2
spoken ; the confession of my love was on
my lips, but she went on without heeding
me.
“Come to me to-morrow.” she said;
•‘I feel that I am still far from strong,
and I must rest. But to-morrow I will
tell you the story of my life ; and you
shall advise me how to repair the errors
of the past, and how to live more wisely
and less selfishly in the future. Ah, I
iiave much to do !—much. I pray that
God may grant me length of days.’'
‘‘Countess !” I cried, rising— .
“Nay, not another word,” she said,
smiling*. “I am too weary to converse
further to-night. Good-bye, and come to
rue at noon to-morrow.”
Stic exteuded her slender, semi-tarns
pa.-cot hand, and I pressed it respectfully
to my lips. Then I left her, but as I
passed through the door, I turned and
looked back. Madame Orlauoff had sunk
back among the scarlet cushions of her
couch. Against that glowing back
ground, her pale, beautiful face, dark,
shining eyes, and glossy hair, showed, in
the soft lamplight, with a peculiar and
picturesque effect. She smiled a fare
well to me, and I departed, to dream of
her—anil to dream, too, that life was
worth the living, for that she loved me.
The next morning I reached the Villa
Mancini punctually at the appointed hour,
but was told by the servants that Madame
OriauotV had not yet quitted her room.
“Strange !” I exclaimed; “for I am
here at this hour by appointment.”
The servants consulted among thern
selnes; and, at last, Mile Eulalie, the
waiting-maid of the Countess, volunteered
to go in search of her.
“Perhaps she is still sleeping,” she
said; for, as she did not ring for me last
night, I suppose she set up half the night
reading, as she often does.”
She went, but instantly returned,
white as dealh, and wringing her hands.
“She is not there; her bed has never
even been touched 1 Oh, my mistress—
my poor mistress—where is she ? What
can have happened to her ?”
A sudden and terrible fear shot through
my heart.
“Seek for her there !” I cried, pointing
to the door of the little reception-room.
The door was thrown open. I was the
first to enter; and my worst fears were
realized. Pale, lifeless, but still most
beautiful, she lay there, just as when I
had quitted her; her cold hands still rest
ing- on the open volume, and her parting
smile yet lingering in unfading loveliness
upon her lips. She had died as the
doctor predicted, instantly, without a
struggle and without a pang. Ah me !
the struggle and the agony were all left
for me.
I saw her once again. She lay in her
cofiin, then, almost concealed by the pro
fusion of flowers with which she was cov
ered. Perfectly beautiful she iooked; but
her features were calm, with the solemn
serenity of Death, and the smile had
faded from her lips—-those lips whose
promised revelations I was never to hear
—whose touch, even iu death, I was never
to know !
The husband’s family claimed the re
mains, and caused them to be transported
to Russia, and laid in the family vault.
Not even her grave remains to me. All
that is left to me of my dead love is the
resemblance that smiles upon mc'from
the canvafe of Vandyke.
Friends, was I not right in saying that
my story was the saddest of the three ?
To you, Herr Halm, and to you, Herr
Keller, the chances of Fate may yet re
store your lost ones. Rosehen and Ida
doubtless yet live. But against me the
one decree of Destiny, which never can be
reversed, has been pronounced—the
woman that 1 loved is dead !
His voice sank into silence. The last
story was ended, and the three, thus
strangely united, were now to separate.
They rose from the table, and Halm ex
tended a hand to each of his guests.
“We may never meet again,” he said ;
but, from my heart, I thank you for the
confidence you have reposed in me and
in each other, as well as for the friendly
sympathy and solace you have given me.
One glass more at parting, friends—and
so, farewell !”
They parted, and no suspicion of the
real bond which united them crossed their
minds; that Rosehen and Ida Rosen, and
the Countess OrlanofF, were one and the
same person. Yet so it was. Tiie last
kucot each romance was written by the
huger of Death, in the cold dust that
mouldered in the stately burial-vault of
tin* Oriauolfs.
A Dutchman once met an Irishman
011 a lonely highway; as they met each
simled thinking he knew the other.
Fat on seeing his mistake, remarked
with a look ofdisappointmen: “Faith
an' I thought it was you, an’ you
chought it was me, air its nayther of us,”
Ihe Dutchman replied: “Yaw, dat is
dliru: I am anundher man; and you ish
not. yourself; we pe both some other
podics!”
Th e Raven Days.
BY SIDNEY BAN'IKB.
Our hearts are gone, and our hearts are broken,
And but the ghosts of homes to us remain,
And ghostly eyes and hollow sighs give token
From friend to friend of an unspoken pain.
O, Haven Days, dark Raven Days of sorrow,
Bring to us, in your whetted ivory beaks,
Some sigh out of the far land of To-morrow,
Some strip of sea-green dawn, some orange streaks.
Ye float in dusky files, forever croaking—
Ye chill our manhood with your dreary shade.
Pale, in the dark, not even God invoking.
We lie in chains, too weak to be afraid.
O, Raven Days, dark Raven Days of sorrow.
Will ever any warm light come again ?
Will ever the Ut mountains of To-morrow
Begin to gleam across the mournful plain ?
From the Chicago Tost, Jan, 9.
“PROTESTANTISM A FAILURE,"
Rev. “Father” llecker, one of the
ablest men of the Roman Catholic Church
in this country, delivered a lecture last
night before the Union Catholic Library
Association on “The Religious Condition
of the Country,” in which he proceeded
to make some most extraordinary state
ments and predictions. The following
extracts from a condensed report will
show the animus of the lecture :
CATHOLICISM OR RATIONALISM.
There are two tendencies in the Chris
tian world —one leads to the Catholic
Church; the other to rationalism. All
efforts to find a medium stand-point have
been ineffectual. The question is not
“ Rome or Reason” as has been stated,
but, however, Romanism or infidelity.
NEW ENGLAND BECOMING PAGAN.
New* Englaud is falling into Paganism,
exaggerated naturalism and superstition.
Christianity and even theism has been
eliminated from the belief of the higher
minds of New England.
But this development is not confined
to New England. A Baptist clergyman
in Detroit, last year, says that within the
last twenty years the communicants have
fallen off’ 2,000
A writer in Putnam's Monthly says
there are in New York 353 churches,
each containing an average of 320 attend
ants, and yet New l r ork is as irreligious
a- Pekin. The question is not how to build
churches then, but how to fill them. The
writer charges the Protestant Church
with occupying a false position in regard
to the world, and especially the poor.
WHY PROTESTANTISM IIAS FAILED.
These facts show that Protestantism
has lost its hold on the great mass of the
people, and that it does not keep pace
with the growth of the country.
Why is this ?
1. Protestantism started with the ex
aggeration of the supernatural element in
Christianity. It made Divine revelation
everything and human reason nothing.
The man was all the better Christian if
deprived of reason.
2. It enhanced the work of redemption
to that extent that it omitted all human
co-operation.
3. It made his salvation to depend
upon election. It increased and exagge
rated the torments of hell, so that these
things left man nothing, either for his
intelligence, his will or his humanity.
RATIONALISM.
The result of this was that a reaction
took place in favor of free will and man’s
humanity. At first, man could only be
saved by Christ; now, man can save
himself. Once, the Redeemer was all,
and man nothing; now man is all, and the
Redeemer nothing. Once, women were
hung as witches; now, they nearly all
have dealings with spirits. |Laughter.]
This movements will spread until it will
cover the whole country, in sufficient
time.
NIHILISM.
There is no place between Roman
ism and rationalism; rationalism is
infidelity, and infidelity' is nihilism.
The last word of German philosophy is,
that without phosphorous there is no
thought; that is, thought is the phospho
rescence of the brain. This will explain
why Yankees are so smart. They have
phosphorus on the brain. How do they
get it? By eating codfish. [Laughter.]
Agassiz says codfish contains the greatest
possible amount of phosphorus, and the
Yankees eat a great deal of codfish. The
positivists of Germany have relegated all
that is grand in the human soul to the
“unknown,” a region that philosophers
take little notice of. These men say all
you can do is to go on collecting tacts,
and that after millions of years, perhaps,
science may be established. But they
are not sure of this. This, then, it will
be seen, leads to absolute “nihilism.”
PROTESTANTISM INCREASES DIVORCES.
But these facts relate to what may be
called the social aspect of the problem.
There is another point: Protestantism
tends to the emancipation of the human
passions from the authority of the Chris
tian law, and this problem is being rap
idly solved. Protestantism is loosening
i the marriage tie, as the increasing num-
her of divorces proves. In the New
England States, among Protestants, the
number of deaths are greater than the
births, so that soon the foreign popula
tion will be dominant. This Protestant
ism tends to the dismemberment of fami
lies and the decrease of population. II
the devil had wished to do the greatest
evil to the human races, he could have
done no more than bring these results
about, for they end with the extinction
of the human race.
WHEN PROTESTANTISM WILL BE EXTINCT.
Protestantism does not keep pace with
population, for the increase of the popu
lation is at the rate of 35 per cent, in ten
years, while, according to Dr. Fish, a
Baptist divine, the Protestants increase
only at the rate of 2’* pei cent, in the
same time; so that Protestantism falls
13 per cent, behind the increase of popu
lation. This being the case, before the
close of the century Protestantism will
come to an end. It will be run out by
that time.
THE OTHER SIDE.
Looking at the Catholic Church, it will
be seen that it does not deny the authori
ty of human reason. Thomas Aquinas
undertook the defence of divine revela
tion on the basis of human reason, and
this in the dark ages. Catholics do not
find the authority of the Church, tradi
tion, the Bible and the interior conscious
ness of the soul to clash. Catholics do
not obey Pope and Priests as individuals,
but as exponents of divine truth. The
church is the guardian and witness of
divine truth. This is all the authority
the Priesthood or the Pope claims.
INCREASE OF CATHOLICS. 4
Drotcstantism, it is said, increases at
the rate of 22 per cent.; how rapidly
does the Catholic Church increase ? Rev.
Dr. Fish says at the rate of 135 per cent,
in ten years, that is, the increase of Ca
tholicism over the increase of population
is 100 per cent. llow long, at this rate,
will it take to make Catholicism the
dominant Church ? 1 think lam quite
modest when I claim that it will be at the
end of this century. Protestantism, as a
religious system, will then be extinct.
The reason of our increasing so rapidly
is this : we act as one man. Truth is
unity; error is diversity. Truth is one;
error is many.
THE REPUBLIC SOON TO BECOME CATHOLIC.
This great Republic is destined in the
providence of God to become a great
Catholic country. [Applause.] You
need not fear if it does. It favors intelli
gence; it is doing more now for tho edu
cation of the people than any other Pro
testant denomination. On the score of
human liberty it need not be feared, nor
need it be feared that it will cramp the
energies of the people. When all the
energy of the American people is organ
ized under a single religion, there is no
telling what it may accomplish. The
question is now pressing on the minds of
the American people to determine their
religion, as our forefathers determined
the character of our political institutions,
and under the noble influence of our in
stitutions, the country will, at no distant
day, proclaim itself Catholic. [Great
applause.]
THE UNEXPECTED SON
One summer afternoon, Mr. Malcom
Anderson arrived with his family at his
native town. Putting up at the little inn,
he proceeded to dress himself in a suit
of sailor’s clothes, and then walked on,
alone. By aby path he well knew,
and then through a shady lane, dear to
his young, hazel-nutting days, all stran
gely unchanged, he approached his
mother’s cottage. He stopped for a
moment on the lawn outside, to eurb
down the heart that was bounding to
meet that mother, and to clear his eyes
of a sudden mist of happy tears. Through
the open window he caught a glimpse
of her, sit ing alone at her spinning
wheel, as in old time. But alas, how
changed! Bowed was the dear form, ouee
so erect, and dimmed the eyes, once so
full of tender brightness, like dew
stained violets. But the voice, with
which she was crooning softly to herself,
was still sweet, and there was on her
cheek the same lovely peach-bloom of
twenty years ago.
At length he knocked, and the dear re
membered voice called to him in the
simple old fashioned way—“ Coom been!”
(come in.) The widow rose at the sight
of a stranger, and courteously offered
him a chair. Thanking her in an
assumed voice, somewhat gruff, he sank
down, as though wearied, saying that he
was a wayfarer, strange to the country,
aud asking the way to the next town.
The twilight favored him iu his little
ruse: lie saw' that she did not recognize
him, even as one she had ever seen
But, after giving him the information he
desired, she asked him if he was a Scotch
man by birth. “Yes, madam,” he replied;
“but I have been away in foreign parts
many years. I doubt if my own mother
would know me now. though she was
very fond of me before I went to sea ”
“Ah, mon! it’s little ye ken abont
mitbers, gin ye think of I can tell ye
there is na motal memory like theirs,”
the widow somewhat warmly replied;
theu added—“And where hue ye been
for sae lang a time, that ye hae lost a’
the Scotch fra your speech?”
fH‘Tn India—in Calcutta, madam.”
“Ah, then, it’s likely ye ken some
thing o’ my son, Mr Malcom Anderson.”
“Anderson,” repeated the visitor, as
though striving to remember. “There
be many of that name in Calcutta, but
is your son a rich merchant, and a man
about my size and age, with something
such a figure head?”
“My son is a rich merchant,” replied
the widow, proudly, “but lie is younger
than you by mony a year, and begging
your pardon, sir, far bonnier. He is tall
and straight, wi’ hands and feet, like a
lassie’s; he had brown curling hair, sae
thick and glossy! and cheeks like the
rose, and a brow like the snaw, and the
blue een, wi’a glint in them, like the
light of the evening star! Na, na, ye are
not like my Malcom, though ye are a
guid enough body, I diuna doubt, and a
decent woman’s sou.”
Here the masquerading merchant, con
siderably taken down, made a movement
as though to leave, but the hospitable
dame stayed him, saying: “Gin ye hae
travelled a J the way fra India, ye maun
be tired and hungry. Bide a bit; and
cat and driuk wi’ us. Margery! come
down, and let us set on the supper!”
The two women soon provided quite a
tempting repast, and they all three sat
down to it—Mrs. Anderson reverently
asking a blessing. But the merchant
conld not eat. He was only hungry for
his mother’s kisses—only thirsty for her
joyful recognitions yet he could not bring
himself to say to her—“l am your
hal*fson.” He asked himself, half grieved,
amused —“Where are the unerring,
natural instincts I have read about in
poetry and novels?”
His hostess seeing he did not eat,
kindly asked if he could suggest anything
he would be likely to relish. “I thank
you, madam,” he answered, “it does seem
tome that I should like some oat-meal
porridge, such as my mother used to
make, if it be that you have any.”
“Porridge?” repeated the widow. “Ah,
ye mean parritch. Y T cs, we hae a little
left fra our dinner. Gie it to him, Marge
ry. But, mon, it is cauld?”
“Never mind; I know I shall like it,”
he rejoined, taking the bowl, and beginn
ing to stir the porridge with a spoon.
As lie did so, 3lrs. Anderson gave a
slight start, and bent eagerly towards
him. Then she sank back in her chair
with a sigh, saying, in answer to his
questioning look—“Ye minded me o' my
Malcom, then—just in that way he used
to stir his parritch—gieing it a whirl and
a flirt. Ah! gin' ye were my Malcom,
my poor laddie!”
“Weel, then, gin I were your Malcom,”
said the merchant speaking for the first
time in the Scottish dialect, and in his
own voice: “or gin your braw young
Malcom was as brown, and bald, and
grey, and bent, and old, as 1 am, could
you welcom him to your arms, and love
him as in the dear auld lang syne?
Could you, mither?”
All through this touching little speech,
the widow’s eyes had been glistening,
and her breath came fast; but at the
word “milker” she sprang up with a glad
cry, and tottering to her sou, fell almost
fainting on his breast. He kissed her
again and again—kissed her brow, and
her lips, and her hands, while the big
tears slid down his bronzed cheeks,
while she clung about his neck and called
him by all the dear old pet names, and
tried to see in him all the dear old young
looks. By-and-by, they came back—or
the ghost of them came back The form
in her embrace grew oomelier; love and
joy gave to it a second youth, stately and
gracious; the first she then aud there
buried deep in her heart—a sweet
beautiful, peculiar memory. It was a
moment of solemn renunciation, in which
she gave up the fond maternal illusion she
had cherished so long. Then looking up
steadily into the face oft he middle-aged
man, whe had taken its place, she asked:
“Where has ye left the wife and bairns?”
“At the inn, mother. Have you room
for us all at the cottage?
“Indeed, I have—twa good spare
rooms, wi, large closets, well stocked wi’
linen I Isue been spinning or weaving a’
these lang years for ye baith, and the
weans,”
“Well, mother dear, now you must
rest,’, rejoined the merchant, tenderly.
“Na, na, I dinna care to rest till ye
lay me down to tak’ my lange rest.
There’ll be time enough between that day
and the* resurrection to fauld my hands
iin idlencs. Now, ’t would be unco
irksome. But go, my sou. aud bring me
the wife—T hope I shall like her; and the
hairns—l hope they will like me”
I have only to say, that both the g>od
woman’s hopes were realized. Avery
lappy family knelt down in prayer that
night, and many nights after, in the
widow,s cottage, whose climbing roses
and woodbines were but outward signs
and types of sweetness and blessedne>*s of
the love and peace within.
Little Pilgrim.
Mr Gladstone s Irish Church Meas
ure. —lngenious theories have been put
forward as to what Mr. Gladstone’s Irish
Church measure will be or should be.
There is no harm in these speculations
especially in the present dearth of public
news, but it is unlikely that any of these
theories will turu out to be correct.
Mr. Gladstone knows what he wants He
has for several years past made up his
mind to abolish the Irish Church as an
Established Church, and has, no doubt,
revolved in his mind the means by which
his object is to be obtained, lie is as
great in details as he is in matters of
general policy. The simplest, most
obvious, and most direct, mole of
proceeding is generally that which a
great man adopts, and we quite antici
pate therefore that when Mr. Gladstone
introdue his Irish Church measures, its
simplicity and comprehensiveness will
take people by surprise. The Suspension
Bill ot last session offers the groundwork
both for disestablishing and for dis
endowing the Irish Church, and the
question of the disposal of any surplus
funds, apart from their primary destina
tion to purposes of compensation, may
well be left to be dealt with in each
year in which any such surplus comes
to hand. Disestablishment is effected
by the Crown ceasing to exercise its
patronage as vacancies occur, and
disendowment by the appropriation of
the public income and property hither
to appropriated to the vacant dignity or
benefice toother purposes. Ttie Estab
lished Church will by slow degrees be
converted into a voluntary Church, and
there can be no difficulty in at once
initiating the process by which that is
to be done. The ademption of public
property* from benefices in private
patronage will be compensated for. The
idea that what has existed for 300 years
is about to be undone has set people agog;
but the process of distribution will often
be slow, simple, and self-acting. The
change in principle will be great, but the
change in fact will for a long time be
scarcely perceptible, and will be certainly
supplemented, and made good by volun
tary efforts to the full extent that it will
require to be made good. Parishes where
there are six Protestants may probably
have to do without a clergyman to minis
ter to their spiritual wants, but those
where Protestants are numerous will cer
tainly be amply supplied with spiritual
ministrations. — Sunday Observer,
—
A Fated Family. A strange fatality
seems to persecute the royal family of
the Bourbons. Look at this synopsis of
events that have taken place in less than
a century:
Louis XVI. is beheaded.
His son, the little Dauphin, dies in
prison.
The Duke de Berry, heir to the throne
of France, is assassinated.
Charles X., driven from the throne by
the revolution of 1830, dies in exile.
Louis Phillipe, representing the young
er branch of Bourbons, is dethroned in
1848, and dies at Holyrood
Charles 111., of Parma, is assassinated
in broad daylight, in 1854.
Maria Louisa, bis wife, loses her es
tates in 1859, and dies in exile.
The Bourbons of Naples are driven
away in 18G0.
The Montemolins, the younger branch
of Spanish Bourbons, are finally banished
from Spain, after a long and cruel civil
war.
In 1868, Isabella 11. is driven from
Spain — Mirror.
—<<;*— ———
New Catholic Church on Sullivan’s
Island.—On Monday, the corner stone of
the new Catholic Church on Sullivan's
Island, was laid under the most flattering
auspices. The ceremony was performed
bv the Very Rev. Dr. Birmingham,
Vicar General of the Diocese, assisted by
Rev. Fathers Quigley and Moore of tin
city* The procession was beautiful in it'
simplicity, the workmen in their work mg
attire joining in, and the usual manu
scripts were deposited. The Church is
called after the Blessed Virgin, Stella
Maris —“Star of the Sea” —will bn a
Gothic structure from a design of John
Devereaux, Architect, of this city, and
will be thirty-hve by sixty feet in dimei -
sions. It will be surmounted by a spire
one hundred and ten feet in height to the
finial. We trust to be able, at no distant
day to chronicle its completion and
dedication.-- Charleston Cos rner.
