Though bright and many are the spots
Where I have built a nest,

Yet in the brightest still I pined
For more abiding rest.

Riches could bring me joy and power,

And they were fair to see;
Yet gold was but a sorry god

To serve instead of thee.

Then honor and the world's good word
Appeared a nobler faith;

Yet could I rest on bliss that hung
And trembled on a breath?

The pleasure of the passing hour
My spirit next could wile;

But soon, full soon my heart fell sick
Of pleasure's weary smile.

More selfish grown, I worshipped health,

The blush of manhood's power;
But then it came and went so quick

It was but for an hour.

And thus a not unkindly world

Hath done its best for me;
Yet I have found, O God, no rest,

No harbor short of thee.

For thou hast made this wondrous soul

All for thyself alone;

Ah! send thy sweet transforming grace

To make it more thine own.

Questions: What does the sinner admit in first stanza? What has he been seeking (second)? What is said of riches (third)? On what do honor and the world's praise hang and tremble (fourth)? Of what did the heart feel sick (fifth)? What was next worshipped (sixth)?

What came of it? What kind of a world has it been (seventh)? Why have all these means (honor, wealth, fame) failed (eighth)? Memorize the last stanza, and give in your own words after reciting.

WE

EXTRACTS FROM MME. DE SWETCHINE.

E are early struck by bold conceptions and brilliant thoughts later, we learn to appreciate natural grace and the charm of simplicity. In early youth, we are hardly sensible of any but very lively emotions. All that is not dazzling appears dull; all that is not affecting, cold. Conspicuous beauties overshadow those which must be sought; and the mind, in its haste to enjoy, demands facile pleasures. Ripe age inspires us with other thoughts. We retrace our steps; taste critically what, before, we devoured; study and make discoveries; and the ray of light, decomposed under our hands, yields a thousand shades for one color.

Parodies on things I love either disgust me, or trouble my conscience. Nothing that has touched the heart ought ever to be profaned.

Courtesy in the world is by no means a false and culpable pretence. It softens rather than dissimulates; and, on the whole, since it deceives nobody, it cannot be accused of falsehood. Incompatibility of character; the profound and radical differences which are born of principles drawn from hostile sources; the pursuit of conflicting ends, all these elements of discord, brought into play by the lively irritability of self-love, wounded pride, or opposing interests, make it hard to understand why the assembling together of men is not oftener the occasion of strife, invective, and bitter provocation. Yet the effect, in our salons, is very far from corresponding to the universal cause. Without great

vaunting its motives, urbanity comes to our aid. By the blandness of its form it supplies the place of the justice and moderation which ought to reign within. The most decided opinions are shorn of all outward acerbity; and while they do not entirely cease to manifest themselves, yet, by suppressing all show of hostility, and moderating their forms of expression, they are enabled to inflict no mutual wounds, but to pass by one another, like two clouds charged with electricity, -near enough for recognition but not for contact. This species of sordina, imposed upon the sentiments, might easily have the effect of hardening in error a mind trained in an inferior civilization; and which, accustomed to a different diapason, might mistake for indifference, laxity, or scepticism, the forms which are made supple to avoid needless friction. For those who can read in this dim light, a word, an interval of silence, an allusion ever so remote, the slightest change of intonation suffice; and the result is, that, if no one expresses his thought exactly as he feels it, no one stops at the precise form of expression; but the clear and actual sense is discovered, and remains in the intellect only, as the nude may be distinguished beneath the drapery. If we study politeness in its models, we shall find that it never leads - I will not say to falsehood, but to the slightest concession ever; and that to a practised eye, the genuine thought disengages itself in perfect integrity from the forms by which it is surrounded. Doubtless, a just toleration, a disposition to respect the ideas and convictions of every free and intelligent being, would be preferable to arrangements which are but skin deep; but a spirit of deference at once steadfast, sincere and enlightened, belongs to a perfection so rare that the majority of men

must remain strangers thereto. A less lofty principle of action is needed; and such a principle is expressed in that system of delicate calculations and permissions which has received the name of savoir vivre, - perhaps because it is the condition of all mixed social life.

Faith, amid the disorders of a sinful life, is like the lamp burning in an ancient tomb.

The joys of religion are understood only by those who partake of them. Of all kinds of happiness, this is the one whose expression should be most moderate and humble in the presence of those who do not share it. "When you enter the house of a blind man," says an Andalusian proverb, "shut your eyes."

God has entrusted man with the raw material. He creates the world, and gives it to man to finish. Man originates nothing, but continues and develops all things. Speech is furnished him; and he invents writing. The ocean fresh from God's hands puts continents asunder; man makes it only the broadest of highways. The earth is delivered to him rough, and often sterile. He smooths and renders it productive. He grafts the wild stock. And in the plan of salvation, the sufferings of believers finish and perfect the passion of our Lord.

Language itself declares the inferiority of the collective to the singular. To begin with a supreme example, compare what we feel when we say the gods, and God; men and man. And so in inferior matters: an assurance of regard is a promise of affection; to present one's regards is only an amenity. One may speak of his friends, without having or giving the idea that he has a friend. Respect is a serious thing for the one who feels it, and the height of honor for him who inspires the feeling; my respects are but a formula. An interest in life is all we can desire. Our interests are next

to nothing. It is a pleasant thing to give occasion for a compliment; my compliments run at large. Everybody has enemies. To have an enemy is quite another thing. One must be somebody in order to have an enemy. One must be a force, before he can be resisted by another force.

PROGRESS OF CATHOLICITY IN THE UNITED STATES,

AS ILLUSTRATED IN THE

LIVES OF THE PRELATES OF THE AMERICAN CHURCH.

THE progress of Catholicity in the United States should be a most interesting study to the American Catholic. In no other land have the possibilities of the Church, or her wonderful adaptability to all the varying conditions of human society, been so broadly illustrated. In the brief space of one hundred years are condensed all the characteristic features of the previous seventeen centuries of the Church's growth. The primitive fervor of the Evangelists; the heroism of the martyrs; the burning enthusiasm of the medieval missionary; the learning of the Fathers and the Schoolmen; the simple fellowship of the Apostolic Church and the magnificent compactness of the modern organizations - all have been reproduced under parallel conditions of development in this new land. The same enemies which the faith has met in other ages have here sprung up again, and have been met and conquered by champions as valiant as ever Christian legionary or Catholic knight. It is in the lives of a few of these brave champions, the bishops of the American Hierarchy, that we now propose to glance at the growth of Catholicity in this country. And aside from its use as a historical sketch, the study will