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entirely unknown to the Baptists of the - irHC nt day. As well might the Mor-* lionssav that they derived their origin fir,m the Church of St. Ignatius, or of St. John, who was the teacher of St. Igna tius 'as the Baptists of the present time claim relationship with that venerabie prelate who presided over the Church at \utioch. St. Ignatius teaches us that Bishops, Priests,’and Deacons, were Or (]ers 0 f the Priesthood, and that the mem* s os the Church should be iutimately connected with them; for he says, when •.peaking of heretics : “ Retrain from curb : which you will do if you remain united to Cod, Jesus Christ, and the I’j.hop, and the precepts of the Apostles. ]],. w ho is within the altar is clean, but he who is without it, that is without the Hi-hop, Priests, and Deacons, is not clean. 7 ’ Here, in the first century of the Church, we find the Bishop governing the Church, three orders of Priesthood, confession of sins to the Priests, and the efficacy of good works. St. Peter and St. Clement, jjt. John and St. Ignatius, have not borne the chain tor Dr. Ford in bis survey of this century ; neither have they blazed the way for him, and without such guides the survey cannot be correct. The method of administering Baptism will not of itself suffice to prove the identity of the Churches. They discard many things taught and practised by the Church of the first century, so that the question “ where did the Baptists come from?” finds no answer here. It must be sought elsewhere, and the grant of Dr. Ford is not properly located. For the present, our paper is of sufficient length; but we will examine other points in our next. ' Cedric. From the Houston (Texas) Daily Times. A HELL FACTORY ON EARTH. The country is in danger of damnation. The danger is not Grant, but the party in power. The danger of that party is its corruption. A corruption so deep and damnable, that Hell proudly recog nizes the kinship. A corruption- so braz en, boundless, and vaulting, that it would claim copartnership with Heaven. A corruption so universal, that it has achieved a monopoly of every crime con demned by every code, human or Di vine, ancient or modern, heathen, or Christian. A corruption so huge in its dimensions, and so gigantic in its enter prise, that past historical villainy becomes contemptible, and the natural loathing of the human conscience toward ordinary w ckedness, is transformed, in this case, to a monstrosity of admiration. A cor ruption so philosophical in conception, and so universal and imperial in purpose, tii it it seeks to poison the sweet waters in Christian civilization at the fountain; to accomplish a fall of man so grand, that Adam’s achievement in that line shall be eclipsed; to make a “devil and his angels,” so magnificent that the scriptu ral Satan and his friends shall be de throned, and lose their occupation; and to annex the pigmy Hell of the Bible, as a ‘'conquered province,” to the grand Pandemonium established upon earth. The history, as a whole, and the facts in detail, of Radical corruption fully justify this grandly horrible picture. It has violated every political truth. It has broken every political covenant. It has been treacherous to every sacred faith, political, moral, and social. It has defied human resistance and Divine ven geance It has trodden into the mire overy human right. It has destroyed aii nght ol property. It has bioken down every safe-guard of life, domestic sancti ty, and social peace, and purity. Its fi nancial policy is organized and univer sal robbery, from the manipulation of the bunds, and the bribed control of the elections, down through the gold room * rings, the currency “corners,” the stock highwayism, the Revenue frauds, the whiskey “rings,” the common combi nations between Government Officials and the thieves and robbers of the country, to the Convention tax in Texas, and the Customhouse filching at Galves ton, Xew Orleans, and Brownsville. It murdered its own prisoners in Anderson viHe, -lather than exchange the Confeder ates, and to bring odium upon its opponent. It murdered an innocent woman, for political effect. It burned the women and children of vast regions of country out of home and bread. It encouraged a savage soldiery to ravish the most noble I idles upon the face of the earth. It turned war into brigandage, and its cof fers are now filled, and its homes furnish ed by the wealth and valuables of a ruined land. Bribery is the only pass port to its favor, and that bribery includes not only gold, but everything formerly field sacred—the honor and truth of man •iml the glorious beauty and priceless virtue of woman. Molcfch is only one of ts Deities, and the children of the land ure sacrificed to him. Lying—the father °* es Lis transferred his home to Ameri ca, taken possession of the Telegraph, Press, and Pulpit, within Radical reach] and lies about everything in Heaven and Larth Thieves like Butler, murderers like Stanton, fiends like Thud Stephens, are held in honor. Noble soldiers, and statesmen like Hancock, Blair, Fessen den, Chase, although, fighting their own battles, are ornaments to their own party, are struck down, if they show any loath ing of the universal corruption Worst of all, not a single Radical organ of pub lic opinion has ever had the honesty, or the courage, to expose and denounce a single case of villainy and corruption connected with the party. From the New i ork Tribune , down to Forney’s Chronicle , down through all the ranks, and grades of Radical journalism, until with microscopic investigation, wc discov er the insect of the Houston Union , not one single denunciation of one single Radical villainy has ever been heard. The whole philosophy, and programme of the party are essentially, and universally coirupt, so that if one root is pulled up, the whole vast system would be pulled up ”ith it. Radicalism is, therefore, not only radically and boundlessly corrupt, but it is a necessity of its existence that it should continue and increase in cor ruption. The danger is not Grant, but the corruption of the party in power. Autumnal D reamings. There comes between me and the Past A misty haze of many dreams, The murmur of the Autumn streams, The Autumn’s glories fading fast: The long lines of the clanging crows, The leaden clouds that bar the sky, The mute, brown birds that hurry by, The dead leaves of the Autumn rose: lue winds that sweep the mountain side, And stir the Sumac’B crimson plume, The dark ravines enwrapped in gloom, By dark green pines intensified; The winding valleys left and right, The silver rivers wandering there, The gray haze of the chilling air, All speak of Nature’s gathering night. As I look far along the slopes That droop away to west and east. Fond Memory, like a stolid Priest, Points out my dead and living hopes. The chime of songs in happier times, From lips as warm as ruby wine, Comes to me with a charm divine. And tender as young first Love's rhymes. And other dreams, too dear to uame; Too dear, for they long since were dead: And some that pass with iron tread— These were vague longings after Fame. L • - From the London Saturday Review. OLD GIRLS. It is a little difficult to disentangle the varied influences which tell on ourselves and on the world in which we live, and still harder, perhaps, to sort them, when fairly disentangled, in any definite order ot value; but, we are inclined, on the whole, to think that the most powerful of our social influences is that of the Old Girl. Husbands and wives, old men and maidens, tell, of course, in some way, ou the general mass of thoughts aud im pulses, ot lives and characters, around them; but their action is, from the very nature of their domestic position, then personal aims, and their business dis tractions, limited and indirect. With out a home, without the ties of a family, unfettered at last by matrimonial aims, relieved by a genteel competence from the cares of business, the Old Girl, on the other hand, bears down upon life with a singleness of aim and a directness of purpose which bids one expect great things. And no doubt the Old Girl has done great tilings. She has built Bath. She Ims created Tapper. She has in vented the popular preacher. The sen sational novel arose at her call. The un written code of feminine society is a monument cf her legislation. Platonic affection is the highest reach of her fancy. She has taken Evangelicalism captive, and darqs at it through a month at Exe ter Hall. She has seized Ritualism, and dragged smooth shaven directors to the feet of their ‘‘Mother Superior.” And, but the other day, she took the form of Miss Becker, and, with a wild slogan of “Woman’s Rights,” drove a host of re viving barristers like chaff before the wind. It is impossible to pass with the usual smile ot good-humored contempt before a force such as this: wc long, in stinctively, to know more about it, to ex amine its various elements, to watch its origin, its developments, its end. There is a wide gulf, we see at once, between the Old Girl and the Fading Flower. r I he feverish mobility, the half-despairing, yet passionate, desire to attract 'the strange medley of poetry and prose, a sentiment and worldliness, that amused us in the earlier stage, is gone. Life has settled down into a calm monotony. The Old Girl looks out over the level 1 ----- —1 - _.„.. _v' ' ■ Sands of existence as the colossal forms of Egyptian sculpture look over the desert, with the same grand immobility, with a patience of cards and crochet almost as divine as theirs. A faint echo, indeed, of the passions of the past, ripples up every now and then to die at her feet. Sometimes there is a lover, old as herself, dying down, as she dies, into the peace and rest of things, yet jostling against her, at intervals, to awaken the old mem ories, to renew the old offers. And then, the 'N oicc, and look, and the touch, will bring about a slight attack of la second e jeunesse , a dim trouble of heart, a shy pleasant quickening of pulse, a tear, a headache, ere they pass away. But they do not pass away. Year after year, it may be, the appeal is renewed, and the pulse quickens, and the tear drops, but the Old Girl remains an Old Girl still. She muses over it sometimes in moments of renewed calm, and wonders how it all can be. There was a time, she owns, when the very uncertainty was pleasant, when the mere freedom of choice was de lightful, when there was a strange sense of power in having a lover at her feet, in toe faith that, though rejected, a yeai’ would bring him to the same feet again. He is ihete still, but the old pleasure is gone. She recalls, with a strange be wilderment of heart, how near she has been, more than once, to that impossible “ Yes”—near enough even to devise little plots for the discovery of whether she was loved for her own sake—and how the little plo?$ all proved her wooer true, and how the “Yes” remained impossible still. Again and again she has brought herself to the brink, and has peeped over and run away, fehe cannot conquer this Double, this panic, this overpowering dis may at the thought of change. Life has fixed her in its grooves, has settled her into habits, and places, and times, likings •tiid dislikings, her hopes and fears. Years have brought knowledge, and with it a fear that casteth out love. Is it pos sible to trust that sober, middle-aged, un romanticxwooer so completely, now that passion has ceased to blind ? Is it likely that two people who have taken their own peculiar mould, will be able to fuse their lives into one ? And, after all, is it worth while to incur such risks tor what must be a pale, passionless friend ship ? There are moments when the woman’s heart wakes up in the Old Girl, and she almost hates ttie good-tempered common-place suitor, as he pleads his faithfulness, as lie promises her a con stant affection and esteem. \\ hy didn’t lie force hei into happiness when some thing more was possible than affection and esteem ? But, it is only for a mo ment, and again the heart settles down into peace Ihe passionate longing dies into the dreary chant of the Lotos-eater: “ Bet what is broken, so remain, The Gods are hard to reconcile: lis hard to settle order once again: There is confusion worse than death, Trouble on trouble, pain on pain.” And so on the Old Girl settles down to Egyptian immobility and her work-table. The only trafe of the past that the outer w orld can sec about her, is that her dress, like that of the clergy, manages some how to lag a little behind its day. She employs the same milliners, she patron izes the same bonnet-shop; if she falls back on the friendly aid of a little rouge or kohl, it is precisely the same kohl and rouge that her butterfly niece uses. But, somehow, the general effect lags, as we said, about a twelvemonth behind. There is nothing else, however, to re mind men of the past. No one is more busy with the present. No one is so full ot its fun and its follies, no one so well up in the last novel and the latest scan dal as the Old Girl. Not that she is really very scandalous or romantic. \\ hat she really wants is occupation; and the occupation that life gives to others, in a thousand cares of children and butchers’ bills, she has to make for her self. And so she flings herself, with an intense energy, into the chaos of little things. Little engagements, little pleas ures, minute particles of business, the tiniest tittle-tattle, all arc so many weap ons against the dreary inactivity of her life. She seasons and spices it well with little outbreaks of temper, with moods, and fancies, and glooms, and humors, in the hope of relieving its tastelessness. She gilds it over with this layer of literature, of ai t, of poetry; she brightens it, now and then, with a delicate gourmandize. It is amusing to hear the Old Girl dis cuss the merits of an entree, and laugh at t ie tender maiden who dislikes Madeira. Above all, she lights against the loveli ness of her life. She caricatures the affection she has missed by a succession of pets. There is a sly humor in the, way in which she comforts a love-lorn Ophelia, by the story of her sorrow over her favorite tabby, and how a gracious Providence brought her through it. There is a charming iroiiy in the legacy of her last lap-dog to the wooer who has wooed her for half a century. But her sympathies .are far from stopping short I at tabbies ami lap-dogs. She ' pours out I her pasijjon for pets on the scapegrace I nephew in the Guards, and on the meek ! Curate at the Parsonage She turns one into a tone, and the other into a clerical JjP- O- 11 tbe clergy, indeed, the Old Gin delights to show forth her power. Sometimes she likes to snub them. We once knew an Old Girl who took up her abode at a Bishop’s house, with the simple design of persecuting young Deacons. It was delightful to watch her, as she caught them in the freshness of their zeal, lowered them into the revela tion of their hopes and plans, and then informed them that she had heard all this a hundred times before, and never Knew much good come of new brooms. It was the very helplessness of these \ouug Levites that made the game so peifecth diverting, as she induced them to lead ine pious little tracts she wrote foi 1 alernoster Row, or to chat with her on tiie lawn, or to take her down to din ner, and then, in the very moment of their highest ecstacies, entertained an ai eh-deacon by breaking them on the wheel. Sometimes the Old Girl prefers to rout the Clergy up. She sees that they do their duty. She looks in on the sick case.-* to make sure they have been at tended to. She tastes their port wine and the soup that the Curate has left. 'be takes notes during the sermon, and sends, in the morning a score of doubtful passages, with a request that the Preacher will be good enough to reconcile them with certain texts which she has kindly annexed. She watches over the ortho doxy of his vestments, and circumvents a dawning tendency toward preaching in a surplice by the seasonable gift of anew silk gown. . most eminent example of this sort of clerical supervision, which we remem bei to have met with, was Miss Hannah More. Those who have read the bio graphy ot that very eminent and typical Old Girl, will remember the terror she diffused throughout the clergy of the West, how fox-huntifig ceased, and port wine ictired beneath the table, how she made ciicuits of the Churches, that she might catechize the Preacher in the Ves try, how, when her clerical victim barri caded himself in his study, she called up the ser\ ants and prayed for his conver sion in the hall. Hannah Mores have lathei gone out of fashion just now, or lather they have walked over into the op posite camp. The “Mother Superior” is the .Old Girl of the new movement. The fussiness, the kindness, the severity, the humors, the pettiness, the eccentricities, the real good sense and warm-hearted ness of Old Girlhood, receive their con secration under the veil and the poke bonnet. A host of little services, of little bells tinkling at moments, invest with an air of piety the waste of a day. Scandal becomes obedience when the sis ter is pledged to reveal all to the mother ly ear; despotism becomes discipline when it is hallowed into a rule; prudery becomes purity when it retires from the world into its cell. This is not, perhaps, the highest aim of woman, or the sub lime consummation which at first sight it seems to be; but, at any rate, it is better than mere unrelieved tittle-tattle, or the bitter bigotry that fights for the last trick over the card-tables of Cheltenham or Bath. But, alter all, extremes like these are but the fringe of Old (girlhood—extremes into which it plunges when it is roused into an activity that is not its own. Kind, good tempered, a little sentimental, a little prosaic, the really characteristic at mosphere of an Old Girl is the atmos phere ol rest. The ample form, the yet ampler folds of her silken robe, give a promise of largeness, and toleration, and good humor, which the energetic woman of married life can seldom afford.— School-boys run to her for taffy; school girls pour into that sympathizing breast the raptures and despairs of their ear liest love : and weary men, tired of the stress and racks of life, somehow like to come there, to leave behind them all the movement and ambition of their existence without, and to find at any rate in one circle the quietude and re pose which they find no where else. It i ,s the memory of such pleasant resting places in the journey of life that makes us whisper our Requiescai in Pace over the grave of the Old Girl. • • • The Baris censorship lias prohibited 4 drama, on account ol'its title, Chilperie 111. fearing no doubt, that the public might confound that sovereign with Na poleon 111. On turning to the history of the first-named monarch, a newspaper writer found his description in Anquetil: He had nothing against him but his in capacity, \yhich was regarded as imbe cility, that would disappear, as he grew older. From the Dublin Weekly Freeman’s Jon ram. THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY. On Wednesday, the fifteenth session of the Catholic University was inaugu rated with much solemnity in the splen did Church of the University. The pro ceedings were witnessed by a large and in uential attendance of the citizens of Dublin, who were anxious, by.their pre sence on the occasion, to testify their deep interest in an institution which has now been supported fourteen years by he Catholie people of Ireland, ' the high class education of the youth of the country may he based upon religion. F The Right Hon. the Lord Mayor at tended m state, wearing his robes of office, and accompanied by the civic offi cers, bearing the insignia of the Corpora tion Ihe Lady Mayoress and Miss Car roll, were also present. Amongst those present were, David Sherlock, Q. C ; the Hon. J. P. Verecker, Rev. Dr. Russell, President Maynooth College; Alderman Moylan, J. P. ; Mr Wheelan, T.C.; Mr. Bolger F. C.; Dr. Long.T.C.; Mr. Ham ilton, T. C.; Sir John Bradstrcet, Sir John Gray, M. P. ; Mr. Devitt, T. C.; Mr. M. Crean, Rev. Henry Murphy, Rev. Wm. Brean, Mrs. Cronin, Dr. and Mrs. Egan, Very Rev. M. Mulally, Mr. R. P. Carton, barrister; Mr. Wm. Woodlock and frieuds; Mr. arid Mrs. O’Neil, Mr. and Mrs. Michael O’Meara, Mr. H. Lind sey, Rev. Father Gaffney, Rev. W. Irwin, Mr. Finnegan, T. C., and friends; Mr! and Miss Corbett, Mrs. M’Cormac and party; Mr. G. D. Fottrell and the Misses hottrell, Rev. Thomas O’Donnell, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur O’Hagan, Mr. Frede rick *Hamilton, T. C., and party; Mr. Callanan and party; Mr. A. Croft and the Misses Croft, Mr. McCarthy, Mrs. Telford, Mr. Crotty and friends, Mr. Wil liam Roche and family, Rev. Father Smyth, Rev. Mr Prendergast, Mr. M, Merriman, Mr. H. Ellis, Mr. M. S. O fehaughnessy, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, Mr. P. F. White, the President and Pro fessors of All Hallows; Signor Ceilina, Very Rev. B. Russell, Mr. J. Whelan, T. C.; Dr. Madden and friends; Very Rev. Edward Kelly, S. J.; Mr. 11. H. M Dermott, Mr. Michael O’Shaughnessy, \ ery Rev. Leman and the Professors, French College, Black Rock ; the Very Rev. J. Deterner, Superior of the Catho lic University School; Rev. Thos. Fitch. S. M.; the Rev. J. Pio, S. M.; the Rev. F. Henze, S.M.; Very Rev. Father Fox, 0. M. I.; Very Rev. Monsignor Moran, D. D.; Rev. Mr. Daniel, C. C.; Mr. Hall, Mr. 0 Ilea, The O’Conor Don and Madame O’Conor, Very Rev. Father Al phas O’Neill, Mr. Francis Morgan, the \ ery Rev. the Prior and Community of St. Teresa, Clarendon street, Lady Fitz simmons, Mr. and Mrs. Buttcrly, Mr. Campbell, Rev. Thomas O’Reily, Miss Dawson, Canon Pope. Shortly after three o’clock, the Prelates who assisted at the ceremonies, the Rector and tfie Professors of the Uni \ ersity, entered in procession, and pro ceeded to the seats specially arranged for them on the dais, over which was a fine portrait ol Pius IX. The Prelates wore the Episcopal robes, and the Rectors and Professors were attired in full aca demic costume. In the absence of his Eminence, the Cardinal Archbishop, who was unable to attend, owing to the delicate state of his heal;h, the Chair was occupied by The Most Rev. Dr. Keane, Lord Bishop of Cloyne. On the right of the Lord Bishop were, the Most Rev. Dr. Furlong, Loid Bishop of herns, the Most Rev. Dr. Conaty, Lord Bishop of Kilmore, and the Most Rev. Dr. Leahy, Lord Bishop of Dromore. On his Lordship’s left were, the Most Rev, Dr. Dorrian, Lord Bishop of Down and Connor, and the Most Rev. Dr. But ler, Lord Bishop of Limerick ; the A ery Rev. Dean O’Brien. The Educational Staff of the Univer sity was represented by Professors O’Reilly, Stewart, W. K. Sullivan, Penny, Hennessey, Dunne, Scratton, Lyons, Hayden, M’Swiney, (Dr.) Byrne, Tyrrell, Quinlan, Very Rev. A. O’Logh len, Dean of Residence ; Rev. Dr. Mc- Devitt, Lecturer on Creed and Scripture; Dr. Lafi'an, Registrar of the Medical Faculty; Dr. Fennelly, Rev. M. Letter ries, Head of Corpus Christi; Rev. G. O’Donohue, Head of St. Mary’s. The fine Choir of the University, un der the direction of Mr. Croft, sang an ode, composed for- the occasion, by W. Aubrey Do Very, one of the Universi ty Professors. Lne Rev. Rector then delivered his inaugural address. No Disguise. —Don’t flatter yourself, young rhan, that a cardamon seed, a ker nel of burnt coffee, a bit of flag root, or lemon peel, a clove, or anything of that shallow sort, will disguise the nipper that has gone down your throat. The lady at your side detects the trick, and despises the cause of it. 5