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2 The Son? and the Singer. It was during the early days of the great Revolution: of 1789, in the year 1792, when a young officer in delicate health took up his quarters in the city of Marseilles for the six months of his leave of absence. It seemed strange retirement for a young man, for in this town he knew no one, and in the depth of winter Marseilles was no tempting residence. The officer lived in a garret looking out upon the street, which had for its sole furniture a harpsichord, a bed, a table, and a chair. Little but paper ever entered that apartment, •where food and fuel both were scarce; and yet the young man generally re mained in doors all day assiduously writing, or rather doing something on paper, an occupation he alternated with music. I Thus passed many months. Tne Lvouug man grew thinner and paler, and r’ ve of absenoe appeared likely to no convalescence. But he was ■■dsome and interesting, despite his ■Mow hue. Long hair, full beaming Bs that spoke of intelligence, and Hn genius, frankness of manner, all Repossessed in his favor, and many a and look of kindness came to him Bom beautiful eyes that he noticed not ■or cared to notice. In fact he rarely wvent out but at night, and then to •walk down by the boom ing sea, which r made a kind of music he seemed to love. Sometimes, it is true, he would hang about tho theatre door when operas were about to be played, and look with longing eye, within; but he never enter ed: either his purse or his inclination ••fciled him. But he always examined with care the nanje of the piece and its author, and then walked away to the sea-shore, to muse and meditate. Shortly after his arrival in Marseilles, he visited,‘one after another, all the music-sellers, and publishers in the town with a bundle of manuscripts in his i hand; but his reception was apparently ’..not, very favorable, for he left them all ’with a frowning air, and still with his trundle of manuscripts. Some had de tained him a long time, as if estimating thV" value of the goods he offered for sale; but these were no more tempted than the others to try the saleable char acter of the commodity. The house he lodged in-had attached to it a large garden. By’ permission of the landlord, the young man often selected it for his evening walks, and, despite the cold, would sometimes siiaud muse in a rude faded bouaiSfltakrthe wall at one I seeming to listen. The man at length noticed this. ‘Pardon lady,’said he one evening; perhaps I disturb you ?” ‘Not at all,’ she replied; ‘I am fond of music, very fond, and the airs you hum are new to me. Pray, if not a rude question, whoso are they ?’ ‘Citoyenne,’ he replied, diffidently, ‘they are my own.’ ‘lndeed!’ cried the lady with anima tion; ‘and you have never published them?’ T shall never try — again,’ he murmur ed, uttering the last word in a low and despairing tone, which, however, reach ed the ears of the young woman. ‘Good-night, citoyen,’ said she, and she closed her window. The composer sighed, rose and went out to take his usual walk by the sea-beach; there be fore the grandeur and sublimity of the Ocean, and amid the murmur of its bel lowing waves, to forget the cares of the world, his poverty, and his crushed visions of glory and renown—the day dream of all superior minds—a dream far oftener a punishment than a reward; for of those who sigh for fame, few, in deed, are successful. Scarcely had he left the house than a lady, habited in a cloak and hood, enter ed it; and after a somewhat lengthened conference with his concierge ascended to his room, and remained there about an hour. At the end of that time she vanished. It was midnight when the composer returned. He entered with difficulty, the Oeberus of the lodge be ing asleep, and ascended to his wretched room. He had left it littered and dirty, without light, tire or food. To his sur prise a cheerful blaze sent its fys beneath tlie door. He opened it, not without alarm, and found his apartment neatly ordered, a tire burning, a lamp, and on the table a supper. The young man frowned, and looked sternly at the scene. ‘Who dares thus insult my poverty ? Is it not enough that I am starving with cold and hunger, that lam rejected by the world as a useless and wretched thing, incapable of wielding either sword or pen, but I must be insulted by charity ? Fire, light, and food, all sent to me by one who knows my necessity! And yet, who knows? Perhaps My mother may have discovered my retreat. Who else should have acted thus ? my mother I bless thee both for your action an'd for respecting my concealment!’ And the invalid officer sat down to the most hearty meal he had eaten for weeks. He had left home because his friends wholly disapproved of his making music a profession, and wished him to employ his leave of absence in learning another occupation. His mother so pressed him, that he saw no resources but a soldier’s last chance—a retreat. For two months no trace of the fugitive had been seen— two months spent in vain efforts to make his chosen career support him; and now, doubtless hismether had found him out, and had taken this delicate way of re specting his secrecy and punishing his pride. Next morning the young man awoke with an appetite unknown to him of lata The generous food of the previous night had restored his system, and brought him to a natural state. Luckily, suffi cient wine and bread remained to satis fy his craving, and then he sat down to think All his efforts to get his music sung, or played, or published had been vain. Singers knew him not, publish ers declared him unknown, and the public seemed doomed never to hear him, because they never have heard him; a logical consequence very injurious to young beginners in literature, poesy, music, and all the liberal arts. But he was determined to have one more trial Having eaten, he dressed and went out in the direction of the shop of the Cito yen Dupont, a worthy and excellent man who in his day had published more mu sic, bad and good, than a musician could have played in a lifetime. ‘You have something new, then, cito yen, ?’. said Dupont, after the usual pre liminaries, and after apologizing to a lady within his office for leaving her awhile. ‘As my time is precious, pray play it at once, and sing it if you win.’ The young man sat himself at the harp ischord which adorned the shop, and began at once tho ‘Song *>f the Army of the Rhine.’ The music publisher listen ed with the knowing air of one who is not to be deceived, and shook his head as the composer ended. ‘Rough—crude—but clever. Young man, you will, I doubt not, do some thing good one of these days; but at present, I am sorry to shy, your efforts want finish, polish.’ The singer rose, and bowing, left the shop, despair at liis heart. He had not a sou in the world; his rent was in ar rear. He knew not how to dine that evening, unless, indeed, his mother came again to his aid—and aid he was very unwilling to receive. His soul repugned from it, for he had parted from her in anger. His mother. was a royalist, lie was a republican; and she had said bit ter things to him, at parting. But most' of all the com under felt one flung; /the. Aits a’.Aa TD*‘}wlge' Jiun/Tieverbe able to decide if he ever had or had not merit; and this was the bitterest grief of all. fcwould occftsion of irs nd o w That day was spent in moody thought The evening came, and no sigu again of his secret friend, whether mother or unknown sympathizer. Towards night the pangs of hunger became intolerable, and after numerous parleys with himself, tho young man ascended to .his room with a heavy parcel. His eye was wild, his cheek pale, his whole mien uu earthly. As he passed the door he was handed a ticket for the opera by his concierge. ‘Go thyself,’ said the composer, in low, husky voice, and he went up stairs. Having gained the room, the unhappy and misguided young man sat silent and motionless for some hours, until at length hunger, despair, and his dreamy vision o , had driven every calm and good thought from his head, and then he dared quietly proceed to carry out his dreadful and des perate intent. He closed carefully the win dow, stuffed his mattress up the chimney and with a paper stopped every aperture where air could enter. Then ho drew forth from his parcel charcoal and a burner, and lit it. Thus had this wretch ed man determined to end his sufferings. He had made one last effort, and now in that solitary, dismal garret, he laid him down to die; and poverty and misery, genius and death, were huddled close together. Meanwhile, amid a blaze of light, the evening’s amusement had begun at the theatre. Anew opera from Paris was to be played, and the prima donna was the young, lovely, and worshiped Claudine, the Jenny Lind of that time and place. The house was crowded, and the first act succeeding beyond all expectation, the audience were in ecstncy. ‘She is a jewel;’ said M. Dupont, who, froin a private box, admired the great supporter of his theatre. A roar of ap plause from the pit delighted at this instant the good man’s ears. Claudine, called before t,he curtain, was bowing to the audince. But what is this ? Instead of going off, she has just signed to the orchestra to play. She is about to show her gratitude to the audience in verse. M. Dupont rubs his hands, and repeats twice between has teeth, ‘She is a jewel!’ But with ease aud rapidity the band has commenced playing an unknown air, and the next instant M. Dupont is standing up with a strange and wild look. Hushed and still was every breath: the audience look at each other: not a word of communication takes place: men shudder, or rather tremble with emotion. But the first stanza is ended: and then a TH E 80 U T)H EB N 0B O SMS,. frantic shout, Affgrting of all to their feet, a wild sfcKk of delight, a cry of a thousand voice)* thundering the chorus, shows how the song has electrified M. Dupont froWned; for the air and the song were hot hew to him; it was the “Song of the Army of the Rhine” he had refused tliitf rhorning! But Oaud ine proceeds J Again the audience is hushed in deethjike silence, while the musicians, rotfßf to an unusual degree of admirably, and Claudine stiUjD|ing with all the purity, feeling, of her admirable voice, plunged hfSeyes into every cor ner of the* hoi|M-—in vain. At each couplet the enthtp|asm of the people became greater, the anxiety of the singer more intense, she concluded, and never did-Applause more hearty, more tremendous, more uproarious, greet the voice of a public songstress. The excitable population of Marseilles seemed’nnjd. When silence was restored Claudine spoke- '; t ‘Citoyens and citoyennes!’ she exclaim ed, ‘thus song is both written and composed.by a young and unknown man, who has in vain sought to put his com positions before the public. Everybody has refused them. For myself, I thought this the greatest musical effort of modern times; and as such I practiced it to day; and, unknown to the manager or author, I and this band prepared this surprise. But the author is not here. Poor and despairing, he is at home lamenting his unappreciated efforts! Let us awake him; let him dsSWD* that the generous people of Marseilles can understand and feel great music. Come, let all who have hearts follow me, and chant the mighty song as we go.’ And Claudine, stepping across the orchestra, landed in the pit, bareheaded, light-dressed as she was, rushed towards the door, followed by every spectator, ,aud by the musicians, who, however, put on their hats, and even threw a cloak and cap on the excited and gi’er ous young songstress. Meanwhile the composer's dreadful resolve was bejpg carried out. The horrid fumes of the charcoal filled the room; soon thSy began to consume and exhaust the pure air, and the wretched youth began to fgpl ;ill the pangs of com ing death. Hunger, exhaustion, and de spair kindled a lund of madness hi his brain: wild shapes''danced around him: his many songs •jjfVued sung altogether by coarse, huslwwAices, that made their sound a then the blasted atmosphere chest, dark les i (r ... -7" rr~ ;ed beings. he closed his eyes, and soft n'morv stealing in upon him, showed him happy visions of his youth, of his mother, of love, and hope, and joy; of green-fields, and the mur muring brooks which had first revealed melody into his soul; and the young man thought that death must be come, and that he was on the threshold of a better world. But an awful shout, a tremen dous clamor, burst on his ear: a thous and voices roar beneath his window. The young man starts from his dream what is this he hears ? “Aux armes! oitoyens, Formes vos bat&iUous,” &o. ‘What is this ?’ he cries. ‘My Song of the Rhine!’ He listens. A beauti ful and clear voice is singing: it is still his song, and then the terrible chorus is taken up by the people; and the poor composer’s first wish is gained: he feels that he is famous. But he is dying, choked, stifled with charcoal. He lies senseless, fainting on his bed; but hope and joy give him strength. He rises,' falls rather than darts across the room, his sword in hand. One blow shivers the panes of his window to atoms; the broken glass lets in the cool sea-breeze and the splendid song. Both give life to the young man; and when Claudine entered the room, the composer was able to stand. In ten minutes he had supped in the porter’s lodge, dressed, and come out, to be born in triumph back to the theatre, where that uight he heard, amid renewed ap plause, his glorious song sung between every act, and each time gaining re newed laurels. . Ten days later Rbuget de L’lsle was married to Claudine, the prima donna of Marseilles; and the young composer, in gratitude to her and her countryman, changed the name of his song, and call ed it by the name it is still known by— ‘The Marseillaise f CATHOLIC NOTES. On February 21, in the chapel of the Convent of Mercy, Batavia, N. Y., Miss Catherine Carroll—in religion Sister Mary Alexis—made her religious profes sion. Two Episcopal oonsecrations are to take place to- morrow, the feast of St. Joseph, Bishop Tuigg, as Bishop of Pittsburg, and Bishop Galberry, of Hart ford, Conn. A Catholic missionary in North Carolina, a brother of Rev. Dr. O’Con 'nell, of Brooklyn, has a congregation every member of which is a convert to the Catholic faith. A meeting of, the Young Men’s Catho lic Union of New York City was held March 13, to make arrangements for attending the National Convention of Young Men’s Catholic Associations, which is to be held in Philadelphia, July, 1. Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans, who, as already stated, is at present in Rome, has asked tho Pope to appoint a coadjutor to him, alleging, as a reason, his great age and political occupations; and the demand appears to have been favorably received. It is said that the Rev. Father Varsi, of Santa Clara College, has been offered by a number of capitalists six hundred acres of land and a bonus of SIOO,OOO to build a college, with accommodations for both boarding and day scholars, at Mento Park, San Francisco. — Monitor. On Wednesday, Feb. 23d, at St. Xavier’s Convent, Bangor, Me., a religious recep tion took place. Miss Ellen Bnlger, of Boston; Miss Lillie Wilkinson, Port land, took the white veil; taking the names of Mary Frances Ignatius and Mary Agnes. Rt, Rev. James A. Healey, D. D., of Portland, officiated. Twelve postulants, or novices of the or der of St. Francis Assissium were recently admitted to the cloisters in the chapel of Santa Clara, Lytle street, Cincinnati. The new Sisters are destined chiefly for hospitals of the Franciscan Order, in New York and New Jersey. The poor sick are the special objects of their care. Like these they are of different nation alities, but especially Irish and German. It is expected that prominent mem bers of the society from France, Eng land, and Ireland will be present many have signified their intention to visit the Centennial Exhibition this year. Ar rangements will be made by the Phil adelphia Council for their reception. Arrangements are also being perfected for rooms where strangers from abroad can register their names and ascertain ! the location of the churches, and the hours of the Masses thereat, also where confessions in French, German, Span ish, etc., can be made. A convention of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, of the United States is being arranged by the Superior Coun cil of New York. It is arranged to have the convention meet in Philadelphia on Thursday, July 6. Communion Mass will be celebrated at the Cathedral at 8 a. m. The con vention will meet at 11 a. m., and remain in session for two days, the exercises closing by solemngl'.enediction on the ~'sf|finJiy T ANARUS Cf lja Archbishop of Philadelphia, who has promised to do all in his power to make the occasion an impressive one. Bachelor parsons are becoming ob jects of profound suspicion in the Church of England. Of those who go over to Rome nine out of ten are unmarried. They alone are safe and unalterable in their loyalty who are anchored with women. A limited celibacy has been hinted at, applicable only to deacons and to endure for five years. This measure would supply with resident pastors parishes too poor to support a family. But the young gentlemen reply with force and justice, “why im pose a yoke on us which neither we nor our fathers could bear.” Clergy men of the Anglican Church are costly when wedded, and shaky when without a wife. Mgr. Bernard, Prefect Apostolic of Norway is about to erect a church ded icated to the Sacred Heart, at Trond jheim, a city of 30,000 inhabitants, and formerly the metropolis of the Normans. This church is needed for the little Catholic community recently organized there. “The population of the district of Trondjheim, which numbers some 280,000 souls,” says the Mission Catho liques, “have for the last three hundred years been entirely Lutheran; they do not, however, manifest any hostility to the truth, but seem rather to remember that their forefathers were Catholics. The missionary has full access to the people, and the tolerance of the Norwe gian government warrants the hope that his apostolate will not be entirely devoid of fruit. It is to help the reaction that is now taking place that Mgr. Bernard is anxious to erect a suitable church, but i as he cannot depend upon any local as sistance, as a Frenchman he appeals to his Catholic countrymen, and has sent one of his missionaries to France for that purpose. — N. Y. Freemans Journal. From an excellent article in the last number of the Catholic World, entitled “The friends of Education,” we extract the following, which is just to the point: “When Catholics stand before the Ameri can people and state the reasons why they do not consider the present educa tional system to be either wise or just, they are not beggars in any sense. They ask no favor. They demand an equita ble system of disbursing the funds raised for education * * * that no class of citi zens shall be deprived of that for which they are forced to contribute. They would arrange it so that none could justly complain. As Catholics, we must have religion and morality (which, what ever others may think, are to us insepar- March 2jth, ißj6. able,) taught in the schools to which we send our children. No time or place will ever alter our convictions on this point * * * We not only ask our fellow-citizens, will you stand by and see us taxed for a system of education of which we cannot conscientiously avail ourselves ? but we further ask, can you, as honest men, disregard what Catholics are doing for education ? Do you want them not only to educate their own children, thereby saving you the cost, but to pay for educating yours also ?" A Benedictine Father of the monastery of Bescron, who is now in exile, writes* as follows: “Volteks, December 22d, 1875, I give the pleasing news that the Servite monastery here has become a refuge for the greater part of our members, especial ly for the scholasticate and the noviti ate. We have here six lay brothers and sixteen professed members. Yesterday our Rt Rev. Abbot, Dr. Walters, arrived here. We are leading a happy life. With the two Servite priests here we are living in fraternal and Christian harmony. The two old gentlemen are very good, and deprive themselves of many things to accommodate us. May God reward them for it! They may perhaps at first have been surprised to witness the arrival of thirty-five strangers at their silent abode. The monastery was erected about two hundred years ago, for the Servite Order. * * * And the people here (in Tyrol) seem to be so manly, so pious, and so open-hearted. Everywhere we notice many external signs of piety, such as field crosses and carved images of saints, so that we feel ourselves in the midst of a Catholic spirit. The air of Catholic devotion we are everywhere inhaling gladdens our hearts, and is a balm for the painful feeling of being so far from our dear native land.” Statistics of Illiteracy. By the last census the number of per sons over ten years of age in the United States who cannot write, is 5,658,000. The number of those who cannot read is put at more than a million less; but the higher number is undoubtedly nearer the true measure of the illiteracy of the country. For obvious reasons, heads of families are not disposed to report to the census-taker more ignorance in the family than really exists. It may be safely assumed that they would some times be tempted to report less. Hence, the opinion ias been held by eminent statisticians, that to obtain the true number of illiterate in any State, thirty per cent, should be added to the num ber found in the census tables. It is that iqeu admit inabili ty* to readily*thjtn maqiTftV to read. We are quite safe then in taking 5,658,000 as the real number of the illiterate in the United States. Of the whole number of illiterate 2,790,000 are colored—being the largest single element. The number of native white illiterate is nearly three-fourths as large as this—amounting to about 2,087,000. Should we, at any time, be tempted to become boastful in regard to our in telligence, we have only to remember the more than two millions of illit erate of our native white race. Our orators sometimes speak of the danger which threatens our institutions from the influx of “ignorant foreigners.” Itmay be well to remind these gentlemen that our foreign born illiterate are only 778,000 —a number only a little more than one-third as large as our native born white of the same class and a little more than one-fourth of the whole number of illiterate whites. Our total white illiterate is 2,452,000 — a number larger than the total colored by 62,000. There is another view of facts which is of deep interest. Of our ilhterate, 1,943,000 are between the ages of ten and twenty-one years. Of these, ebout half are below fifteen and about half above that age. For the latter, some thing might still be done; for the for mer, much, if prompt and efficient meas ures could be taken to instruct, them. Again, of our ilhterate, 1,619,000 are male adults. Of these, it is estimated that one million and a half are legal voters. This is nearly one-fourth of the whole number of persons who voted at the Presidential election of 1872, and is believed to be more than one-fifth ol all the voters in the United States when the census was taken. It can not be doubted, that at least one-fifth of all who will vote at the Presidential election this year, will be persons unable to read or write.— Hon. James Monroe. The Gnostics, an obscene sect, of Syrian and Egyptian origin, repudiated by all Christendom for fourteen centu ries, is renewed in the sects of Advanced Thinkers of to-day. They called them selves the “Knowing ones,” to distin guish themselves from the “Believing ones,” or the vulgar multitude of men. Does not that remind you of the Rev. Moncure D. Conway’s lecture “On the Devil.” Our progress depends not on the mul tiplicity of our actions, but on the fervor of holy charity. One good action per formed with great fervor is more agree able to God than many performed with tepidity and remissness.