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cited, everv one wanted to help Connor. Jobs were thrown in his way, kind words and frendly wishes helped him mightily ; but no power could make him share the food or drink of any other workman. That seemed a sort of charity to him. Still he was helped along. A p’ jsent from Mr. Bawn at pay day set Nora, as he said “a week nearer,” and this and this and that and the other added to the little hoard. It grew faster than the first, and Connor’s burden was not so heavy At last, before he hoped it, he was once more able to say “Pm going to bring them over,” and to show his hand kerchief, in which, as before, he tied up his earnings; this time, however, only to his friends. Cautious among strangers, be hid the treasure, and kept his vest buttoned over it night and day until the tickets were bought and sent. Then every man, woman, and child capable of hearing or understanding, knew that Nora and her baby were corning. There was John Jones, who had more of the brute in his composition than usu ally falls to the lot of man—even he, who had coldly hurled his hammer at an of fender’s head, missing him by a hair’s breadth, would spend his ten minutes in the noon hour in reading the Irish news to Connor. There was Tom Baker, the meanest man among the number, who had never been known to give anything to ony one before, absolutely bartered away an old jacket for a pair of gift vases, which a pedlar brought in his basket to the shop, and presented them to Connor for his Nora’s mantel piece.. And here was idle Dick, the ap prentice, who worked two hours on Connor’s work when illness kept the Irishman at home one day. Connor felt this kindness, and returned it whenever it was in his power, and the days flew by and brought a letter at last from his wife. “She would .start as ho desired, and she was well, and so was the boy, and might the Lord bring them safely to each other’s arms, and bless those who had been so kind to him.” This was the substance of the epistle which Connor proudly assured his fellow-workmen Nora wrote herself. She had lived at service, as a girl, with a certain good old lady, who had given her an education, the isms of which Connor told upon his fingers. “The radin,’ that’s one, and the "writin,’ that’s three, and moreover she knows all a woman can.” Then he looked up at his fellow-workmen, with the tears in his eyes, and asked ; “D’ye wondther the time seeins long between me an’ her boys V ’ r So it was—Nora at the dawn of day— Nora at noon—Nora at night—until the news came that the “Stormy Petrel” had come to port, and Connor, breathless and pale with excitement, tlung his cap in the air and shouted. It happened on a holiday afternoon, anfl half a dozen men were ready to go with Connor to the steamer, and give his wife a greeting. Her liitle home was ready. Mr. Hawn’s own servant had pat it in order, and Connor took one peep at it before he started. She hadn’t the like o’ that in the ould couuthry,” he said. “But she’ll know how to keep them tidy.” Then ho led the way toward the dock where the steamer lay, at a pace which made it hard for the rest to follow him. i'he spot was reached at last; a crowd of vehicles blockaded the street; fine cabin passengers were stepping into cabs, and drivers, porters, and all manner of employees were yelling and shouting in the usual manner. Nora would wait on hoard for her husband—he knew that. The little group made their way into the vessel at last, and there, amidst those who sut watching for coming friends, Connor searched for the two so dear to him; patiently at first, eagerly, but pa tiently ; but by and by, growing anxious and excited. “She would niver go alone,” he said. “She’d be lost entirely; 1 bade her wait, but I don’t see her boy. I think she’s not in it.” “Why don’t you see the captain,” asked one, and Connor jumped at the suggestion. In *a moment he stood be lore a portly, rubicund man, who nodded to him kindly. “1 am looking lor my wife, ver honor,” said Connor, “and I can’t find her.” “Perhaps she’s gone ashore,” said the captain. “1 bade her wait,” said Connor. . “Women don’t always do as they are hid, you know,” said the captain. “Norn would,” said Connor; “but maybe she was left behind ; maybe she didn’t come, I somehow think she didn’t.” At the name of Nora the captain started. In a moment he asked : “What’s your name ?” “Pat said the man, “ And your wife’s name was Nora V* “ fhat’s her name, and the boy with her is Jamcsy, yer honor,” said Connor. The captain looked at Connor’s friends; they looked at the captain. Then he said huskily. “Sit down, my men ; I’ve got some thing to tell you.” “She’s left behind ?” said Connor. “She sailed with us,” said the captain. “Where is she ?” said Connor The captain made no answer. “My man,” ho said, “we all have our trials; God sends them. Yes—Nora started with us.” Connor said nothing’ He was looking at the captain now, white to the lips. “It’s been a sickly season,” said the captain,” “we had illness on board—the cholera. You know that ?” “I didn t,” said Connor ; “I can’t read, they kep’ it from me.” “We didn’t want to frighten him,” said one man in a half whisper. “You know how long we laid at quar antine ” “The ship I came in did, that” said Connor. “Did you say Nora went ashore ?” Ought to be lookin’ for her, Captain.” “Many died,” went on the captain— ‘ ‘many children. When we were half way here your boy was taken sick”— “Jamesy,” gasped Connor. “His mother watched him night and day,” said tho captain, “and we did all we could, but at last be died; only one of many. . There were five buried that day. But it broke my heart to see the mother looking out upon the water.” “Its his father I think of,” said she*; “he’s longing to see poor Jamesy.” Connor groaned. “Keep up if you can, my man,” said the captain. “I wish any one else had it to tell rather than I That night Nora was taken ill also ; very suddenly. She grew worse fasi. In the morning she called mo to her. ‘Tell Connor I died thinking of him/ she said,‘and tell him to meet me, —and my man, God help you, —she never said anything more—in an hour she was gone.” Connor had risen. He stood up trying to steady himself, looking at the captain, with his eyes as dry as two stones. Then he turned to his friends: “I’ve got my death, boys,” he said, and then dropped to the floor like a log. They raised him and bore him away. In an hour he was at home on the lit tle bed which had been made ready for Nora, weary with her long voyage. There, at last, he opened his eyes. Old Mr. Bawn bent over him ; he had been sum moned by the news, and the room was full of Connor’s fellow workmen. “Bet ter, Connor ?” asked the old man. “A dale,” said Connor. “It’s aisy now, I’lL be with her soon. And look ye. mas ther, I’ve learnt one thing—God is good; He would not let me bring Nora over to me, but He’s asking me over to her and Jamesy—over the river; don’t you see it and her standing on the other side to welcome me?” And with these words, Connor stretched out his arms. Perhaps he did sec Nora —Heaven only knows—and so he died. [ Churchman . —■ v-mm ————— THE IRISHMAN IN AMERICA, Judge Lochrane addresed the Irish of Sa vannah on St. Patrick’s day. Wo clip the following from the speech as reported in the papers of that city, which, we are told, brought dowu loud and continued cheers. Referring to the propriety of Irishmen celebrating thffir lovo for Ireland, he said : This is a sentiment to cherish, not to crush—for the Irish heart that beats true to Georgia when her manhood was in the field struggling auainst the storm, and the bravest advocate Ireland gave to the South, was the one that was truest to Ireland and drowned its shamrock on St. Patrick’s day. I cannot forget the sentiment T received from that noble and gallant representative of our name and nation, General Cleburne written in response to a letter of mine, thanking him in the name of his country men for his illustration of their devotion for the section of their adoption and choice. He returned me his thanks for the compliment conveyed, and remarked : “He was more sensitive to the good opinion of liis countrymen than that of all the world besides.” No nobler illustration could be given in favor of the position I occupy, for in him we may recognize, at one glance the purest type of Irish nationality, and the holiest and deepest devotion to the land of his adoption. * * :jt * »jc Jfc Passing over the fertile memorials of heroic life and illustrious achievement, the magnitude of poetical and regal events, which cluster in bunches of poetical inci dent over the glittering pages of Irish his tory, and coming down to the living, acting, thinking present, we may here pause to as sert that the long continued attempts by the government of Great Britain to root ; out the name and chui eh of St. Patrick in Ireland, lias been the most constant as well most fruitful cause of Irish grievance and wrong. Ho not, my friends, suppose I am going into a discursive or exhaustive abuse of the ■BAIB3BB fSI British Government; that I am here to vituperate British laws, the British throne, the British Queen, or the British Govern ment. Eighteen years ago America pre sented to the world a proud pre-eminence in every political and constitutional free dom. Light taxation and large personal liberty characterized the Republic, the as sent of each to the grand unity at Wash ington invoked tho panegyric which by contrast, reflected on Britain. But to-day things are changed ; surroundings of the hour impress me with the falsities of de clamation and the oracles of demagogues. Men in glass houses ought to be careful of the use ot projectiles, and living under that new dispensation of statesmanship (so-called) which ornaments the capital— which refines our Constitution, under which the States were bound in political and sovereign equality, until, like Saturn, the Union devours its own children. lam too sick of tyranny at home to itinerate in search of grievances. To-day tho British Government may pass without any fling from me. For the Re public, as administered by Republicans, presents a picture I can neither speak of with patience, nor contemplate without horror. We can only pray the interposition of Heaven to avert from us the absolutism from which other nations have been par tially emrnoipated, and the crash and car nage which tollow changes in government, when the wheels turn back and the popu lar explosion drives off splinters and scat ters death in every direction. Ihere is power in the nation to proteot it from ruin, power to reassert the funda mental law ot Constitutional government, power to save tho Republic from being im molated with the dews of its baptism still upon its forehead, power to roll away the stone from the sepulchre and call forth the imprisoned spirit to walk forth in all its majesty, to heal the wounds of the na tion .. The way is strewn with palms, the multitudes are ready to march forth with hymns of glory on their lips, and by this power, the power of the public virtue, the power of the public voice, the power of the intelligent and reasoning patriotism, we will yet see, I trust, America rise up from the flames of political persecution and prostration, to soar to the zenith, without a w ing being scorched or a feather rutiled. I do not despair of Republics or wish for “Monarchies by the grace of God.” Fellow-countrymen, I trust it is not in opportune, or outside the inspiration of the occasion, to conjure you to stand by the great principles for which many ot your friends, brothers, and sons poured out their life-blood from the Potomac to the Rio Grande. We would be false to ourselves and false to the memories of the past, if we could cast a sneer upon their graves, or forgetfulness over their acts. They were our brothers, and at our bidding went out under the conviction of duty to do or die in Freedom’s cause. While defeat has im posed its duties, and henceforth nationality must be respected as the will of the na tion ; while under tho flag of tho United States wo must stand up manfully in ac ceptance of tho duties of citizenship, and must meet every essential of allegiance with fidelity, yet fakh in the past is con sistent with this duty of citizenship, and the statesman who would question your right to the memories of the past six years, would expose an enormity of ignorance, at which every reputable Irishman would smile. Any attempt to change opinion by force would only tend to make ail idol of worship to the persecuted ; and besides, tho heart may be true to memories and true to living issues. Tho affectiou of the widow, in her drapery of gloom and tears, is more to be trusted than the smiles of a mistress, w ho has no memories to bless aud no lost ones to mourn. We, Irishmen, can come under the flag of tho United States and celebrate our memories. Every nationality can havo its day of celebration. Then why may not men born here under these skies have as much right to their memories as foreigners V Are they to be strangers and worse than exiles in the land of their birth, and among the very tomb3 of their ancestors i God forbid. For my part, to-day, in this hall, I pour out my tribute to tho Irishmen who main tained with their lives the courage and gal lantry of our people. Savannah gave some eleven companies to the war, and some from this city united with their fellow countrymen in a Macon company which honored my name by bearing it to the field. Many of them have fallen, but I thank God the Irishmen who survive can con gratulate themselves that in their death they distributed among us a heritage of glory. Georgia has no right to doubt the metal of her exiled citizens ; for when the cloud broke over this land and the rain of blood crimsoned the streets, when gusts of frenzied passion came aud went, and swept before it every sentiment of peace, and dashed wave against wave in angry strife, the adopted son felt the cause was his and bravely went to the rescue ; and the lost is still his to keep in memory, and revere his friends who went down with the tide and left but tho testimony of a name un stained as their epitaph. Better, yes, far better, prouder, nobler, holier, to fill the uncoffined ditch of some poor Irishman in grey and leave no name or stone, and wear tho consciousness “He tell for a cause still loved, though lost,” than to have been born rich like some we wot of, with a spoon in his mouth, or grow up to fill his pockets with spoons or fill a marbled tenement with the inscription, “He was a Georgia Radical to the manor born.” The following wit will be appreciated: We might have visited the celebrated castle where the Blarney stone is enshrined, and had our tongues touched with the mel ifluous civility it inspires by kissing it ; that is if Irish tongues need* such a pro cess to render them sweet. But 1 gravely doubt now that the Blarney stone could be found upon the remotest search in Ireland. For I am satisfied that some American ed itors North have, under the pretence of a pilgrimage, carried the stone away, that it could be used henceforth in the sole busi ness of bespattering with praise a certain aspirant for Presidential honors. Poor Ireland! what will become of your future without your “Blarney Stone?” What can these editors give in return for so great 8 loss?—an editorial from Greeley on the rights of naturalized citiseus—a sonnet from Forney on the “Boys of Kil kenny”—an essay on the “Shillelah,” by Sumner, and somo Yankee invention to take its place, patronized and recommended by Heury Ward Beecher. These might compensate, but a true Irishman would prefer “the Blarney Stone” to all tho XLIX Congress could give in return. As tor myselt, I call for their impeach ment before the high Court of Flatterers and Humbugs, and demand that they do take the back track with that stone and deposit it in the ruins of Blarney Castle. I he rock of Plymouth has enough bombast And vanity, egotism and self-adulation left to last the editorial fraternity of New England for a hundred years to come, without robbing Ireland of her Blarney Stone. LITERARY AND ART ITEMS. The Ohio State library has twenty-six thousand volumes. The Philadelphia Artists’ Fund Society will shortly open an exhibition of water colors at their galleries. Thomas Dunn English offers a reward of SSO to any one who will prove that he was not the author of “Ben Bolt!” Who wrote “Rock Me to Sleep, Mother V* Rothermel expects to have his colossal “Battle of Gettysburg,” which he painted for Harrisburg, and for which he is to receive $30,000, finished some time this year. Since the imprisonment of the two editors of tho Memphis Avalanche , Mrs. banny B. Galloway (the wife of the senior editor) has entered the sanctum, aud occupied the editorial chair. A correspondent gives a fine descrip tion of a well preserved statue in the \ ilia Albani, near Rome, which is gener ally supposed to transmit to our day the form aud lineaments of the great fabulist, iEsop. Maj. Gen. Cullum will soon publish, at his own expense, a “Register of the West Point Graduates,” in two large octavo volumes, aud comprising about twenty-fiv* hundred biographical sketches. Geu. D. H. Hill having purchased the interest of James P Irwin and Capt. J. G Morrison in the Land We Love , suc ceeds to the exclusive proprietorship of that able and popular Southern magazine. Brothers *nd sisters should promote each others temporal interests. The law of God commands us to promote the tem poral interests of our fellow-creatures as far as in our power, and there is a pecu liar obligation on members of families to forward each other’s advantage. All the sovereigns who visited the Hotel de Vi lie, in Paris, this year, prom ised M. Hausmann that they would send their busts in wdiite marble. In fulfilment of his promise, the King of Prussia has just ordered his from the celebrated Ger man sculptor, Cauer. W. J. O’N. Daunt has recently pub lished a volume entitled “Ireland and her Agitators,” in which we are intro duced to a number of turbulent worthies of the past, as Bagenal of Dimleekny, known as King Bagenal, a brave old ruffian, who fought a duel in his seven ty-ninth year, sitting in a chair to re ceive his adversary’s fire. Bully Egau, who fought fourteen duels at an election for the county Cork ; and the Lords of Muskerry, one of whom, on being’ urged on his death-bed to repent, answered : “Repent ? 1 don’t see what I have to repent of. 1 don’t know that L ever de nied myself anything.” There must have been fine qualities in Theodore Rousseau, whose death was lately announced in a Paris correspond ence. The French claim him <fs one of their greatest landscape painters. Like Govot and Daubigny, he had a faculty for mystifying ordinary scenes, but in most cases the leadiness ot his color was un pleasing in effect. An “Evening,” by Rousseau, is on exhibition at the Avery Gallery, New York. It is said to be a j flat scene, somewhere in the forest of Fon- i tainbleau, probably. Nothing but dark ening stretches of sombre land, with a post in the middle of it, and horses getting their evening drink. There appears to be something morbid in this manner of O treating landscape, but that it has poetry caunot be denied. Darwin’s long promised work, “The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication.” will soon be published in New York. The first volume of Dr. Bellow’s travels, entitled “The Old World in its New Faee,” is also nearly ready. Gignoux is engaged upon a large pic ture, which he entitles “Under the Fall.” lne “fall” is the great Niagara, where the spectator looks out from the depths beneath lable Rock, and into the mist and spray of the fall beyond. A huge icicle hangs hangs from the crest of the vast •filing above. William Washington, of Virginia, to wftom says the Souther Sbciety, (of Balti more,) we have previously referred as being one of the most promising of our young Southern artists, has just complet ed another church interior, representing a baptism in Grace Church, New York. Bradford is at work upon a small copy of his “Sealers Crushed by Icebergs,” with a few immaterial alterations. He also exhibits a most successful transcript in of bis celebrated pic ture “Wrecked among the Icebergs.” Dr. W. C. Hurley is about to issue from the office of the Gilmer (Texas) Sen tinel, a volume entitled “The Philosophy of Man.” The widow of the late Gen. Jerc. Clemens, of Alabama, will soon pub lish his “Life.” A gallant ex-Confeder ate officer, Col B. H. Jones, of Lewis burg, West Virginia, publishesa card an nouncing bis intention to prepare and publish a work entitled “Prison Prose and Poetry of the South.” Dr. G. W. Bagby has republished in pamphlet form, from the Native Virginian , “John M. Daniel’s Latch Key,” being a very in teresting memoir of the late editor of the Richmond Examiner . Messrs. Roberts, of Boston, have in Press, “Lord Byron, judged by the evidence of his own Life,” by the Countess Guiccioli. Bartlett is preparing anew edition of his valuable “Familiar Quotations.” The proprietor of the Biddeford (Me) Democrat will soon publish some unpublished productions of Artemius Ward, whose agent he was for some time. An English journal announces the early appearance of a volume of poems, “nearly all of them of a serious stamp,” by Miss Ada Isaacs Menken. The Pall Mall Gazette observes that Mr. Gladstone recently showed himself unconscious of the fact that Scott’s “Hymn for the Dead,” was an adaptation of the “Dies Irae.” A new edition of Poole’s “Index to Peri odical Literature,” bringing the work dowu to 1867, is in preparation. Swin burne has very nearly completed “Both well,” the second poem of the dramatic triology on the life of Mary Queen of Scots, of which “Chastelard” was the first. A copy of Audubon’s “Birds of America,” in four volumes, brought £l5O at a recent book sale in London. Profes sor Von Sybcl’s “History of the French Revolution” has appeared, in part, in an English translation, from Murray’s press in London. The London Examiner says of it : “Professor Von Sybel set himself a task of gigantic proportions when he under took this work. His design has been, not only as a spectator to note down the passing incidents of the great historical drama of the last century, hut io dive behind the scenes amid all the complica tions of European politics and to con struct out of them one large picture re presenting every detail of national im portance which the age produced in tho iiistory of continental powers. Two vol umes, containing upwards of one thou sand pages of closely printed letter-press (but a modicum of the whole part), form the first instalment of Mr. Perry’s trans lation. The original design was to con tinue the history to the beginning of the Consulate. At present it extends only to the year 1795. The Rome correspondent of the New York Home Journal writes ; “The artists and sculptors here must have pleasant dreams now-a-days, or now-a-nights, rather; from morning until evening their pleasant studios are filled with Americans, not only engaged in seeing, but in purchasing, and purchasing largely. Could I, without betraying confidence, tell of the several beautiful marbles now being made for your city, you would be astonished. Only yesterday 1 saw one group, finished, and ready tube packed, which took $1 ,000 in gold to own it, It is for a well-'.mown New-Yorker, and to-day I saw a duplicate of this piece ordered by another New York merchant. Rogers’ “Ruth” and Mozier s “Undine ’ are both to grace one of our New Y ork private palaces, and Reinhardt, Rogers, Mozier, and all the American artists, have work on hand that can but add to their reputations. Mozier’s model of “Rizpah,” (2d Sam’l, c. xxi, Bth, 9th, and 10th v.) not yet cut in marble, will be an excellent production. Our well-known poet, T. Buchanan Read, has a studio here, and has a picture on bis easel now, which will be sure to demand attention. It is called “iris.” 3