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From the New York Herald.
THE NEW CATHEDRAL IN NEW YORK
CATHEDRAL STEADILY APPROACHING COM
PLETION —THE ALTAR —THE CON
FESSIONALS —THE ORNA
MENTATIONS.
From time to time, since that memor
able 15th of August, when the corner
stone of the new St. Patrick’s Cathedral
was laid by Archbishop Hughes, the
Herald has given its readers occasional
reports of its progress towards comple
ti m. During the season, more than half
of which has now expired, the work has
been pushed steadily forward, and it is
again a pleasant task to review what has
already been accomplished and to in
dulge in an anticipatory vision of what
the future will bring us. It is now more
than twelve } ? ears since the erection of
this magnificent temple was inaugurated
by a solemn and affecting ceremony, in
which it is computed that at least a hun
dred thousand spectators took part
>ince then, with a noteworthy four years’
interruption, while the nation was strug
gling for a newer and nobler existence,
this glorious “poem in stone” has been
steadily and patiently rising, yard by
yard, until at last we have indeed a gold
en earnest of what it will ultimately be
come.
The wisdom which prompted the se
lection of its site so far up town is con
stantly beiDg vindicated. Its situation,
when the city has attained the develop
ment into which it already surely pro
mises to mature, will be the most central
the t could have been chosen. Standing
on the highest elevation in the .most aris
tocratic avenue of New l r ork, it will be
the one conspicuous object of the land
scape, whether one is going ud or coming
down town. And not only that, but its
graceful spires will be discernable far
away on the further shores of each
of the grand water highways that inclose
the imperial city of America. Genera
tions hence, when this fair and prosper
ous land shall have grown into the full
splendor of its coming glory, and when
Sew York will be tire centre of human
wealth and intelligence and power, the
pilgrim to the great city, whether he be
an American, coming for the first time
to view the chiefest city beneath th 6 pro
tection of the stars and stripe,, or a for
eigner; impelled by curiosity to visit the
metropolis of the world, will stra n his
eyes eagerly forward, to distinguish the
most famous landmark of the city—its
Cathedral.
It is a most interesting sight to watch
the daily progress of the work Outside,
a vast quadrangle of white marble, 332
feet in length and 132 feet in width, has
risen up to a height of some fifty or sixty
feet, and but for here and there the groan
ing and creaking of some laboring beam
as a stone is slowly hauled up to be laid
in position, the operations seemed to be
carried on in silence that is singularly im
pressive. No hideous scaffolding sug
gests the confusion that generally makes
inchoate architecture such a disagreeable
spectacle; but all the hoisting is done by
an ingenious arrangement of single poles,
supported by ware rope braces. Every
thing, so far as the exterior is concerned,
preserves the decorous appearance befit
ting the erection of a “house of God;”
and the children who, on their way to
the park, gaze wonderingly at the work
going forward, will, in after years, when
the Cathedral is one of the famous sights
of New \ork, have no disagreeable remi
niscences of the disorder that usually at
tends the early life of great buildings.
Inside, however, the evidences of ac
tivity are more apparent. Vast heaps of
brick, scattered blocks of carved marble,
mounds of dust and rubbish and piies of
beams and poles fill up the vast inclosed
area, while iiere a gang of workmen are
fashioning huge masses of stone into
their destined shape, or there a couple of
patient steers, meek-eyed and docile, in
spite of the angry switch at the flies they
make every now and then with their tails,
haul p ain fully along the latest arrivals
from the quarry. Still, however, there
is a pleasing absence of noise ; the space
occupied by the operations is so large
that the seventy men engaged in the
work seem utterly powerless to break the
prevailing stillness; and only occasionally
does one faintly hear the sharp, decisive
chip of the chisel or the tap of the mallet.
One is strikingly reminded of that other
temple, the most glorious and celebrated
ever built in honor of the living God,
whose erection was absolutely and per
fectly uoiseless
Enough of the Cathedral has now been
uiit to allow of one forming a very fair
conception of what it will look like when
the last stone has been hoisted into its
' lace, and when, for the first time,
divine service will be celebrated in its
1 redacts. The facade fronting the ave
nue is almost finished, and will well re
lay cartful study. In the center a hand
'Cme Gothic arch, exquiskively carved,
forms the main entrance to the Cathedral.
On each side of this main portal are two
side niches, which are at present empty,
but which no doubt, will be at some
time filled with statues of the Madonua
and child, St. Joseph, aud a couple of
the Apostles. Above the door a fine
pointed window, with mullions and deli
cate tracery is supported on either side
by a smaller window. At each corner
of the facade a huge tower rises up, giv
ing a couple more entrances, over each of
which is another window. Each of these
towers, after being carried to a height
of 180 feet will terminate in graceful
spires springing up another hundred and
fifty feet. The gate over the main en
trance is richly pannelled with traceries
and bears in the centre the arms of the
See of New York, with the symbolic keys
and the legend, “Claudit et aperit" (he
opens and shuts). The traceries over the
side entrances also bear shields; on the
right that of the State of New York,
and on the left that of the United States.
These last features are an after-thought
of the architect, and deserve notice, as
they show the true American spirit which
is coloring the work, and are, apart from
that, introduced with singular grace and
facility.
The Cathedral has now reached what
one may term the first story, the building
having been carried up, almost on every
side, as far as where the side roof can be
filled in so soon as the columns dividing
the church into nave and aisles are erect
ed to support it. When this side (or
“shed”) roof has once been built, the
main roof will also be commenced. It
is worth while to mention that it will be
supported by flying buttressess, which
will add much to the apparent lightness
and gracefulness of the edifice.
It is scarcely as yet positively decided
where the high altar will begin, but it
will be in every way worthy of the no
ble church. It will probably be a se
ries of three flights of steps, three steps
in each flight. All along the sides of
the aisles there will, of c >urse, be minor
altars, alternated probably with confes
sionals. At the east end of the church,
on each s’de of the chancel, there will be
chapels, one of course, dedicated to the
Holy Virgin.
The great difficulty in regard to the
Cathedral is the same that has been the
grand problem about the same class of
edifices in Europe—how to warm it. It
is, however, already determined not to
attempt to use the church during the
winter for the celebration of Mass. It
would be altogether impracticable to do
so, unless some means of warming were
devised, as the officiating Priests would be
unable to hold the sacred vessel in their
hands. And, as no satisfactory method
of warming the church can be suggested,
Mass will probably be celebrated in one
of the side chapels during the winter for
the first few years of its history, and as
soon as possible the requisite funds will
be raised for building a small white*
chapel at the back ot the main edifice.
On any important occasion, when it
should be found necessary to assemble
from ten to twelve thousand people to
gether, no doubt the Cathedral proper, in
spite of its intense cold, could be en
dured for the short time necessary for the
delivery of a sermon, or the ordination
of a Bishop, or the celebration of a Con
firmation.
It is not too much to say that the new
Cathedral, when once finished, will be
one of the chief ornaments of even New
York, which already promises to be so
rich in splendid public buildings. The
Catholic Church, which in Europe has
ever been the mistress and patron of art,
could not have found a. fitter manner in
which to express its gratitude for the
generous hospitality it lias received here
than by giving us a noble example of
that glorious Gothic architecture which
has enriched and adorned almost every
part of Europe, and which, wherever it
has flourished, has had a sensible effect
in refining the tastes and even in render
ing less gross the vices of the people
brought under its inflneuce. There is
one feature of difference, however, be
tween this beautiful edifice and its sister
temples in Europe. The latter have gen
erally been erected, directly or indirectly,
by kings or great nobles, who, however
devoted to the Church, were also, no
doubt, partly inspired in the good work
to which they dedicated their means by
selfish ambition. But this church is
built with the voluntary offerings of
honest industry; indeed, it is said that
dimes have played, so Ur, a much more
steady part in its erection than dollars.
And, viewed from this standpoint, the
new cathedral will indeed be associated
in the minus of coming generations with
reflections singularly touching. Its every
stone will be an eloquently silent witness
to tbe self-denial, the piety, audthe gen
erosity of the “humble, honest poor” who
formed the earliest children of the
American Catholic Church.
iiisii ©i siijgim
THE VIOLET’S WORK-
The sun bad only just risen when
little Freddy Weir opened his eyes, one
bright spring morning, and, jumping out
of bed ran to the window to discover
what kind of weather it was. Being
fully satisfied on that point, he dressed
birnself quickly, and having said his
prayers, hurried down stairs and into
the garden.
At the lower end of it, near the bower,
was his own little plot, which in summer
time was very gay, I can assnre you;
but just then the plants were only sprout
ing, excepting a few snowdrops and
crocuses that had managed to spring up
in spite of the snow, which, until lately,
had covered the ground.
This morning Freddy ran straight
down to bis garden to count the flowers,
and while stepping very carefully across
some green leaves to look at one of the
crocuses, he spied, to his great joy, droop
ing its little head, a violet.
It was the first he had seen since last
summer, and, gleefully picking it, he
laid it carefully in his hand, for fear any
harm should befall it, and scampered
back to the house again. So quickly did
he run that he frightened all the little
birds away to the trees that were round
the house.
He was almost breathless when he
reached the house, and at the door of
the breakfast room met his mamma.
“0, mamma!” he shouted, “look! a
violet!”
“Yes,” answered his mamma, “it is
the first I have seen this year. The
scent is delicious. “Now, Freddy, what
will you do with it, the first violet of the
year!”
“Oh, mamma, I will wear it in my but
ton-bole; it will look so pretty and smell
so nicely.”
“That would be rather selfish,” said
Mrs. Weir. “Cannot you think of a
better use for it?”
“You shall have it, dear mamma,”
said Freddy.
“No,” replied Mrs. Weir, “think again.
There is a better use for it still.”
“What! better than giving it to you,
mamma?’, Freddy said, looking, grave.
“I know, I will take it to poor Nell,” he
shouted, joyously. “She cannot go out,
you know 7 , mamma. That is the best
use for it, is it not?”
“Yes,” answered his mamma, smiling,
“but now come in to breakfast.”.
Not far from the house of Mr. Weir,
Freddy’s papa, stood a little cottage,
where Mrs. Reynolds lived with her
lame daughter, Nelly. Mrs. Reynolds
was a widow, and had to work hard to
support herself and Nelly, whom she was
frequently obliged to leave several hours
alone.
Few cottages could be found so well
kept and clean as the widow’s; and a
little garden in front of it was always
free from weeds.
Nelly was about eleven years old and
had been a cripple since her babyhood ;
but her mother had taught her to read
and knit, so that although she was en
tirely confined to the house, she was not
without employment.
On the morning we have mentioned,
little Freddy, having finished his break
fast and obtained his mamma’s permis
sion, hastened down the lane to Mrs.
Reynolds.’ I dare say any one that
passed him would notice that his hand
was closed, aud that he held it very
carefully as though he had something very
precious in it. Ah! jwe know the se
cret, though; it was the violet.
He opened the green gate aud walked
up the white footpath, white with bro
ken cockleshells—for it was not far
from the sea-shore—up to the cottage
door. Nelly was sitting at the window,
longing to be out, poor child, when
Freddy came in with his rosy face,
which of itself was enough to cheer any
one.
“Good morning, Nelly-,” he said,
“see what I have brought you! It is
the first we have seen this year.”
You should have seen how Nelly’s
face brightened up when the violet ap
peared.
Freddy!” she cried. '“lam so much
obliged to you. I do love violets
so much. Now I shall smell it and talk
to it when mother is away.”
“How can you talk to a flower?,’ ask
ed little Freddy, in astonishment.
“O, I can,” answered Nelly, “It will
tell me how good God is to make me so
happy, and when mother comes home
she will be so pleased to see it.”
“Well, good-bye, Nelly,” he said, I
must go home to my lessons now;” and
oil' he went aceordinffiv.
Freddy felt very happy, for he had
done a kind action. When he reached
home he said: “Mamma, I am very
glad I took the violet to Nelly, instead
of wearing it in my button-hole. She
looked so pleased when I gave it to
her.”
“Yes, my dear,” replied his mamma,
“so am I. The violet has certainly
done its work; it has made three people
happy in its short life.”
“Three people! How mamma?”
“It has made Nelly happy I think;
did it not? It made me happy by tell
ing me that my little son is trying not to
be selfish; and I think the consciousness
of having done a good and kind act
has made Freddy happy, too. Is it not
so?”
It would be a pleasant thing if little
children always did their work equally
well with the violet.— Ex.
A BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY
The Count de St. Croix, beloning to one
of the noblest and wealthiest families of
France, became engaged, after a long
courtship, to a lady, his equal in position
and fortune, and famous lor h* r beauty-.
Shortly after the happy day was appoint
ed which waste render two loving hearts
one, the Count was ordered immediate
ly to the seige of Sebastopol; so he
girded on his sabre, aud at the head of
his regiment marched on to the battle
field. During the Count’s absence it
happened that his beautiful affianced
had the small-pox; and hovering between
life and death, she recovered, but found
her beauty hopelessly lost, disease had
assumed, in her case, the most virulent
character, and left her not only disfigur
ed, but seamed and scarred to such a
frightful extent that .she become hideous
to herself, and resolved to pass the
remainder of her days in the strictest
seclusion.
A year passed away, when one day
the Count immediately on his return to
France, accompanied by his valet, pres
ented himself at the residence of his
betrothed and solicited an interview.
This was refused. He, however, with
the persistence of a lover, pressed the
suit, and finally- the lady made her ap
pearance, very closely muffled in avail.
At the sound of her voice the Count
rushed forward to embrace her, but
stepping aside, she tremblingly- told him
the story of her sorrow, and burst into
tears. A heavenly- smile broke over the
Count’s hansome features, as raising his
hand above, he exclaimed: “It is God’s
work! lam blind!” It was even so.
Ween gallantly leading Ln regiment
to the attack, a cannon ball passed so
closely to his eyes that while it left their
expression unchanged and his coun
tenance unmarked, it robbed him for
ever of sight. It is unnecessary- to add
their marriage was shortly solemnized.
It is said, that at this may be often seen
at the Emperor’s receptions an officer
leaning upon the arm of a lady closely
veiled, and they seem to be attracted to
to the spot by their love ot music.
A Shout Story with a Moral. —An
English writer says: “That night I
was out lute; I returned by the Lee
cabin about eleven o’clock. As I ap
proached, I saw a strange looking object
cowering under r the low eaves. A cold
rain was falling; it was autumn. I drew
near, and there was Millie wet to the
skin. Her father had driven her out
some hours before; she had lain down to
listen for the heavy [snoring of bis
drunken slumbers, so that she might
creep back to bed. ' Before she heard it,
nature seemed exhausted, and she fell
into a troubled sleep, with rain drops
pattering upon her. I tried to take her
home with me; but no. true as a martyr
to his faith, she struggled from me and
returned to the now dark and silent cabin
Things went on for weeks and months,
but at length Lee grew less violent, even
in his drunken fits, to his selfdenying
child; and one day, when he awoke from
a slumber after a dream and found her
preparing breakfast for him, and sing
ing a child!-h song, he turned to her, and
with a tone almost tender, said: “Millie,
what makes you stay with me?’' “Be
cause you aie my father, and I love
you.” “You love me,” repeated the
wretched man, “you love me!” lie
looked at his bloated limbs, bis soiled
and ragged clothes. “Love me,” be
still murmured: “Millie, what makes
you love me? I am a poor drunkard;
everybody else despises me; why don't
you.''' “Bear fattier, 7 ’ said the girl with
swimming eyes, “my mother taught me
to love you, and every right she comes
from heaven and stands by my little bed
and -says, Millie, don’t leave your
fattier; he will get away from that rum
fiend some of these days, and then how
happy you will be.” The quiet, persis
tent love of this child was the redemp
tion of this man.—
agum
A Maltese cat in Indiana, a shoi\ time
since, had a severe encounter with a
brack snake, und came oil victorious
without having been once bitten, although
[ cue contest bad lasted ter jjmore than
1 half an hour. » .
•» ....... -* —~«... taSL-ORTSSLaer-.
A SAD STORY-
Daniel Ilanrahan was born in the
parish of Falke, in the country of Clare,
Ireland, in 1815. He was born o f good
family. His education was that of a
country gentleman’s son, and he came
into a fine patrimony. His farm was
the model for the country, and the ad
miration of country gentleman for miles
around. He was blessed in all his rela
tions—wife, children and fortune. But
his kind heartedness proved his ruin.
Two pretended friends, named Thomas
and MichaeljMinoge, induced him to in
dorse notes for their benefit, to a large
amount, and then left him to pay them
at their maturity. In Ireland a debtor
cannot defy his creditors and the law.
The courts take hold of him with inexora
ble grip, and his property is seized and
sacrificed with remorseless celerity.
Thus it was with Mr. II nrahan. Ilis
estate faded away in an hour. He was
not only penniless, but was burdened
with debt besides, which he had no
means to pay r . lie had to fly to America
to escape a debtor’s "prison, and leave
his wife and children to fight tludr ill
starred fate as best they could. The un
fortunate man arrived in New York in
the steamer Erin in the spring of 18G?.
He at once sought employment with a view
to make money to pay off his indebted
ness and save the honor of his family
name. This purpose he kept steadily in
mind througli varying vicissitudes. Af
ter enduring unspeakable hardships and
humiliations he got work with a rich
farmer named Young, living near. Milk
ton, in Ulster county. He horded his
earning and sent them o Ire’a and to pay
off his sdebt. For a time it seemed as
though fortune had once more elected
him her favorite; but all at once his
health gave away, be lost his situation,
and was again plunged into seemingly
hopeless misfortune. He sent for his
eldest son, who came to America to help
his father remove the pecuniary blemish
from the family name. That was to be
done at any sacrifice. The poor old man
bowed with disease and despair return
en to this city seeking employment. Be
ing too feeble to perform robust work
he had to accept a most menial situation.
He became what is known as “a walking
advertisement” for a batter, and carried
about a huge placard straped upon his
back bearing the inscription: We block
your hat for fifty 50 cents.while you
wait. Humble as this employment was,
the spirit and purpose for which this
honest old nan pursued it made it dig
nified and noble. On Thursday after
noon last, as Mr. Ilanrahan, the once
prosperous Irish landlord, the still edu
cated gentleman, and the victim of such
treachery as we have described, was
passing along Dark Row with his placard
on his back, he slipped and fell upon the
sidewalk. A crowd of boys gathered
and jeered at him; he said nothing, but
turned his honest face and calm eyes
appealing to the passers-by. Several
gentlemen, struck with hi* air of good
breeding, and astonished see such an
intelligent locking man in such a con
dition, gathered around, raised him to
his feet, and supported him to a place
of refuge and rest in a hotel near at
hand.
Neiv York Irishman.
There is a novelty in the way of at
tendance at the Pro tile House, white
Mountains. The table-girls are said to
bo mostly school-teachers, who enlist
for the service during the vacation, “for
variety and to see a little life. M What
an unspeakable improvement on the tra
ditional “John.’ 7 Some of these fair
ministers arc reported to be prodigies of
good looks, and one specially is so beauti
ful exceedingly, that all the gentlemen
leave their dinners untouched to gaze
udon her. Perhaps the sly dog of a
landlord thought of this, and perhaps he
didn’t: but we must say that it seems
suspicious. Moreover, we presume that
the amateur assistants don’t expect half
a dollar for bringing one a good cut of
beef, or an early slice of fowl. It would
be below their dignity, A charming ar
rangement altogether.
A young lady named O’Donnell re
cently sacrificed her life at Strawberry
Plains, Tenn., in the effort to save her
two little brothers, who had gone out t >
bathe and were drowning. Her body
was subsequently found in the bed of
the river with an arm tightly clasped
round each of the brothers.
Anna Cromwell, in Madison countv,
Indiana, sixty-seven years of age, walk
ed twelve miles to Indianola, with a
basket of eggs for market, in three and
a half hours, Gne day last week. She
is a maiden lady, owns twenty acres of
land, which she , ;j cultivates herself ,
and from which she gets a comfortable
living. .
3