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11'.ir tiifl Banner of the South.]
ONLV A WOMAN'S THOUGHTS.
Another Spring has <lm vncd; already i
she greets us with birds and blossoms ; j
prroen loaves are bursting iorth in magic
n ° ;
beauty, on the bare limbs of forest trees;
cadi balmy breeze comes laden with sweet
ncrfunio from the flowery dells; while music,
from the woodland choir, fills all the
air with melody. Thus, in the lung ago
of ages, even in the beginning of cen
turies, this angel of seasons came to glad
den and beautify this planet “earth,” and
if the whole world, material and imrnnte
ri and. suiters for Adam’s disobedience, the
mind goes forth in wondrous rapture,
picturing the first spring.
If she appears so beautiful to us,
crowned with her floral diadem, and
decked in Nature’s gayest robes, with her
many songed minstrels caroling from
their leafy bowers, with the sweet melody
of rippling rills, ami running brooks,
singing their gladsome pcan of liberty,
u s they are freed by her from the icy
bonds of Winter, if she comes to us with
such wondrous beauty, how much more
gloriously beautiful must she have ap
peared, when first she wooed the perfumes
from Eden’s bowers, and the birds of
Paradise poured forth their gushing mel
ody to greet our earth’s first Spring.
There is an all-pervading gladness, a
tangible freshness, in the spring-time, that
touches the broken harp of man’s carnal
nature, and wakes a melody evoked at no
other time, for the chords vibrate to the
flowery fingers of Spring as to no other
touch.
To youth, this season is in perfect ac.
cord with their inner nature; their hearts
recognize the beautiful sympathy, for
there is no Spring like that of a young
heart ; its fresh leaves of hope, its pro.
fusion of love’s blossoms, its clear, sunlit
>ky of faith, all unclouded, pure, innocent,
alone devoid of passion, high and noble
hope >a , unadulterated by false ambition and
faith, that cherishes its trust in human
nature because yet undeceived. The new life
inhaled with every breath, the lightsome
spirit, swelling like a mountain stream
with the innumerable rills of little joys,
and the life-song, so like one of our wood
land songsters, caroling, as if it would
fain tell what it feels, yet cannot from ex
cess of joy.
“Flushed by the spirit of the genial Spring,
Now from the virgin’s cheek a fresher bloom
Shoots, less and less, the live commotion round;
Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth;
The shining moisture swells into her eyes,
In brighter tlow; her wishing bosom heaves,
With palpitations wild, kind tumults seize
Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love.”
To age, Spring comes as the beautiful
angel of memory, making glad the spirit
with songs of the joyous past, rejuvenat
ing the soul with its tales of the olden
times, which the heart lives over again,
until the present, with its cares and
trials, is forgotten; or, merged entirely into
days lung syne, it speaks
“Os days gone by, so gladsome, and so gay.
Wh<ai the dew was yet fresh, on life’s new-trodden
way
or quickly transforming herself into the
glorious angel ol the future, she symbol
izes that blissful home, where, when the
Winter of life is over, an eternal Spring
will dawn upon us; a Spring-time of
never-ending joy, where flowers never fade,
and skies are ever bright with the tran
fi Talent glory of God’s smile; where again
w-' shall greet, with an everlasting greet
ing, those cherished heart blossoms, the
Heath Angel plucked from out our bleed
ing bosoms, to transplant beside the River
ot Lile. Ah, how the stricken heart sighs
tor that Spring! llow, at times, we long
to cut short the \\ inter of life, and glide
out into the glorious Spring of eternity!
‘ iid yet, how this season soothes our
gnei, with her flower spoken prophecies
of immortality and the resurrection! How
she rebukes our impatience, by her out
spoken assnrauces of the certainty of our
i opes, spelled out in the blossom span
gleb, sward beneath our feet, murmured
by the nestling brauohes overhead, and
echoed in the perfume laden breeze! Earth
seems so full of heaven, in this glad
season, one might fancy that the angel
guarding the gates of Eden, had sheathed
urn sword, while Nature stole in to array
1 mo el I onee again in her long lost Eden
robes; she comes to us so redolent with
sweet perfume, and echoing with tuneful
voices, murmuring in the streamlets and
the fountains, whispering in the fresh
green leaves, and singing in every flower
So iml of hope, so exuberant with
premise, that, ’twere well for tho weary,
toil-burdened children of earth to stop
for a little while and listen; for she
speaus to each, and ah, in words unheard
by others, butiu.l oi meaning' to the lis
tener. A bunch of wild violets, so near
to the hand that made them, that we can
almost feel His touch, while we read a
new wisdom m the delicate painting of the
blue petals, and curious structure of the
green loaves, inhaling with the dedicate
odor so much love, that our weak hearts
are strengthened, as with new might, for
the great conflicts of life ; or for the little
combats, if no more, for bearing the
lesser ills that are over the hardest to
bear. The towering oak may teach us
fortitude, but the violets at its roots will
whisper of quiet endurance; the storm
passes harmlessly over the cm*, while it
uproots the other, as the great soul strug
gles with grief until broken in the con
flict ; while the meek spirit bows to sor
row, and only weeps and trusts.
As the most skillful artist could never
perfectly imitate the simplest flower of
Spring, go do her minstrels excel all
earthly music in richness, melody, and ad
that makes true harmony. 1 hear one of
her minstrels now, our “Southern Mock
ing-bird/' warbling the sweetest lays of
all the singing tribe; his feathered throat
swells almost to bursting, with beautiful,
beautiful melodies, charming my rav
ished ear, and flooding my soul wii.li
harmony unutterable. Now be sends out
trills and quaver-*! that were never equalled
by human vocalists—and now gushes out
a long, wild strain of melody, no human
voice can ever imitate, however feebly—
aye, Jenny Lind, the “Swedish Night*
ingale,” with her sweet, silvery tones
nor Patti, With her wondrous power of
song, never made music like the bird I
hear singing now ; either might as well
attempt to pluck a glowing star from
Night’s bespangled mantle, to wear omher
pure brow, as try to rival the bird’s un
taught melody. And, as I listen to the
bird’s sweet song, I ask myself, was there
sweeter, purer, music than this in the
first Spring-time ? Or did the groves of
Eden echo with rarer, richer melody ?
Ah, surely, something of Eden yet lin
gers in our sin-tainted, suffering, world,
among the birds, and blossoms if no
where else!
“Oh! if so much of beauty, pour itself
Into each vein of life, and us creation,
How beautiful must the great fountain W
The bright and the eternal!”
The bird has bushed his song, and all
is silence ; the flowers look up to the
bright, blue sky, as if their petaled fin
gers were pointing our sorrowing, wait
ing hearts to Heaven’s God; for the
flowers are blooming now on many a
mound, beneath which lie cold, pulseless
forms, that not not many Springs aero
were making bright many a hearthstone.
Noble youths, who filled the father’s heart
with pride, as he thought of the coming
years of their greatness and usefulness,
loving sous, who made fond mother’s
eyes to glisten with delight, as they talked
of the bright future that would crown the
fulfillment of the hopes she had pictured
for them in ihe bygone years of helpless
infancy. Gone! All gone! Faded like
the flowers of the past Springs, while the
voice of song is hushed forever in their
sorrowing hearts.
The fairest flowers’ of our National
Spring arc faded and scattered over an
hundred battle-fields, and we have no
sculptured urns, wherein to gather up
their honored dust, and place them in the
Temple of Fame. “The powers that be,”
forbid us to sing requiems over our gal
lant dead ; only the stern and solemn
grandeur of silence, as we teach our little
ones their names as synonyms of truth,
honor, and bravery! No place for free
Join's noblest martyrs, but our crushed
hearts, where, as in a holy sepulchre, the
bright angel of Alemory keeps loving
watch, until the bright angel of the Re
surrection comes. Yet, while each fast
-M.5371! W 111 g©TOR
succeeding season reminds us of their
heroice sacrifice of life, there’s not a
bird that trill.- a., voodland lay but sufs
tons of them; there’s not a flower that
lifts its petah and face but minus us of
their during deeds, and the perfumed
breeze is but a type of the memory per
fumed names, we cherish in our heart
of hearts. Awl hope whispers of an
other spring, that shall find the terrible
sequences of that bloody war. rolled far
back into the past; while Faith, joins in
hrpe's song of prophecy, and they to
gether sing of a perpetual Spring, where
all is joy and gladness, where wars, and
rumors ot wars, shall no more disturb
fond, loving hearts; where we shall greet
our loved ones again and forever, and
where we shall see our gallant dead,
crowned with the unfading laurels of
everlasting life!
Eliza. E. Haupeb.
LETTER FROM FLORIDA,
Catholicism in the First Settlement in
Aiiieri ca—Fnte rest ing C us to rn s an and
Ceremonies — Religion and Education
among the Negroes — What the Sisters
are Doing — An Old Cemetery —
Clerical Personals.
[Hptioial Correspondence of tin- Metropolitan Ito.-urd.]
St. Augustine, Fia., April.
Every school-boy knows that St. Au
gustine was settled Ly Catholics nearly
half a century before the Pilgrim malcon
tents brought Puritanism to the shores of
New England. Ever since that time the
city has been essentially Catholic, and is
to-day perhaps the only place in the Unit
ed States in which certain ancient Cath
odic customs are observed in the same
manner as in the purely Catholic commit
nitios of the Old World. The ignorance,
superstition, and intolerance, so-called,»of
the children of the Mother Church, espe
cially in Spain, whence emne the founders
ot Christianity and civilization in Florida,
have often been descanted upon by ill
informed opponents of Catholicism. On
this point I will merely remark that when
the ancestors of our modern Puritans were
burning witches, banishing and imprison
ing Priests and enslaving and plundering
Indians in New England, Catholic mis
sionaries were spreading the light of
Christianity among the savages in Florida,
and reclaiming from barbarism the tenants
of the forest and the wigwam.
Many changes have passed over St.
Augustine since that time, but the faith
planted here in the earliest days ot
American civilization has fructified and
extended, and Catholicism is to-day, as it
was centuries ago, the religion of the
body of the population. The people are
quiet and slow, and, it must bo admitted,
far behind the spirit of the age, which
appears to be a spirit of iconoclasm ; but
the}' are good Christian people, neverthe
less, who, if they have done but little for
popular progress, certainly have not con
tributed much to the cause of anarchy.
There may be an older Catholic church
in the United States than the one now
standing in St. Augustine, but 1 doubt if
there is one so antiquated in appearance
and primitive in architecture. The pre
sent edifice was dedicated in 1797, and is
therefore not particularly venerable ; but
its aspect is that of a building upon which
the blight of many centuries might have
fallen. Its grey walls appear to be
crumbling to decay, and the old belfry
that overlooks the town and a magnifi
cent panorama of coast, cottages,
orange groves, and woods which never
lose their glorious verdure, looks as
though a gust of wind might topple it
into the sandy, silent street below. It
contains three bells, which seem to jingle
mellow chimes without the slightest pro
vocation, and though they have been
doing this a great many years (one of
them, a relic from Mexico, bears the
ancient date of 1682), they are evidently
equal to the task of jingling mellow
chimes for just as many years more.
The interior of the church is as
severely simple in decoration as the ex
terior is ancient in aspect, yet I have
never seen a more beautiful spectacle
than that presented in the old church of
St. Augustine when the main altar was
illuminated for Vesper service on Easter
Sunday evening.
On Palm Sunday a ceremony took
place, the like of which probably could
not be seen in any other part of this con
tinent. For want of a better name, I
will call it the procession of palms.
After the palms had been blessed and dis
tributed, the congregation formed in pro
cession and marched through the streets,
preceded by censer-bearers, cross-bearer,
and acolytes, each person carrying a
palm in the right hand, and the whole
presenting a novel and beautiful appear
ance. The Priests, three in number, were
escorted by about forty soldiers of the 7th
“• * s - Infantry as a guard of honor, and
were followed by the colored members of
the congregation. During the march the
Priests chanted psalms, and when the
procession returned to the church it
haHed outside while the celebrant chanted
a hymn in front of the closed door. The
bw contained about seven hundred per
sons; many being negroes and many more
cumiien, and wnat with glittering cross
, a nd swinging cons't, waving palms, gor
geous vestment, and the fresh, bright uni
iorms of the soldiers, the spectacle was
brilliant, imposing, and attractive. Under
be- pid Spanish regime , I believe, this
peculiar ceremony was regularly observed,
but it gradually fell into disuse, ari l the
day on which it was last witnessed was
the occasion of its revival.
Another custom not familiar to people
in the North, is seen in tlie manner in
which funerals are conducted. The only
vehicle used is a plain wagon in which
the coffin is carried. The friends of the
deceased follow the remains on foot, men
and women walking in double file, and
each sex separate. They are preceded by
a l *iest in surplice and stole, a cross
bearer carrying a large crucifix,’and two
acolyies. in this order they proceed
ihrougn the streets to the cemetery, while
the cell of the old church tolls a sad, mo
notonous knell for the departed. Tho
solemnity of carrying the dead to his
final borne is much increased by this
a no, cut and impressive custom.
. n J w bi!o speaking of customs I must
just mention one that used to be generally
observed on Holy Saturday night by the
native Catholics, but which now seems to
no going* out of use. Just before bed
time, small parties appear in the streets
“hd l )l,s - s from house to house, singing
s T nie /Pinzas appropriate to the time!
otopping before the house ol some person
of generous repute, the singers drop into
personal compliments, as thus :
Tin house is walled around,
Walled around on four side;?:
The owner of this house
lea polite gentleman.”
sometimes I ‘the owner of this house’ 7
op-ms a window and drops a supply of'
edibles into a bag carried by one of the
patty. When he fails to do this, the
singers change the last line to
4 la not a polite- •nuitloimn.”
and pass on in hope of meeting better
luck at the next stopping place.
Tolomata cemetery, once the site of an
Indian village, is an object of considera
ble interest to the stranger, it is within
the city limits, and is perhaps the most
ancient looking of any cemetery in the
country. Some of the tombs are so old
that no one knows when they were con
structed. or whoso dust lies within their
narrow, mouldy walls. Built in the form
of a parallelogram, about seven feet lung
by three wide, and raised about three feet
from the ground, covered with moss, and
looking as though no hand had touched
them for a hundred years, they suggest a
civilization belonging to the past, and
forgotten with the men and manners of a
time now far remote. A great many
years ago, there was a chapel on the
ground now included in the cemetery,
and one morning, while the Priest was
offering sue sacrifice ot the Mass in the
little edifice, the Indians fell upon him
and killed him at the altar.
The Catholic population of St. Augus
tine is about twelve hundred, and though
many of them were comfortable before the
war, nearly all are now quite poor. Eight
years ago the Christian Brothers had a
flourishing academy in the city, but when
the war came all the pupils were taken
away, and the Brothers were finally
obliged to leave the place. There are
two Convents in St. Augustine now, one
in charge of the Sisters of Mercy, and the
other belonging to a French order, called
the Sisters of St. Joseph. The Sisters of
Mercy impart gratuitous instruction to
about one hundred children, and have a
few boarders in their Convent besides.
The Sisters of St. Joseph have been here
but a short time, but have already done
much good, and are highly appreciated.
Two of these Sisters arc teaching the
colored children, and have about sixty
pupils. For this they receive no com
pensation whatever, except a little present
occasionally, while some Northern ladies,
engaged in the same calling, are liberally
paid out of funds collected in the North.
It is probably because the religion of the
Sisters of St. Joseph and that of the
managers of the Freedmen’s Aid Societies
are widely different, that the Sisters are
overlooked in the distiibution of the
funds.
The negro population of St. Augustine
is quite large, perhaps one-half, and the
greater part are Catholics. On Ea>ter
Sunday morning, I counted forty-eight
colored communicants in the church, and
I was informed that nearly as many re
ceived communion a few days before.
The wealthy non-Catholics ot the city
have made and are still making vigorous
efforts to keep the negroes from joining*
the Catholic Church, but without much
success. It is unquestionably true t! at
Catholicism has made progress among the
Southern negroes since flic war, and
although the other sects spend a great
oe;ri more money in efforts to secure the
emored people to their side, the Catholics
everywhere. Testimony to
». iif, fact, is borne by persons who have
observed the progress of religious feeling
among the negroes in different parts of
the South. t
The poverty of the Sisters who are de
voting then- lives to the spiritual and
temporal advantage of both white and
black children in St. Augustine is most
painful and embarrassing. Without the
least exaggeration, it may be said that
their condition is one of absolute penury,
yet they make no complaint, but go on in
their mission of mercy and tenderness ns
though they were supplied with all things
elu v c.uild desire. A few weeks ago the
soldiers of the garrison got up a subscrip
tion for them, which realized about $270.
It need hardly be said, I suppose, that
the subscribers were not of the class
called Yankee.
I lie pastor in charge of’ the Catholic
souls at St. Augustine, the Rev. A. M.
Deiafosse, a most active and zealous
.Priest, and an accomplished and cour
teous gentleman, is almost worshipped by
hi-; parishioners, although ho has been
with them but little over a year. A
member of one of the best families in
France, he left friends and comfort to
struggle against many difficulties here, in
behalf of his faith, and is now expending
iiom Ins pi ivate means much of the monev
necessary to support tho church and re
lieve the distress of the poorest among bis
congregation.
0)i my first Sunday afternoon visit to
the old church, I w.as surprised to see
officiating 4 as celebrant at Vespers, a
venerable looking man with heavy grey
v. iiiskers and moustache, a kind of facial
adornment rather uncommon among
Catholic Priests. I subsequently had the
pleasure of meeting him, and found him
an exceedingly affable and learned gen
tleman. My surprise at his peculiar ap
peal ance was removed when I learned
that he belongs to the Order of the Bene
dictines. He came here from Italy for
the benefit of his health, an 1 is, I under
stand, the only member of his Order in
the United States. {j (g
The Thigh Vote on the Church Estab
lishment. —The following are the names
ot the 55 Irish members who constituted
the majority :
Ellis L. Agar. Sergeant Armstrong, G.
Bagwell, Sir H. Barron, A. fi. S. Barry,
Lord Bingham, G. A. Blake, Sir R. Blen
nerhassett, Sir G. Boyer, Dr. Brady, Lord
G. Browne, G. L. Bryan, Viscount Burke
Lord Castlerosse, W. H. Cogan, M. IT
Corbally, E. De La Poer R. D. Deverenx,
G. Esmonde, Lord O. Fitzgerald, J. W.
Fitzpatrick, C. Fortescue, Colonel French,
Major Gavin, \V. 11. Gregory, Nugent A.
G rev ill e, Nugent Cl. Greville, Sir J. Gray,
H. A. Herbert, T. Kennedy, J. Lawson, N.
P. Leader, Sir J. M'Kenna, J. F. Maguire*
W. Monsell, Charles Moore, G. Morris, n!
I). Murphy, J.L. O’Beirne, Sir P. O'Brien,
Sir G. O’Loghlen, M. W. O’Reilly, W. P.
Urquhart, Sir G. Power, LordProby, I). J.
Rearden, W. F. Rns.-ell, W. Stael:pool e
Osborne Stock, E. Sullivan, E. G. Svnan.
Col. Vandeleur, Captain White, B. Whit
worth.
r I lie torty-two Irish members who still
cling to ascendency, and who declare them
selves prepared, if necessary, to raise the
standard of civil war rather than allow a
tardy act of justice to be done to their
fellow-countrymen by the removal of what
Mr. Gladstone has eloquently called the
last blot upon the escutcheon of England,
are: Col. Annesley, Captain ArchdalJ,
Captain Beresford, Colonel Bernard, Sir
R. G. Booth, Sir 11. Bruce, 11. Cole, G. L.
Cole, T. Gonolly, H. L. Corry. C. 11. Coop
er, Lord Cremorne, R. P. Dawson, Colonel
Bruen, Fitzwilliam Dick, Colonel Fordo,
S. G. Getty, IV. R. O. Gore, S. B. Guin
ness, Lord C. Hamilton. Lord C. G Hamil
ton, I. T. Hamilton, Viscoun. Hamilton,
Sir F. I ley gate, A. C. Lines, A. Kavanagli,
W. Keown, Colonel Ivnox, Sir C. Lanyon,
A. Lefroy, C. P. Leslie, Edward f PNeiJJ, E.
Saunderson, Admiral Seymour, Sir G.
Strong©, It. Torrens, G. Vance, E. W.
Verner, Sir W. Verner. It. Warren, Col.
Taylor, and Lord A. Hill Trim.
Amongst the absent Irish members were
Mr. Pirn, The O’Conor Don. Sir J. Colt
hurst., Col. Dunne, Mr. J. C. King, Mr.
MacEvoy and Col. Tottenham. Os these
two only are Conservatives, both represent
Catholic constituents and they possibly
deemed it desirable to abstain from voting
ut all rather than oppose the resolution.
An Irishman, upon seeing a negro for
the first time said—“ Boy, sing us a s<>ng. ’
Negro- —‘J can’t sing no song, mass a.
Pat—“Then what the devil have ye got
ycr legs set in the middle of \er foot like
a lark, for ? ”
Wanted.— A pair of spectacles to suit
the eyes of potatoes. The club w.th
which an idea struck the poet. A stick
to measure narrow escapes. The identi
cal line with which an angler caught a cold.
3