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frame, covered with paper, like those hoops through which horsewomen vault ; n the circusses. This frame, the instru ment of the first trial, is supported by his brothers. . . ... “What must we do with this profane >j an ?” inquires Brother Terrible of the Venerable. # “Introduce him into tne cavern. Two Masons imm diately seize the candidate, and push him with all their Strength against the papered frame, through which he easily finds a passage, aDC j j s received into the arms of two uthers on the opposite side. Then is beard the violent shutting-to of a door, the creaking of hinges, and shooting of bolts, aid an intelligent postulant can fancy himself in the famous cavern. Some instants pass in profound silence ; it is the silence of the tomb. Forthwith the Venerable strikes some object, no matter what, with the mallet, orders the aspirant to kneel down, and addresses a r aver to the Patron of the Establish ment. whom they call the Grand Architect of the Universe. If this prayer is pre tended to be addressed to the Deity, the hypocrisy is most arrogant, since the de clared end of Masonry, according to official authority, is the worship of the Sun. The Venerable next directs the aspir ant, vvh >se eyes are still baudaged, to Lie seated on a chair, bristling with sharp points, for his greater ease, and asks him if he continues bent on prosecuting bis noble design ?* A simple “yes,” is the re ply. Then follows a pathetic discourse by the Venerable on the duties of Masons, the first of which is to preserve absolute silence upon their secrets—no very diffi cult, duty, as we believe. He is again in terrogated with respect to his sincerity, and afterwards brought to the Altar by the Brother Sacrifice!*, and made to drink from a cup separated into two compart ments by means of a pivot. “If you are not sincere,” exclaims the Venerable, “the sweetness of this beverage will be changed for you into subtle poison.” By means of the pivot, they cause him to drink first of pure water, and next of a bitter draught. He naturally grins, alter imbibing the unpleasant potion. “What do I see ?” cries out the Ven erable, striking with his mallet, “what do I see, sir ? What signifies this change in your features ? The sweet liquid has become for you a poison. Let the wretch be removed from my presence ” Brother Terrible forthwith conducts the postulant between two columns. The Ve nerable has one parting for him : “If you tlnnk of deceiving us, hope not to succeed therein; better for you to withdaavv at once; you are still free. The certainty is that your perfidy would be fatal to you, and you must then renounce the hope of seeing the light of day.” Brother Terrible, replace this profane man in the Reflection Chamber.” Should the postulant decide on perse vering, he passes on to the second trial. The first of the three courses of travel of which this trial consists, is made by performing Jhe tour of the Lodge three times with the eyes of the would-be Ap prentice blindfolded, and guided by Brother Terrible. He is then made to travel over shifting platforms, set on rollers, which pass from under his feet; nest upon a swing-gate, or see-saw, which suddenly gives way beneath him, and seems to let him sink into an abyss. He next ascends the “endless ladder ;” if he exhibits a symptom of wishing to arrest his progress, he is commanded to ascend tuither still; and when he has mounted to what he considers a terrific height, he is ordered to precipitate himself to the earth, and, obeying, falls from an emi nence thirty inches. During all this time, the initiators create a dreadful din, imitating, by means of tin plates and other contrivances, the sounds of thunder, high winds, cries of infants, and falling houses, Ac. The second tour resembles the first, and the third resembles the second. Between each journey the Venerable makes pre tence of doubting the aspirant’s courage ; hut each time he perseveres and over c >mes all difficulties. 1 here is one slight novelty introduced on tlm third course, in the way of flames purificatory, passed under the nose of the omortunate postu lan t. Let him pass through the purify in a mimes,’' cries out the Venerable, “in or der that he may no longer remain pro mr.e, and, forthwith, Brother Terrible en velopes the unhappy man thrice in a sheet o: light produced by means of some gas Prepared for the purpose. This is pre paratory to the final trial, which imme. cliately takes place. "Profane man,” says the Venerable “you have been purified by the earth', an, water, and by fire. I could not pos hly praise your courage too highly; let it not yet abandon you, since you have still some other trials to undergo. The Society into which you aspire to be ad. nutted mil, perhaps, require the shed ding of the last drop of your blood. Are you prepared to male that sacri fice?'^ This is the second time he is so ad monished. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, the Venerable adds: “It inav, perhaps, be necessary to inform you that this question is no matter of form. Are you prepared to have a vein opened this minute?” The postulant consents, and receives a slight scratch, as with the poiut of a needle, from some sharp imple ment, on his extended arm. There is a noise of trickling liquid, but it is not the willing victim’s blood, for lie survives to receive the Masonic seal. This mark is imprinted on his breast by means of a hot, not too hot, iron, or a glass instrument warmed with some burning paper. The initiated Apprentice makes an offering for indigent brothers, and he has completed the famous trials. His next duty is to take the oath. Before it a slight cere mony has to be undergone. The neo phyte, with eyes still blindfolded, is con ducted to the “Altar of Testimonies,” or Swearing Altar, where lie kneels down, until the Master of Ceremonies applies the point of a compass to his left breast. Upon the Altar lies an open Bible, and on the Bible a flaming sword. “Arise, and hear my orders, Brothers,” exclaims the Venerable, “the neophyte is about to take the awful oath.” All the assistants rise, and stand erect with drawn swords, whilst the newly admitted Apprentice takes the following truly awful engagement: “I swear, in the name of the Supreme Architect of the Universe, never to reveal the secrets, the signs, the grasps, the words, the doctrines, and the practices of the Free Masons, and to preserve thereon an eternal silence. I promise andsw T ear to God never to betray them, neither by writing, signs, words, nor gestures; never to make any writing, lithograph, or printing thereof; never to publish any thing of what has been confided to me up to this moment, or which may be en trusted to me in the future. I pledge myself to submit to the following penalty, if I fail in my promise: That my lips shall be burned away with a hot iron ; that my hand shall be cut off; that my tongue shall be plucked out; that iny throat shall be cut; that my dead body shall be bung up in a hedge during the work of admission of anew brother, in order to be the branding of my unfaith fulness, and a warning to others ; that it shall then be burned, and the ashes strewn to the winds, so that there may no longer remain any trace of the memory of my treason. So help me, God, and ITis Holy Evangelist. Amen.” The foregoing account of the ceremony of initiation, epitomized merely from the little work of Mgr Segur, will serve, it is hoped, to give a fair notion of Masonry as a whole. It is only its fairest aspect, however, which is revealed in that pro cess; the anti-Christian, aye, and even atheistical grin which it wears in the higher grades, is never beheld, except by a select few. Aud so the lower grades of Masonry are only probationary. It may be said that the Masonic Institution cannot be so bad as here represented, or some clever and very excellent people, whom one may know, would not belong to it, as it is not at all probable they could be so completely deluded. The reply is brief; these good men and women are exterior members, mere loiterers in the vestibule of an outwardly fair mansion, who little suspect the char nel cells which its inner recesses contain. Even were there no printed and published documents of its own to condemn it, “a tree," says the proverb, “may be known by its fruit,” and the stem, which has nourished such productions as Kant, Fitchte, Voltaire, George Sand, and Joseph Mazzini, must be a rotten one, indeed. Rev. Robert B. Tillotso.w— A genial and lovable gentleman, a devoted and fervent Catholic, and a Priest that, as such, won many hearts to viitue, has ended a life of suffering, by a pious death. Dr. John Henry Newman, the illustrious convert to the Catholic Church in Eng land, many years ago, in a private letter to us, spoke of having received him into the Catholic Church, and in terms of great personal affection for him. Father Tillotson returned to his native New York, and exercised the Priesthood at the Church of St. Paul the Apostle, in Fifty-ninth street, along with Father Hecker, aud his associates. The very slight personal acquaintance we had with him makes us understand how severe a blow his death has proved to those that knew him more intimately. A fuller notice of him, from one that knew him well, appears on the third page of this number of our paper.— N. Y. Freeman's Journal, Sept. 2. Posts ot honor do not confer true glory. It is ihe manner in which we till eminent stations that dignifies us, not the stations. A man’s hat is the most characteristic part of his dress. No matter whether it sits jauntily upon the owner’s head, or rests idly in his hand, or hangs neglected on the wall, there is something about every well regulated hat by which an ob servant person can readily divine to what sort of individual it belongs. Os course, I do not allude to new hats, fresh from the merchants’ shelves ; but one that has been used a reasonable length of time always contracts a certain air from the wearer, which marks it indelibly as be longing one of his species. It is strange that ladies’ bonnets, with all their beauty and variety, do not possess half the power of expression that resides in a common old felt bat. You may sit and study a whole congregation of bonnets, any Sunday morning, through a three hours sermon, and you cannot identify a single woman by her head gear, unless you have seen it before ; but stand at your window any fine day, watching the various bats that pass in the street, and see if you cannot tell, at a glance, what sort of man each one belongs to. Who, for instance, could be the owner of that tall, old-fash ioned, grey beaver, with the nap begin ning to rub off, but an antiquated coun try parson, who can drive a sharp bar gain with you Saturday night, and hold forth against the vanity of riches on Sun day ? That pert little “Derby,” with its narrow rim and round crown, looking so briskly, on the other side of the street, can be worn by none but a Yankee “drummer,” who will cheat you if he can ; while that broad brimmed, palmet to, with the low crown, and rim a little kicked up in front, belongs to an honest country tanner, who has corn to sell ; its companion, the broad brimmed straw, with a tall crown, rim turned up behind, and slouching a little before, covers the bead of a rustic wb« is going to meet a creditor. The sleek old gentleman over there at Dryreading’s bookstore, with the shiny blackbeaver, as tall as a stove pipe, planted plumb on the top of his head, is a Presbyterian divine, much ad dicted to lengthy discourses; and the mus ty old fellow, in the tall hat, beside him is professor in a theological seminary. Here come three or four very brash look ing glazed hats, out of the door of a second rate boarding house—you spot them at once as belonging to railroad conductors and express men. Y T onder Jljoes “ina’s dootiful son,” under that low crowned beaver, so mathematically pro portioned, aud as scrupulously brushed, with a studied little curl stealing from under it, and falling over the temple.— A swaggering old felt hat conies next, with a slouchyrim, and a tall peak ed crown, smashed in at the top ; you have seen it a hundred times at cross road groceries and rustic taverns ; it marks the country politician. We all know’ that fellow across the street yon der, with the sneaky, mortified hat, that looks like a turnip top running to seed, and slouched over his eyes so that you cannot get an honest look into them ; he carries a lean carpet-bag under one arm, a cotton umbrella under the other, and prates mightily about his mission. Give him wide berth, as he passes, and look well to any small change you happen to have about you. But here comes the hat that I like best of all. It is a good round felt, somewhat the worse for wear, and careless usage— just enough battered, in fact, to give a slight dash of rowdyism to its expression. It is worn with a little rascally set on one side, as who should say, “what the deuce do I care ?” and is a standing declara tion of independence against all unrea sonable conventionalities. The wearer of that hat, is a jolly good fellow, who is never ashamed to look you in the face. He was as trusty a soldier as General Lee ever had, and doesn’t mind the smell of gunpowder, any more than you or I would a whiff of Lubin’s best. Somehow, I have always had a fancy for rowdy looking bats—provided, there For the Banner of the South. Southron Chief’s Welcome to the Old World. Gallant Chief! all Europe greets thee, Greets thee with a lotid acclaim, Peer —amid her sovereigns seats thee, Crown’d with thy own self-wrought fame. Peerless Patriot, Christian Statesman, Welcome to the Old World’s soil! Noble Chief! e’en Monarchs wait thee; Regal tones thy welcome sound; Royal palms extended greet thee, Exiled from thy Southern ground. Peerless Patriot, Christian Statesman, Welcome to the Old World’s soil. Matchless Chief! all hearts here own thee, Type of Southern blood and home; Scorned be the land that would disown thee. Hail Chieftain ! to the Old World come. Peerless Patriot, Christian Statesman, Welcome to the Old World’s soil. W. C. M. Brookhaven, Miss., August 29, 1868. For the Banner of the South. MEN AND THEIR HATS. BY ELZEY HAY. is nothing essentially rowdy about the appearance of the wearer. A woman must always be more particular about her bonnet, than any other part of her outside dress, but his hat is the one thing about which a gentleman can afford to be careless. There is an air of coxcombry about a trim, spruce, bran new hat, which is far from commanding the same re spect that ladies feel for anew bonnet. Let a man be well dressed in every other particular, and a little touch of rowdy - uess about his hat, like a dash of red or yellow sometimes, in a lady’s bonnet, redeems him from foppery, and gives a don't care look of independence and in difference, which is far more attractive than the air of stiffness and prudery that lurks under a solemn, two sturied beaver. lam glad that our Southern gentlemen have always had the good taste to es chew these ugly stove-pipe hats, which, in London and New York, seem to be regarded as the only suitable covering for a gentleman. In a climate where hats are needed for protection, they could be of no use; and, as for ornament, they make a tall man look like a lamp post, and a short one like a grasshopper under a candle extinguisher. There is even more in a man’s way of using his hat, than in the color or fashion of it. One who manages his hat well, can express more with it than a coquette with her fan—only there is this difference —that the use of the former must be spontaneous and unstudied. An under bred man often appears as much at a loss what to do with his hat, as a country bumpkin how to dispose of his hands and feet, while a thoroughly well-bred one, al ways seems equally unconscious of both, except, that he never forgets touching his hat in passing a lady acquaintance. And, here, let me remark what a variety of characteristic ways there are in which men perform that one little act of touch ing their hats to the ladies. There is the brisk, business-like touch of the mer chant ; the quiet, firm touch of the par son ; the lazy, abstracted nod of the scholar ; the obsequious, conciliatory salute of Boniface; the studied,artificial air of the dandy ; and the easy, graceful, offhand mariner of the thorough-bred gentleman, as if far less conscious of himself and his hat, than of your pres ence. The same variety may be remark ed in a man’s manner of putting on or taking off his hat, or even of holding it in his hand. Asa case in point, I may mentiou a gentleman who called to see the writer not long since, and sat the whole evening with his hat in his hand, but seemed so entirely unconscious of any such encumbrance, that the writer felt as if it would be a positive rudeness to call his attention to the fact by offering to re lieve him of it. A lady * once said that she was induced to reject a suitor, partly by the awkward manner in which he fum bled with his hat, while paying his ad dresses. So, gentlemen, take warning, and if you are not perfectly au fait , in the management of the hat don’t hold it in your hand when you have anything particular to say. A writer on etiquette, in some of our contemporary magazines, says that a lady should never appear to take any notice whatever of a gentleman’s hat, even so much as to show him where to dispose of it in her own house. This writer doubt less speaks from a tacit admission of the fact that every well-bred man knows how to manage his own hat. In this matter, however, as in all others, etiquette must be controlled by circumstances, and the common sense of the parties concerned. A Beautiful Extract. —That emi nent French Catholic writer, Louis Veu illot, concludes one of his splendid philo sophical essays, entitled Daux Confes sions, in the Revue du Monde Catholique, in the following manly and eloquent language: “The Catholic Apostolic Roman Church alone bears aloft the banner of the supernatuai authority of God. The drainings constantly made by scepticism in all the reservoirs which still contain some of the waters of sacred origin, are rapidly turning them in the direction of a deep abyss; soon they will become dry. At present, we cannot say that we have any more particular here sies; the choice is now between the man made God of rationalism, or the God made man of Catholicity. “The pride of man,” says Donoso Cortes, and the remark is repeated by many eminent Catholics, “the pride of man will con quer exhausted mercy.” “But it is not impossible to find an answer to the sacred texts and to the reasonings on which these gloomy conjectures are founded; nor does the Church permit us to share in them. For our part, we hope that the mercy and the glory of Jesus Christ will give to his word the victory over human pride. The Holy Ghost will breathe: God will send extraordinary ambassadors, and Catholic ism will supernaturalize all nations, I despite the errors of science and the defiiauce of philosophy. From the East of modern times reason as well as faith may yet behold beautiful age descend upon the Church. Science, Catholic Science will deliver the world, driven to the verge of destruction by impious science. Catholic Science will furnish the key to the problems which bewilder the human family; its light will dispel the phantoms w>th which our darkness is peopled. Not only shall it continue to place the faithful beyond danger, justi antem liberabunter scientiee, but it will also save the stranger—the ignorant, even vs i en n *°dern rationalism shall liax e been conquered, all the new forces of civilization will pass over to the conqueror. In words of light and of faith, with the Cross of Christ on high before them, they will proclaim through out earth, vincit , regnat , imperat, liberat." — Baltimore Catholic Mirror. Gov. V ise.— We publish on the sixth page a communication in relation to a subscription set on foot for Gov. Wise to whose case we alluded, in a recent number of The Pilot. The Richmond correspondent of the Norfolk Day Book says : “It will be exceedingly gratifying to the many friends of General H. A. Wise, in your section, to learn that the foreign population of this country are raising funds for the purpose of purchasing a fine homestead for this gentleman, the noblest Roman of the nineteenth cen tury. The plan originated in the North, and an editorial in the last number of Ihe Boston Pilot created quite an enthu siasm here among the foreign residents of this city, and a large subscription was raised in a little while. I am told that there will bo at least SI,OOO raised here for this purpose. The amount expected from each foreigner is only sl, but many here have subscribed $5. It is intended to purchase a home, stock it well, and furnish it elegantly in every lespect, and settle the old gentleman comfortably for the balance of his days.” The proprietor of The Pilot will cheer fully receive subscriptions towards the laudable object. —Boston Pilot. Ashhmed of One’s Name. —When one starts in life, his name is a mere con venience, hut not a symbol. It serves to distinguish between man and man, and is, as it were, a handle by which we seize one man, rather than another. But, in process of time, by the law of association, we cluster about a man’s name all the circumstances of his history, the elements of his character, the promi nent traits of his disposition. The name becomes a history. The moment that it is sounded in our ears, we do not think of the name itself, but of a life, person ality, and character. In fact, the name is a portrait painted in letters. What is specially curious is, that to its wearer, the name may suggest one train of asso ciation, but to all others another, a different and often repugnant »idea. It would be a curious literature, if one could put in parallel lines what each mau thought of himself, and what all other men thought of him. No person should be ashamed of his name. No person should ask for any thing without being willing to take the responsibility of the request. The habit of standing up frankly to one’s own actions, opinions, or feelings, and taking the proper personal responsibility be longing to everything concerning his own personality, is manly and wholesome. If we were writing letters, like Lord Chesterfield, to a son, we should say, never write any letter that you are un. willing to sign. If there are reasons which make it improper for you to give your name, then you should not write at all. I will not say that there are never cases in which anonymousness is permis sible. But they are rare, and extreme cases. In general, it is a safe rule of conduct not to do anything to which one is unwilling to put his name. A good name is better than great riches. This habit of acting in all things frankly, openly, courageously, and of taking the consequences of one’s thoughts and actions, cannot fail to result, in indi viduals, and in communities, in a high and noble type of manhood. Therefore, never write anonymous letters !— Beecher. As illustrating the mixture of races, and religions in New York, it is said that Rev. Thomas W. Hughes once found a family in a seven-by-nine cellar iu the Fouth Ward, where the Catholic wife was counting her beads, and saying her prayers on her knees before a picture of the A irgin, while the Chinese husband was propitiating bis Pagan Deity with offers of rice administered with chop sticks, and the two little children of this strangely assorted pair, were singing the mission song : “Jesus loves me, this I know, For the Bible tells me so.’’ 5