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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