were not more than twenty-five thousand Catholics in a population of three millions; and this handful of believers was sunk in a life of religious ignorance and indifference. They had not, like the Catholics of England and Ireland, a past history filled with glorious names and their hallowed memories. Great cathedrals reared by Catholic hands did not look down upon them to speak of the faith and charity of their fathers, and sad ruins did not plead with them to rebuild the desecrated sanctuary of God. They had lost sight of Europe, and found themselves in a new world with the old faith, and yet without visible evidence, or almost any knowledge of the mighty things which it had wrought in the past.

An observer who, a hundred years ago, should have considered the religious condition of this country, could have discovered no sign whatever that might have led him to suppose that the faith of this little body of Catholics was to have a future in the American Republic; whereas now there are many reasons for thinking that no other religion is so sure of a future here as the Catholic. The Church in the United States is no longer confined to three or four counties of a single State. It is co-extensive with the country, embracing North and South, East and West. It is a great and public fact which man cannot, if he would, ignore.

It is our only historic religion. Outside its fold there are views and opinions, but here is an organism which shoots its roots deep into the hidden strata of buried ages. None others had received the same providential training for this work; of no other people had God required such proofs of love.

Like the children of Israel, the Irish had borne the

roke of bondage; had been rescued from the sea of blood and had wandered for weary years in the desert, without home, without country; cut off from all contact with other people, and saved from despair and death only by the presence of the pillar of fire which is God's Catholic Church.

Their very language had died away upon their lips and they began to speak the tongue of the persecutor whom they were to evangelize. Nothing was left them but faith and virtue, that they might fully realize that these are the best gifts of God, and are enough. They found Christ's Church, which was to be their only hope, poor and lowly as the infant Saviour in the stable of Bethlehem; but kings and wise men brought no offerings of gold, incense, and myrrh. The heavenly bride was left alone with the priest and the people, despised, unthought of, like the divine Master on the cross, that so the poor might gather about her as in the early ages, and learn to know her hidden beauty. There were no mystic ceremonies, no rich altar; there was no stately cathedral, no pomp and splendor of worship-none of all those things through which alone, it is thought, the Church holds sway over the multitude; and yet they knelt to her with hearts of purest love, nor cared to have either a home or a country, if she were not there!

Questions:- Give the first sentence in two ways. Who find all? Prove this from the New Testament. What is God's kingdom on Earth? To whose care and devotion is she in part left? What is the highest mission God can give a man? How was Catholicity situated in the early days of the United States? What characteristics fitted the Irish for their religious mission in America? Give the following passages in your own words:

"Outside its fold.... .. .strata of buried ages." mystic.. .if she were not there."

"There were no

KING ROBERT OF SICILY.

OBERT of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, emperor of Allemaine,

Apparell'd in magnificent attire,

With retinue of many a knight and squire,
On St. John's Eve, at Vespers, proudly sat
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat.
And as he listen'd, o'er and o'er again
Repeated, like a burden or refrain,
He caught the words, "Deposuit potentes
De sede, et exaltavit humiles;"

And slowly lifting up his kingly head,

He to a learned clerk beside him said,

"What mean these words?" The clerk made auswer meet,

"He has put down the mighty from their seat,

And has exalted them of low degree.”

Thereat King Robert mutter'd scornfully,
""Tis well that such seditious words are sung
Only by priests, and in the Latin tongue;
For unto priests and people be it known,

There is no power can push me from my throne.”
And leaning back, he yawn'd and fell asleep,
Lull'd by the chant monotonous and deep.

When he awoke, it was already night;

The church was empty, and there was no light,
Save where the lamps, that glimmer'd few and faint,
Lighted a little space before some saint.

He started from his seat and gazed around,
But saw no living thing and heard no sound.
He groped towards the door, but it was lock'd;
He cried aloud, and listen'd, and then knock'd,
And utter'd awful threatenings and complaints,
And imprecations upon men and saints.

The sounds re-echo'd from the roof and walls
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.

At length the sexton, hearing from without
The tumult of the knocking and the shout,
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?"
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,
"Open-'tis I, the king! Art thou afraid?"
The frighten'd sexton, muttering with a curse,
"This is some drunken vagabond, or worse,"
Turn'd the great key, and flung the portal wide;
A man rush'd by him at a single stride,
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,
Who neither turn'd nor look'd at him, nor spoke,
But leap'd into the blackness of the night,
And vanish'd like a spectre from his sight.

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, emperor of Allemaine,
Despoil'd of his magnificent attire,

Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire,
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate,
Strode on and thunder'd at the palace gate;

Rush'd through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage
To right and left each seneschal and page,
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.
From hall to hall he pass'd with breathless speed;
Voices and cries he heard but did not heed;

Until at last he reach'd the banquet room,
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume.
There on the dais sat another king,

Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring;
King Robert's self in features, form and height,
But all transfigured with angelic light!
It was an angel, and his presence there
With a divine effulgence fill'd the air,
An exaltation, piercing the disguise,
Though none the hidden angel recognize.

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed,
The throneless monarch on the angel gazed,
Who met his looks of anger and surprise
With the divine compassion of his eyes;

Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?"
To which King Robert answer'd with a sneer,

"I am the king, and come to claim my own From an impostor, who usurps my throne!" And suddenly, at these audacious words,

Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords.

The angel answer'd, with unruffled brow,

66

Nay, not the king, but the king's jester; thou

Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scallop'd cape,

And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape;

Thou shalt obey my servants when they call,
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall."

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers,
They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs;
A group of tittering pages ran before,

And as they open'd wide the folding door

His heart fail'd; for he heard, with strange alarms,
The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring

With the mock plaudits of "Long live the king!"