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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