines were broken, he would have repelled all efforts to drive him to the river. As an evidence of the desperate nature of the conflict, it may be mentioned that one Rebel regiment (Forty-Fourth Georgia) lost three hundred and thirty-five men.
We got there, about eight miles, at eight o'clock, having pushed on by forced marches all the way, but too late to change the fortunes of the day. We did check the advancing and exalting Rebels, who supposed a large part of the Union army had come to the rescue. Forming our lines on top of the hill (Gain's) with an Irish cheer we went down the northern side of the hill pell-mell for the enemy. The pursuers were now the pursued. The Rebels broke and fled before Irish steel. To advance in the darkness would be madness. The regiments were brought to a halt. So as to deceive the Confederates as to the number of reinforcements, the position of each regiment was constantly changed. In one of these movements, the right of the Sixty-Third struck a rebel battalion, halted in the darkness, and for a time there was temporary confusion. The grey coats were brushed aside instantly, getting a volley from the right wing of the Sixty-Third as a reminder that we meant business.
Fitz John Porter pays this tribute to the brigade as to the part ittook on this occasion: "French and Meagher's brigades of Sumner's corps, all that the corps commanders deemed they could part with, were sent forward by the commanding general.... All soon rallied in rear of the Adams House behind Sykes and the brigades of French and Meagher sent to our aid, and who now with hearty cheers greeted our battalions as they retired and reformed."
While resting on our arms the dead and wounded were thick all around—friend and foe. Alas! not a few were our brothers of the Ninth Massachusetts. They told us in whispers how they repelled the enemy all day, and not until they were flanked by the Rebels did they give way before their repeated charges. The remnant of the regiment I subsequently saw next morning, in the rear, few in numbers, but with its spirit unbroken.
Having held the enemy in check to permit our broken battalions and the wounded to recross the Chickahominy, the two brigades silently left the field before dawn the next morning, blowing up the bridge behind us, thus stopping the pursuit. The two brigades occupied their old places behind the breastwork, at four the next morning, completely exhausted, but gratified that we were instrumental in checking the enemy, and saving from capture a large part of the army.
Four days later, July 1st, the bloody conflict of Malvern Hill was fought—the last of the Seven Days' Battles. Meagher's brigade, at that time consisting of the Sixty-Third, Eighty-Eighth, and Sixty-Ninth New York and one regiment from Massachusetts (Twenty-Ninth), had arms stacked in a beautiful valley, in the rear of the struggling hosts. All day long the storm of battle raged, and the men of the brigade were congratulating themselves that for once, at least, we would not be called upon to participate. Each regiment was ordered to kill several sheep and beeves, found the same day on the lands of a rich Virginian. While the companies were being served, a staff officer was seen riding at full speed to Gen. Meagher's head-quarters, his horse wet with foam. The men knew what that meant. We had seen it before. In a few minutes the "long roll" sounded in every regiment, and in less time than it takes to write these lines, the brigade was on the march. We knew from the sound of the guns that we were not going from but nearing the combat. Turning a ridge in the south-east, a fearful sight met our view. Thousands of wounded streamed to the rear, in the direction of Harrison Landing, on the James. Men with shattered arms and legs, some limping, all bloody and powder-stained. Many defiant, but the badly wounded moaning with agony. The head of the column, with Gen. Meagher and staff in front, turned sharply to the right, with difficulty forcing our way through the wounded crowds. We learned, subsequently, that after repelling the enemy with fearful slaughter all day, towards nightfall they pressed our left and attempted to seize the roads on our line of retreat to the James. Not till then were Meagher's men called on, and promptly they responded. While hurrying to the front, the Sixty-Third being the third regiment was halted. At this moment a volley from the left between us and the river, swept through our ranks. Seventeen men of the regiment fell, among them being Col. John Burke, who received a ball in the knee.He fell from his horse, but the mishap was for the moment kept from the men. Lieut.-Col. Fowler assumed command, and before the Rebel regiment had time to reload, four hundred smooth bores sent a withering volley crashing through their ranks. This put a quietus upon them.
"What regiment is this?" demanded an officer on horseback, surrounded by his staff, who came galloping up as the men reloaded.
"This is the Sixty-Third New York, general," responded Lieut.-Col. Fowler of that regiment.
"I am Gen. Porter, in command of this part of the field. I order you to remain here to support a battery now on its way to this spot. Do you understand, sir?"
"Yes, general; the Sixty-Third always obeys orders," was the lieutenant colonel's prompt response, and Gen. Porter disappeared to the front.
While halted here for the appearance of the battery, a crowd of men coming from the front, in the now gathering darkness, attracted my attention. I should say there were not more than fifty men all told—perhaps not more than thirty. They were grouped around their colors, which I discovered to be a United States flag and a green standard. The men were the most enthusiastic I ever saw. They were cheering, and their voices could be plainly heard over the roar of battle. Some were without caps, many were wounded, and all grimy from powder, and every few moments some one of them called for "three cheers for the stars and stripes."
"Let us give three for the green flag, boys."
"Give the Rebels h—— boys!" To one officer in front cheering, who had his cap on the point of his sword, I inquired:
"What regiment is this, captain?"
"Why, don't you know?
"This is all that is left of the old Ninth Massachusetts—all that is left of us boys!
"Our dead and wounded are in the woods over there!
"Oh! we lost our colonel, boys; the gallant Cass, one of the best fighters and bravest man in the army!
"We saved our colors, though, and we had to fight to do it!
"Go in, Irish Brigade! Do as well as the Ninth did!
"Three cheers for the stars and stripes!
"Give three for the old Bay State!
"Hurrah!"
And the remnant of the splendid regiment filed to the rear in the darkness; but still their cheers could be heard for quite a distance over the rattle of musketry and the sound of the guns.
"The battery! The battery! Here comes the battery!" was heard from a hundred throats, as it wildly thundered and swept from the rear, regardless of the dead and dying, who fairly littered the field. God help the dying, for the dead cared not! The iron wheels of the carriages, and feet of the horses, discriminate not between friend and foe. It will never be known how many were ground to pulp that July evening as Capt. J. R. Smead's Battery K, Fifth United States Artillery came in response to the command of the gallant Porter, who saw the danger of having his left turned. Three batteries were ordered up by Gen. Porter, viz: Capt. J. R. Smead; Capt. Stephen H. Weed, Battery I, Fifth United States Artillery; and Capt. J. Howard Carlisle, Battery E, Second United States Artillery.
"Forward, Sixty-Third! Double quick! march!" shouted Capt. O'Neil, the senior line officer, who was now in command.
"Forward! Double quick!" was repeated by each company commander, and the Sixty-Third followed the lead of the battery into the very jaws of death, many of them to meet their brothers of the Ninth, who just passed over the silent river, on the crimson tide of war![10]
Had the repeated and desperate efforts of the enemy succeeded in turning the Union left, as was feared towards nightfall, a dire disaster awaited the splendid army of McClellan. How near we came to it may be judged from the fact that all the reserves were brought into action, including the artillery under Gen. Henry J. Hunt. The instructions to Smead, Carlisle and Mead, when hurried up to defend the narrow gorge, with their artillery, through which the Confederates must force their way on to the plateau, were to fire on friend and foe, if the emergency demanded it. This is confirmed by a letter to the writer from Fitz John Porter. "These batteries were ordered up," he says, "to the narrow part of the hill, to be used in saving the rest of the army, if those in front were broken, driven in and pursued, by firing, if necessary, on friend as well as foe, so that the latter should not pass them. I went forward with you to share your fate if fortune deserted us, but I did not expect disaster, and, thank God, it did not come!"
These are the words of as brave and loyal an American as ever drew his sword for the Republic. Few men, perhaps none, in the army at that time, with our limited experience in war, could have handled his troops as Gen. Porter did at Gaine's Mill and Malvern. He desperately contested every inch of ground on the north bank of theChickahominy, although his force was only twenty-seven thousand against sixty-five thousand of the enemy. Again at Malvern, the Rebels, maddened with successive defeats, were determined to annihilate the grand army of the Potomac with a last superhuman effort. They probably would have succeeded had a less able soldier been placed in command at that critical point. But, as will be seen from the above extract, the General never for a moment lost hope of being able to successfully repulse the enemy, for no man knew the material he had to do it with better than he.
What a pity that the services of such an able soldier should have been lost to the army and the country, a few weeks later, through the petty jealousies of small men, who wanted a scape-goat to cover up their own shortcomings. For over twenty years this grand American soldier, the soul of honor, who would at any moment sacrifice his life sooner than be guilty of an act inconsistent with his noble profession, has been permitted to live under the unjust stigma cast upon him. The day will surely come, and it is not far distant, when the American people will blush for the great wrong done Fitz John Porter. They will agree with the late general of our armies, a man whose memory will be forever held in grateful remembrance by his country (U. S. Grant), who, after careful and mature investigation of his conduct at the Second Battle of Bull Run, said deliberately, that Fitz John Porter should not be censured for the mismanagement of that ill-fated battle. In military affairs Gen. Grant was always a safe guide to follow.
After a careful review of Gen. Porter's case, Gen Grant wrote President Arthur, under date of December 22, 1881, as follows:
"At the request of Gen. Fitz John Porter, I have recently reviewed his trial, and the testimony held before the Schofield court of inquiry held in 1879.... The reading of the whole record has thoroughly convinced me that for these nineteen years I have been doing a gallant and efficient soldier a very great injustice in thought and sometimes in speech. I feel it incumbent upon me now to do whatever lies in my power to remove from him and from his family the stain upon his good name.... I am now convinced that he rendered faithful, efficient and intelligent service.... I would ask that the whole matter be laid before the attorney-general for his examination and opinion, hoping that you will be able to do this much for an officer who has suffered for nineteen years a punishment that never should be inflicted upon any but the most guilty."
"At the request of Gen. Fitz John Porter, I have recently reviewed his trial, and the testimony held before the Schofield court of inquiry held in 1879.... The reading of the whole record has thoroughly convinced me that for these nineteen years I have been doing a gallant and efficient soldier a very great injustice in thought and sometimes in speech. I feel it incumbent upon me now to do whatever lies in my power to remove from him and from his family the stain upon his good name.... I am now convinced that he rendered faithful, efficient and intelligent service.... I would ask that the whole matter be laid before the attorney-general for his examination and opinion, hoping that you will be able to do this much for an officer who has suffered for nineteen years a punishment that never should be inflicted upon any but the most guilty."
It was many months before I again saw the Ninth Massachusetts; but what a contrast to its appearance on that glorious April morning, in 1862, when I was the recipient of its warm hospitality among the pines on the threshold of the advance on the rebel capital.
John Dwyer.
Leo XIII. has sent to the Emperor of Germany and to Prince Bismarck copies, specially printed and bound, of the Encyclical. His Holiness adds to the present to the Chancellor a copy of theNovissima Leonis XIII. Pont. Max. Carmina. A note of very emphatic and reverent praise of the poems has been communicated to the official German press.
Leo XIII. has sent to the Emperor of Germany and to Prince Bismarck copies, specially printed and bound, of the Encyclical. His Holiness adds to the present to the Chancellor a copy of theNovissima Leonis XIII. Pont. Max. Carmina. A note of very emphatic and reverent praise of the poems has been communicated to the official German press.
Ah, weep not, friends, that I am far from ye,And no warm breathéd words may reach my ears;One way is shorter, nearer than by sea,Prayers weigh with God and graces wait on tears;As rise the mists from summer seas unseen,To fall in freshening showers on hill and plain,So prayer sent forth from fervent hearts makes greenThe parched bowers of one whose life was vain.Pray for me day and night these Christmas hours,This the one gift I value all beyond;Aid me with supplication 'fore those powersWho have regard for prayer, th' angelic bond—All ye who love me knock at Jesus' gate,As for one standing outside deep in snow,Tell him a sorrowing soul doth trembling wait,And none but He can ease its load of woe.Ah, friends! of whom I once asked other things,Refuse me not this one thing asked again;Shield me, a naked soul, with sheltering wings,From rush of angry storms and bitter rain—I cannot stand the gaze of mine own eyes;That I escape myself implore our Lord—Ah, me! I learn he only's rightly wiseWho seeks in all th' exceeding great reward.From self that I be freed, O Father will!Lord Jesus from the world protect me still,Spirit paraclete, over the flesh give victory,And o'er the devil a lasting crown to me!James Keegan.
TheCatholic Review: Irish-America contributes to the new Parliament one of the strongest members of the Nationalist party, Mr. T. P. Gill, for some years past assistant editor of theCatholic World, and previously a prominent journalist in Ireland, where, during the imprisonment of Mr. William O'Brien, he took the editorial chair ofUnited Irelanduntil Mr. Buckshot Forster made it too hot for him. In the cooler climate of New York he still did good service to his party, in disabusing numbers of many ill-grounded misapprehensions and misconceptions, and in strengthening the sympathies, by increasing the information, of all well-wishers of Ireland. His work will be felt in England.
TheCatholic Review: Irish-America contributes to the new Parliament one of the strongest members of the Nationalist party, Mr. T. P. Gill, for some years past assistant editor of theCatholic World, and previously a prominent journalist in Ireland, where, during the imprisonment of Mr. William O'Brien, he took the editorial chair ofUnited Irelanduntil Mr. Buckshot Forster made it too hot for him. In the cooler climate of New York he still did good service to his party, in disabusing numbers of many ill-grounded misapprehensions and misconceptions, and in strengthening the sympathies, by increasing the information, of all well-wishers of Ireland. His work will be felt in England.
Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., of London, have published, in two volumes, the "Life of the Very Rev. Thomas N. Burke, O.P.," by William J. Fitzpatrick, F.S.A. We give a few extracts:
"Some one complained to Father Burke one day that his sermons were too 'flowery;' but it was not just criticism if the term was intended to imply that they were florid. His answer was characteristic. 'And what should they be but floury—seeing my father was a baker?' It was also in allusion to his father's calling that he was wont to boast, when questioned as to his family, that they were 'the best-bread-Burkes' of Galway.
"'When I hear him preach,' said Bishop Moriarty, 'I rejoice that the Church has gained a prize; when I hear him tell a story, I am tempted to regret that the stage has lost him.'
"A Protestant lady listening to his lecture on divorce said: 'I am bound to become a Catholic out of self-respect and self-defence.'
"During the visit of the Prince of Wales to Rome His Royal Highness went to the Irish Dominicans and to the Irish College. Father Burke was asked to guide the prince through the crypt of St. Sebastian, his Royal Highness being, it was understood, particularly anxious to see the paintings with which the early Christians decorated the places where rested their dead. Some English ladies, mostly converts, in Rome at the time, were divided in their devotion to the Prince and to the catacomb pictures—the most memorable religious pictures of the world. That evening they begged Father Burke to tell them exactly what His Royal Highness said of the frescoes. The question was parried for some time; but when the fluttered expectation of the fair questioners had risen to a climax, Father Burke showed hesitating signs of his readiness to repeat the soul-betraying exclamations of the Prince. 'Well, whatdidhe say?' they cried, in suspense. 'He said—well, he said—'Aw!'"
"In 1865, Father Burke succeeded the present Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster in the pulpit of Sta Maria del Popolo in Rome; and it is a little coincidence that the famous Dominican, a year or two earlier, when Prior of Tallaght, succeeded also the Cardinal's relative in the pulpit of the Catholic University. 'Father Andedon,' says Mr. Fitzpatrick, 'had been for some years a very popular preacher in the church of the Catholic University. On the retirement of Father Andedon to England, to which he was naturally attached by birth and belongings—for Dr. Manning was his uncle—Father Burke took his place in the pulpit.' It was here, by the way, that the 'Prince of Preachers' introduced the class of sermons known as 'Conferences,' and associated with Lacordaire and the pulpit of Notre Dame. Father Burke had never seen Lacordaire; but the Dean of the Catholic University, who had been listening to Lacordaire for years, was greatly struck by Father Burke's resemblance, as a preacher, to his great brother Dominican in France. The likenesses between preachers, as between faces, are sometimes subtle things! Bishop Moriarty, returning from Rome, paused in Paris, where he heard yet another Dominican orator, Père Monsabré, preaching at Notre Dame. When next he saw Father Tom, he said to him—'Do you know Monsabré reminded me very much of you?' 'Now,' said Father Tom—telling the story to his friend, Father Greene—'this was very gratifying to me. Père Monsabré was a great man, and I thought it an honor to be compared to him, and I told the Bishop so, adding, 'Might I ask you, my lord, what was the special feature of resemblance?' Now 'David' (the Bishop's Christian name) had a slow and deliberate and judicious way of speaking that kept me very attentive and expectant. 'Well,' he said, 'I'll tell you what struck me most. When he went up into the pulpit, he looked around him deliberately and raised up his hand and—scratched his head.'"
"In the maddest sallies of Father Tom there was generally to be found a method. His exuberances when he was Prior of San Clemente, for instance, were attributed to his desire that his tonsure might not be made to bear the weight of a mitre: 'It got whispered among the cardinals' (writes Canon Brownlow), 'that their eminences were at times the objects of his jokes, and that he even presumed to mimic those exalted personages. Some of them spoke seriously about it, and asked the Dominican Cardinal Guidi to admonish him to behave with greater gravity. Cardinal Guidi repaired to San Clemente, and proceeded to deliver his message, and Father Burke received it with becoming submission. But no sooner had the cardinal finished than Father Burke imitated his manner, accent and language, with such ludicrous exactness that the cardinal burst into a fit of laughter, and could not tell him to stop.'
"The venerable Father Mullooly was equally foiled by another phase of the young friar's freakishness, when, on being remonstrated with for what seemed to be an undue indulgence in cigars, Father Tom represented it as rather dictated by a filial duty, for the Pope, he said, had sent him a share of a chest of Havanas, worth a dollar each, which a Mexican son had forwarded to the Vatican.
"But the other side of the man came out in his sermons when he succeeded Dr. Manning—hurriedly called to England to attend the death-bed of Cardinal Wiseman—as occupant of the pulpit of Santa Maria del Popolo, and on many subsequent occasions: 'When I lift up my eyes here (he said in speaking of the 'Groupings of Calvary'), it seems as if I stood bodily in the society of these men. I see in the face of John the expression of the highest manly sympathy that comforted and consoled the dying eyes of the Saviour. It seems to me that I behold the Blessed Virgin, whose maternal heart consented in that hour of agony to be broken for the sins of men. I see the Magdalen as she clings to the cross, and receives upon that hair, with which she wiped His Feet, the drops of His Blood. I behold that heart, humbled in penance and inflamed with love—the heart of the woman who had loved much, and for whom he had prayed. It seems to me that I travel step by step to Calvary, and learn, as they unite in Him, every lesson of suffering, of peace, of hope, of joy, of love."
Montreal Gazette:The matter of Mr. Curran's speech on the occasion of the opening of St. Ann's Hall is worthy of more than passing notice. He chose for his theme the progress of the Irish race in Canada, and although the groundwork of his address was placed in Montreal, the deductions to be drawn from the statistics presented may, with equal propriety, be applied to any section of Canada in which the Irish colony is located. The Irish people are, for what reason it is unnecessary to inquire, essentially colonists, much more so as respects the mass than those of Scotland and England, and in no country or clime have they found a more hospitable welcome or a more prosperous resting-place than in Canada. In Nova Scotia, in New Brunswick, in Prince Edward Island, in Quebec, in Ontario, Irishmen and the sons of Irishmen are found in the front rank of the professions, of agriculture, of industrial enterprise, while in the affairs of State they exert a large and legitimate influence. Any one acquainted with the commercial life of Halifax, or Montreal, and the agricultural districts of Ontario, will bear witness that no more loyal and law-abiding, no more intelligent and progressive, no more industrious and thrifty people than the descendants of Irishmen are to be found. As to the progress of the race in Montreal, Mr. Curran was able to present many interesting facts. From a community so small that, in the expressive words of the late Dr. Benjamin Workman, a good-sized parlor carpet would cover all the worshippers in the church, they have grown, by continuous and healthy progression, into a population of thousands, possessed of wealth, of influence, of activity, of loyal citizenship, with its established schools, its district congregations, its charitable institutions, its temperance societies, which have administered the pledge to more than twenty-five thousand people. In the two facts that since 1867 the assessed value of real estate possessed by the Irish people in Montreal has increased from $3,500,000 to more than $12,000,000, and that on the books of the City and District Savings Bank there are eleven thousand Irish names, mostly of the working classes, whose deposits exceed $2,000,000, the highest testimony of the industry and opportunity of the race is found. The prosperity of the Irish is not singular in this free country, but, brought out as Mr. Curran has done, it serves to exemplify the splendid field for honest toil Canada affords.
An Ottawa correspondent writes:—The race prejudices between the French and Anglo-Saxon elements of the country seem to be acquiring violent vitality. Such a consummation as a fusion of the two races is out of all calculation. The French Canadians will continue, as they have always been, isolated from their fellow Canadians; nor would this matter very much if good feeling and mutual tolerance prevailedbetween the two races. An incident has just fanned this race animosity into a flame. A Toronto newspaper recently libelled a French Canadian regiment which was sent on service to the North-West. This regiment, for obvious reasons, was not sent where there was any chance of its being employed against Riel's Half-breeds. The editor was brought from Toronto to Montreal to answer for his writing before the Law Courts, and has just been condemned to pay a fine of two hundred dollars. As the editor left the court, a French Canadian officer attacked him with a whip, and in the street he was surrounded by a furious mob, incited by the inflammatory articles which the French papers of Montreal had been daily publishing during the course of the trial. To crown all, whilst endeavoring to defend himself from this violence, the hapless editor was arrested by the police and dragged before the police magistrate, who very properly discharged him. But the editor is a Toronto man, and now Toronto has indignantly taken up his cause, raising subscriptions to indemnify him for the cost of the trial—the "persecution," as it is called—and organizing an anti-French movement. All this is very regrettable seeing that the future of the Dominion depends so much upon a state of harmony between the rival races. There are indications clear and unmistakable that French Canada is yielding to a tendency towards old France, which can have none other than a sinister effect upon the prospects of this country if permitted to develop.
Toronto Mail:To-day there are in Quebec three universities, namely, Laval, McGill, and Lennoxville, three hundred secondary colleges and academies, three Normal schools, twenty-five special schools, and about six thousand primary schools, each grade of school being conducted on the principle that it is better to teach a pupil little and teach it well, than to turn him loose upon the world crammed with a smattering of everything and a knowledge of nothing. The expenditure on education is a large and constantly increasing item in the Provincial accounts; but the people cheerfully pay it, for they are well aware that intelligence is the first condition of success in modern life. [Intelligence and education are not synonyms.]
Whatever may be the result, in the future, of the experiment of erecting a French nationality in Canada, it is only right to say that the builders are building well, and setting an example of energy, courage and unity which we, in this richer province, might do worse than follow.
Toronto Tribune:The Rev. Père Andre, superior of the Oblate Fathers in the Northwest Territories, says the "rebellion" is chargeable to the abnormal system of government to which the country had been subjected. He affirms that if there had been a responsible government with authority and power to remedy the grievances of the half-breeds, there would have been no "rebellion." He maintains that therôleplayed by Riel in the "rebellion" was forced upon him. Listen toFather Andre's own words: "It can, in all truth, be stated, and the affirmations of the government to the contrary will not destroy the fact, that it was the guilty negligence of the government at Ottawa that brought Riel into the country. The half-breeds, exasperated at seeing themselves despised, and at being unable to obtain the slightest justice, thought the only means left to them to secure the rights which they demanded was to send for Riel. He, in their opinion, was the only man capable of bringing the authorities at Ottawa to reason. Riel came, and we know the ruin which he gathered about him, but the government may well saymea culpafor their delay in taking measures which would have preserved the peace of the country."
The year just past will long be known in the missions of the East as the year of martyrs. In presence of its events, it seems almost wrong to call only the early age of Christianity the Age of Martyrs. Brief accounts have already been given in the public prints; but our readers will be glad to have copious extracts from the letters of the survivors among the missionaries, who have seen their flocks, with their brethren, slaughtered by thousands. We give these the more willingly, as there has so far been no full review of Catholic Mission work in the English language. This tale of steadfastness in faith is also a new incentive to love of the Sacred Heart of our Lord.
Mgr. Colombert, vicar-apostolic of Eastern Cochin China, writes under date of August 29, 1885: "This mission, tranquil and flourishing two months ago, is now blotted out. There is no longer any doubt that twenty-four thousand Christians have been horribly massacred.... The mission of Eastern Cochin China is utterly ruined. It has no longer a single one of its numerous establishments! Two hundred and sixty churches, priests' houses, schools, orphan asylums, everything is reduced to ashes. The work done during two hundred and fifty years must be begun anew. There is not a single Christian house left standing.... The Christians have seen the massacre of their brethren and the conflagration of their houses. They have experienced the pangs of hunger, and have felt the heat of the sun on the burning sands. They must now undergo the hardships of exile, far from their native land and the graves of their forefathers."
During this time of terror and destruction, several priests had lost their lives, some under circumstances of horrible barbarity. New telegrams continued to announce to the Christians of the West that their brethren were daily called on to lay down their lives. Thus, on the 17th of October, a dispatch to the venerable superior of the seminary of Foreign Missions at Paris, announced that, besides one more missionary and ten native priests, seven thousand Christians had just been massacred. Letters, which arrived later, contained painful particulars of what had before been known only in its general outline of horror.
Five of the refugee missionaries wrote on the 15th of August: "We dare not enter into new details on this catastrophe. We will only say that to find in history a disaster to be compared to ours, it would be necessary to go back beyond the Sicilian Vespers, to the acts of vandalism of the savage hordes which swept over, one by one, the vast provinces of the Roman empire. A fact which adds to the horror is that this series of slaughters and butcheries of our Christians has been done in a country without means of communication or defence. In this way conflagration and carnage have spread as widely as our Catholic parishes were numerous. They were scattered here and there over a great extent of territory, from the north to the south. On this account the murderers and incendiaries have been able to accomplish their infamous designs with impunity. We believe that never have there been seen so many massacres and conflagrations, following one on the other for two or three weeks continuously, on so vast a scale and at so many points at the same time, with such ferocity and rage on the part of unnatural fellow-countrymen who were exterminating their unarmed brothers.
"Alas! our souls are sad unto death at the sight of the extent of our misfortunes. New dispatches will soon inform you how many survivors are left of twenty-nine missionaries and seventeen native priests, of more than forty male teachers of religion, of one hundred and twenty students of Latin and theology, of four hundred and fifty native religious sisters, and of forty-one thousand Christians.
"In order that these almost incredible misfortunes may not be thought exaggerated, even by those who are ill-disposed, God has permitted that laymen in great number—officers and soldiers of the French post, officers and sailors of the war-ship moored in the harbor of Qui-nhon, the crew and passengers of the steamer which came to port August 5th—should witness the horrible sight of ten or twelve different centres of conflagration. There were as many fires as there were Christian settlements. These lighted up the horizon all along the shore for several miles. The officers, soldiers, and travellers were for the most part strangers, and in some cases indifferent to everything that concerns the missions. They have seen with their own eyes and with lively emotion the greatness of the disasters which have befallen us.... Missionaries and Christians, we have literally been deprived of everything: clothing, houses, rice, vestments for the celebration of the holy Mass and the administration of the sacraments, books; we are in need of everything. Scarcely one of us was able to save any part of his possessions. But that which has the most saddened us missionaries, is to have been forced to be present, down-hearted and powerless, during the ruin and extermination of our Christians. How many times have we repeated the words of Scripture:I saw the oppressions that are done under the sun, and the tears of the innocent, and they had no comforter: and they were not able to resist their violence, being destitute of help from any. And I praised the dead rather than the living.(Eccl. iv. 1-2.) Yes, happy are those among us who died before witnessing all these calamities, in comparison of which a typhoon, an inundation, even a pestilence, would seem only ordinary misfortunes."
The Messenger of the Sacred Heart.
Mr. Parnell will have eighty-six followers in the new Parliament. From biographical sketches of them the following facts have been gleaned:—Twenty-three have had some collegiate education; twenty-five have sat in previous Parliaments; nine of them are lawyers, six editors, four magistrates, four merchants, three physicians, two educational workers, two drapers, three tavern-keepers, four farmers, two grocers, one carpenter, one blacksmith, one florist, one watchmaker, one tailor, one dancing-saloon owner, and one manager of a dancing-school. There are also a brewer, an ex-Lord Mayor of Dublin, a Secretary to the Lord Mayor of Dublin, a Baronet, and a Knight. It appears that the members are mostly men of the middle classes, who labor in some profession or trade for a living. Only two men with titles are on the list. The plebeian calling and humble origin of so many of the new Irish members has thrown the English aristocrats into a frightful state of mind, and the landed gentry who are to be rubbed against by these mudsills in St. Stephen's have lashed themselves into a fury upon the subject. To add to the enormity of the offence, these men do not do business by wholesale, or on a large scale, but are mere humble tradesmen, publicans, and artisans. The grocers, for instance, are common green grocers, who wait on patrons with aprons tied about their waists, and the carpenter, blacksmith, tailor, and others, actually work with their hands! The Tories feel that evil days have fallen upon the land. They deplore the fact that the system of non-payment of members, which has so long kept poor men out of Parliament, has been broken down. They point out that if the Irish are allowed to pay their own members, and even to send to America for money for that purpose, the pernicious system will soon spread to England, and the House of Commons will be utterly debased. Some irritation against America is also expressed. Of course, the Tories say, they could expect nothing better from the Irish in America; but of those Americans who promoted or patronized the fund, they speak in terms of both sorrow and anger. TheSt. James's Gazette, after pointing out the plebeian character of the Parnellite members, says: "Are these capable to reproduce the ancient glories of Parliament? Shall they dominate the inheritors of the great names which have made Parliament illustrious?" The Radicals rather enjoy the situation. Many of them are taking up the cudgels in Ireland's behalf, in the hope that the Irish new-comers will unite with the British workingmen, who have been elected by the Radicals. There are about a dozen of such members elect. They include a mason, a glass-blower, a tailor, a boot-maker, and a laborer. The Radical papers urge the workingmen and self-made men, from both sides of the Irish Channel, to combine and beard the aristocrats in their hereditary den—the House of Commons.
Irish-American.
The statement that English "Liberal" employers are about to discharge Irish workingmen throughout Great Britain, because they voted with Parnell, is ridiculous on its face, and is worthy only of the malignant genius of the persons who supply cable news to a portion of the American press. The same canard was started on the world's rounds immediately after the London explosions of a year ago. All this kind of nonsense is originated in the press rooms of London for the purpose of diminishing the Irish-American activity in the Irish cause. The originators are silly enough to believe that the Irish in the United States might stop aiding Mr. Parnell if they thought their kindred in England would be made to suffer by the agitation.
Great causes cannot consider the sufferings of individuals, or aggregations of individuals, in working out their objects. Whether a few suffer or whether millions suffer cuts no figure in a fight for principle, or for the greatest good of the greatest number. If mankind were constructed on that chicken-hearted basis, no great movement for the benefit of the human race could ever have succeeded. It was not pleasant for the American Revolutionists, most of whom were husbands and fathers, to be compelled to leave their families unprotected, and, in many cases exposed to the attacks of England's savage allies, for the purpose of joining the patriot ranks under the leadership of Washington.
When the soldiers of the French Republic rushed to arms, and defended France successfully against all Europe, during the last decade of the eighteenth century, they did not think of the privations of the bivouac, of the horrors of the battlefield, of the sorrow of their families, they thought only of France and of liberty.
In the War of the Rebellion millions of Union men sacrificed home, wife, children, all that could make life dear, for what they believed to be a cause superior to all domestic considerations. They died by hundreds of thousands, and, in too many cases, left their families destitute; but they saved the Union and thus preserved freedom, prosperity and happiness to the countless millions of America's future.
So is it with the cause of Ireland. Even should some English employers discharge thousands of their Irish workmen, which is highly improbable, that is no reason why the Irish people should abandon the path of duty. If Ireland should attain her freedom, it will not be long necessary for Irish working people to be dependent on Englishmen, or other foreigners, for a livelihood. They will find enough to do at home, in developing the resources and winning back the lost industries of their country. Americans were not afraid to give up one million men to the sword that the republic might be saved. Irishmen in America or elsewhere cannot be terrified into neutrality by a threat that a few thousands of their kindred in Great Britain may be thrown out of employment because of Parnell's agitation.
The Citizen, Chicago.
To Our Venerable Brethren, Henry Edward, Cardinal Priest of the Holy Roman Church, of the Title of Sts. Andrew and Gregory on the Cœlian Hill, Archbishop of Westminster, and the other Bishops of England, Pope Leo XIII.
To Our Venerable Brethren, Henry Edward, Cardinal Priest of the Holy Roman Church, of the Title of Sts. Andrew and Gregory on the Cœlian Hill, Archbishop of Westminster, and the other Bishops of England, Pope Leo XIII.
Venerable Brethren,Health and Apostolic Benediction—Your proved fidelity and singular devotion to this Apostolic See are admirably shown in the letter which we have lately received from you. Our pleasure in receiving it is indeed increased by the further knowledge which it gives us of your great vigilance and anxiety in a matter where no care can be too great; we mean the Christian education of your children, upon which you have lately taken counsel together, and have reported to us the decisions to which you came.
In this work of so great moment, venerable brethren, we rejoice much to see that you do not work alone; for we know how much is due to the whole body of your clergy. With the greatest charity, and with unconquered efforts, they have provided schools for their children; and with wonderful diligence and assiduity, they endeavor by their teaching to form them to a Christian life, and to instruct them in the elements of knowledge. Wherefore, with all the encouragement and praise that our voice can give, we bid your clergy to go on in their meritorious work, and to be assured of our special commendation and good-will, looking forward to a far greater reward from our Lord God, for whose sake they are laboring.
Not less worthy of commendation is the generosity of Catholics in this matter. We know how readily they supply what is needed for the maintenance of schools; not only those who are wealthy, but those, also, who are of slender means and poor; and it is beautiful to see how, often from the earnings of their poverty, they willingly contribute to the education of children.
In these days, and in the present condition of the world, when the tender age of childhood is threatened on every side by so many and such various dangers, hardly anything can be imagined more fitting than the union with literary instruction of sound teaching in faith and morals. For this reason, we have more than once said that we strongly approve of the voluntary schools, which, by the work and liberality of private individuals, have been established in France, in Belgium, in America, and in the Colonies of the British Empire. We desire their increase, as much as possible, and that they may flourish in the number of their scholars. We ourselves also, seeing the condition of things in this city, continue, with the greatest effort and at great cost to provide an abundance of such schools for the children of Rome. For it is in, and by, these schools that the Catholic faith, our greatest and bestinheritance, is preserved whole and entire. In these schools the liberty of parents is respected; and, what is most needed, especially in the prevailing license of opinion and of action, it is by these schools that good citizens are brought up for the State; for there is no better citizen than the man who has believed and practiced the Christian faith from his childhood. The beginning, and, as it were, the seed of that human perfection which Jesus Christ gave to mankind, are to be found in the Christian education of the young: for the future condition of the State depends upon the early training of its children. The wisdom of our forefathers, and the very foundations of the State, are ruined by the destructive error of those who would have children brought up without religious education. You see, therefore, venerable brethren, with what earnest forethought parents must beware of intrusting their children to schools in which they cannot receive religious teaching.
In your country of Great Britain, we know that, besides yourselves, very many of your nation are not a little anxious about religious education. They do not in all things agree with us; nevertheless they see how important, for the sake both of society and of men individually, is the preservation of that Christian wisdom which your forefathers received, through St. Augustine, from our predecessor, Gregory the Great; which wisdom the violent tempests that came afterwards have not entirely scattered. There are, as we know, at this day, many of an excellent disposition of mind who are diligently striving to retain what they can of the ancient faith, and who bring forth many and great fruits of charity. As often as we think of this, so often are we deeply moved; for we love with a paternal charity that island which was not undeservedly called the Mother of Saints; and we see, in the disposition of mind of which we have spoken, the greatest hope, and, as it were, a pledge of the welfare and prosperity of the British people.
Go on, therefore, venerable brethren, in making the young your chief care; press onward in every way your episcopal work, and cultivate with alacrity and hopefulness whatever good seeds you find; for God, who is rich in mercy, will give the increase.
As a pledge of gifts from above, and in witness of our good-will, we lovingly grant in the Lord to you, and to the clergy and people committed to each one of you, the Apostolic Benediction.
Given at Rome, at St. Peter's, on the 27th day of November, in the year 1885, in the eighth year of our Pontificate.
Leo PP. XIII.
Bishop Spalding on Stimulants.—I hate drink, because it destroys the good in life. I find in my own experience that I am more myself, while under total abstinence, than when I was a moderate drinker. Life is sweeter, fonder, freer to me as a total abstainer than as a moderate drinker. So I say, if you want to get the most out of your life, if you want to sympathize with your fellow-man, to feel the true force of your beginning, abstain from alcoholic stimulants.
Bishop Spalding on Stimulants.—I hate drink, because it destroys the good in life. I find in my own experience that I am more myself, while under total abstinence, than when I was a moderate drinker. Life is sweeter, fonder, freer to me as a total abstainer than as a moderate drinker. So I say, if you want to get the most out of your life, if you want to sympathize with your fellow-man, to feel the true force of your beginning, abstain from alcoholic stimulants.