are yet always dear to me, may be saved from eternal perdition, to which you are straightforward hastening.

"Fare ye well, both in soul and body,

"BERNARD Overberg.”

His foreboding of death proved fallacious: God yet preserved his life fourteen years, for the good of his fellow-creatures; and to the school also he was destined yet to continue useful. From that time forth he made a practice of visiting it every fortnight, and then he spent the whole afternoon there; he used to seat himself in the middle of the children, on a bench, and give them religious instruction in his usual style. Even in the last years of his life, his amiable, cheerful kindness had not left him; the liveliness of his spirit was not diminished. The day on which he visited them, was to the children a real holiday. We need not say that the children were entirely devoted to him, full of confidence and love. When he came, he was greeted with a loud shout of joy: "Mr. Overberg." When he was made dean of Uberwasser, the school-mistresses told the children they must no longer say "Mr. Overberg," but "Very Reverend Mr. Dean." This disturbed the confidence of the children. Among others, there was one who, till then, had been particularly forward in running to him, but now remained timidly behind, as they went out of the school. Overberg perceived it, and asked him, "Have you forgotten me then?" "No, Mr. Overberg," it shouted out; and in a moment its face brightened up again with joy. From this time, the children began again to call him "Mr. Overberg."

FOR THE FESTIVAL OF THE CIRCUMCISION,

Ан me! what words can e'er unfold
Such love while yet in infancy!

A little child of eight days old,

Thy loving Saviour bleeds for thee!
For thee, lost man, for thee, who lay
Swathed in the bands of sinful dross,

And ere his infant lips could say,

"Hail Mary" he forewarns the Cross!

See how the meek and lowly child,

Bows to the ceremonial rite, And sinless, pure, and undefiled, Submits to an inferior light.

Himself the orient, from whose wing

Healing should flow and healthful balm, Fulfils the legal offering,

In love supreme and purpose calm.

Here everlasting power and might
Stoops to the lowest feeblest lot,

Wooes the frail weeds of flesh, whose height

The Heaven of heavens containeth not.

And more than this-or ere a week

Of innocent life is hardly run,

His glowing love is ripe to seek

For pain and death by life begun!

Few are our days, alas! too few
Numbered in virtue's path of day,
And shall our hearts so long renew
The covenant that leads astray?
Still shall we choose the flowery mead,
Follow the path of silken rest,
While He our high exemplar fed

On suffering at His mother's breast?

Years have rolled on, to come no more,
And happy other years shall roll;
Still shall we let the heavy score
Of debt, increase upon our soul? —
Add day to day, and year to year,

'Till ripe for death, but green in grace, Our dismal years shall close in fear, Unmarked by aught, than sinful trace?

Alas! how fair and rich in love

Our hearts might grow as days roll on,

Should we lift up our hearts above

And fix them on that brighter sun, That but a week ago upsprung,

To gladden earth with wondrous light, Welcomed by choirs of heavenly song,

With peace to men whose hearts are right!

How gladly in the heavenly beam

The garden of our souls might bask, If waking from our idle dream

We should address us to the task, Cast off the sloth of passing ease,

And sit in penance school awhile Resolved to bring forth germs of peace, Made fruitful in the genial smile!

Warned by thine infant martyrdom,

How should we trample over death,-
Ah! how the goodly store should come,
Of swelling love, and hope, and faith!
How lightly should our sorrows fall,—
The light afflictions pass away,-
Did we but think us of the gall

Thy callow love endured this day!

How should the days for ever past
Suffice our hearts for idle aim,
And warm our future zeal to haste,

In tears to wash away our shame;
By penance to embrace whate'er,

Does despite to the champing will, And gladly learn, through him, to dare The thorny pathway, watching still!

Thus while the world, with idle mirth,
Ushers in shout the passing year,
We, mindful of the Christmas birth,
Awake to thoughts of better cheer;
With firm resolve, and purpose set,
Follow where virtue leads above,
Content the thorny path to wet

With mingled tears of grief and love!

Till, when the dream of life is gone,
Our year of earthly trial spent,
Upheld by Him, whose earliest groan
We celebrate in love's intent,

Our eyes in happy hope shall close,

And faith's bright eye awake more clear, Undimmed by sorrow, tears, or woes, To gaze on the Eternal Year!

THE PROBABLE DESTINY OF FRANCE TWENTY YEARS HENCE.

(From L'Univers.)

It is probable that, in twenty years, France, instead of being at the head of nations, will be at the bottom; and that England having become the most fervent of Catholic nations, will join to its other kinds of influence that of religion, and so become the first of all, without opposition, throughout the world. This may be accomplished as

follows:

On the taking of Carthage by the Romans, Polybius makes this reflection: "Events bring the world to a certain unity." The Romans had just gained a footing in Asia and Africa. Polybius saw the fact, but not its end. This was disclosed when the religion of union and spiritual unity, Christianity, came to profit by the political union of the Roman empire to spread more easily, even beyond the limits of the empire.

At present, as in the time of Polybius, events are visibly conducting the world to a more universal unity. In spite of all real or apparent disagreements, the Christian nations of Europe and America form the kernel, the head, the heart, the living body of the whole human race; whatever each may do independently of the rest, they are all members of the same body,—all live more or less the same life,-contribute more or less to the same action. This is to assimilate, to identify with themselves the rest of the world.

Greece, Constantinople, Syria, Egypt, Africa, the Turks, and the Arabs, have just been brought within the orbit of this Americo-European action, never to be withdrawn from it. China is on the point of being so. The glory of the future will be the prize of that European nation which will contribute the most powerfully to this Christian unification of all nations.

Up to the present moment, France has had pretensions to this glory, as the most Catholic of nations. But this last prerogative may one day be taken from her by another.

Already, in the counsels of Europe, when the anti-Christian empire of Mahomet was concerned, France has been left aside for an instant. She has been anew admitted to a share in these counsels in consequence of her influence over the Catholic population of the East, as

the first of Catholic nations. If England had been Catholic, and known as such, France would for ever have been placed beneath Prussia.

Now, many signs proclaim that England is about to enter again the bosom of the Universal Church. Already, nearly two-fifths of her entire population are Catholics; more than two thousand Protestants are converted every year; the chief of her Protestant universities, Oxford, is visibly tending towards Catholicism, both in reason and affection; many of the islands of Oceania, which, while in possession of France, were not able to obtain bishops, have had Catholic bishops ever since they became the property of England; many colleges in England, exclusively Catholic, are admitted by the Government to university privileges, which is the case with no purely Catholic establishment in France. Were the day come for the statesmen of England to perceive that all her interests required her to become again entirely Catholic, she would do so perhaps the day after.

What part would then remain to France, divided against herself by parties, clubs, writers, men not one of whom understands Catholicism, even if he holds its faith? Future ages will hardly believe how great is our ignorance on this point. For example: for nineteen centuries the Christian faith, the Catholic Church, has been the leading fact of history;-its soul, its life. To compose, then, with perfect fidelity the history of a nation or a doctrine for nineteen centuries, one must above all understand and feel the spirit of Catholicism. Now, of all the parties and all the men who have figured in France for forty years, is there a single individual who has combined these two conditions? The most famous works in history and philosophy which have appeared during this epoch, so far as the understanding of Catholicism is concerned, exhibit, not to speak of heresies, specimens of ignorance, or such mistakes, that their authors, if catechized in any country parish, would not be deemed sufficiently well instructed to be admitted to their first communion. So much for their understanding. But as to the feeling that love of Catholicism which alone can learn its innermost nature, we would be glad to hear the name of that modern philosopher or historian who fulfils this condition. The history of what is Catholic, is written as that of colour would be by a blind man. Nay: a blind man neither hates, nor is prejudiced against, light. We will one day, if God spare us, give proof of all this, not from the rabble of scribblers, but from consuls and dictators.

Our situation is dangerous, because we dread the remedy even more than the disease. There is a fear lest the Catholic Church produce