what it is to meet again. There is the first glimpse of a beloved face, the first word of a voice that thrills through all our being, a reality more ecstatic than a vision, more wonderful than a dream. There is the happiness that overflows in wondering doubts of itself. There is the security that comes back again to tranquil depths of hearts that throb together, of "hands that hold each other and are still."

Poor child! Thou art lonely in the very midst of love. The visible charms of earth, the exquisite undulations of graceful form, the symmetry of marble line with the softness of moulded curve in perfect feature, these can bewitch thy heart, while the soft melody of a voice can steal away thy senses, and lull thy soul to slumber. But these are shadowy as the unsubstantial clouds that float and vanish far beyond the hills, and these are phantoms as the faces seen in dreams to be only remembered as a fancy of the night. These may for a moment satisfy thy heart, but they cannot satisfy thy soul. Thou must long for the presence of a spirit. Thy soul is lonely still for lack of love,

But, again, though thy soul may dwell with the unseen loveliness of the spirit, gazing with happy joy and peaceful ecstasy upon the immaterial charms of Angels, resting with full repose of mind and will before the intellectual vision of the Eternal Presence that realises all the infinite possibilities of created beauty in a beauty that is divine-yet human eyes cannot behold this splendour nor human ears catch the infinite harmonies of God's uttered Word. Thou must long for the presence of a friend. Thus, even still, thy human heart is lonely in the very midst of love.

Child of beauty, thou must needs love beauty, child born to the image of the loveliness of God! Thou must first love the beauty of the spirit. Thy spirit must first learn to live in the presence of the Spirit of Love. Then, thou shalt learn to love the beauty that is thy birthright, the beauty which can fill thy soul with rapturous longings that ever rise in ceaseless energy, yet ever rest in perfect peace.

Child of beauty, thou art made to restore to Heaven the beauty of an Angel united to the beauty that was lost in Paradise. But, Child of beauty, thou must wait. Now, thou must love the unseen Presence of the God who lives within thy life, and thou canst only long for the human Presence of our beloved Jesus. Child of beauty, wait! Hereafter, thy soul and heart shall both

be happy evermore, when thy spirit shall be lifted up, to see the loveliness of God, and when thy human eyes shall rest upon the beauty of the Face of Christ.

ROBERT KANE, S.J.

MAY SONG.

HY tarry longer in the town

WHY

Heaped high with Mammon's sordid gains?

There's gold enough upon the down

Where gorses run in glittering veins;
And honest labour bears no stains
But what the stream can wash away.

Discordant city noises drown

The message of the white-robed May;
What little grass there is, is brown,
And all things else with dust are grey :
Abroad the lambkins are at play,
And nothing but the brook complains.

The jocund cuckoo loud doth cry
"Mary" from every grove and hill.
The lark goes singing, up the sky,
But, ere he drops, his voice grows still,
As doth the music of the rill

When summer drains its bubbling bowl.

While weary hands the shuttle ply
For purple Dives' niggard dole,
God plants for every passer-by
A fenced Garden of the Soul

Where the three royal rivers roll
Of Peace and Joy and pure Good-will.

T. H. WRIGHT.

TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY

THE

THE

IN

CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.

"But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly;

They are weeping in the playtime of the others,

In the country of the free."

E. B. BROWNING.

THE festival of Moy Mell is about to take place, and the words "Children's Hospital" will be on many lips in the early days of this month of Mary, month of her who is especially the mother of sick and desolate little ones.

There is a large number of young men and women about the world who remember well the very beginning of the Children's Hospital, who belonged to the ranks of the Boys' Brigade, or the Busy Bee Brigade who came to the Big House in Buckingham Street on Sundays with little barrels (money-boxes) in their hands in which were stored the pennies they had saved by stinting themselves of some lawful pleasure or luxury. Scanning the lists of donors of gifts, large and small, to the Big House in those old times, I see (for instance) an entry "Sweeto; a forgiven debt," prefixed to a modest offering, but quite important for a small boy. "Sweeto" is now a clever young Chancery barrister in London who will reach the top of his profession early in life. What the story of the forgiven debt was he will perhaps remember. Another distinguished young lawyer in London delighted, at twelve years old, in hemming dusters in the holidays to earn pennies to increase the sum of his offering to the child-cripples and other child sufferers. Small girls who are now young mothers expended their pocket-money on dressing dolls for the little Maggies and Katies whose sad plight had taught them to forget the natural selfishness of childhood. A little boy who was over-fond of good things and got a penny each time he went without a second helping of tart, used to ask permission to leave the table when he found himself too sorely tried, rather than forfeit the gains which were to be saved for his little friends in the hospital.

I do not know if the children of the present day who visit Temple Street are as devoted to the cause as those others were in the days of Buckingham Street. At all events, in that old time, there was a very delightful freshness of enthusiasm in the air for the new charity, the first of the kind inaugurated in Dublin. I do not mean that children's ailments had never before been atended to by charity, but dispensary aid was all that had hitherto been offered; hospital beds in a house devoted to the cure of childpatients had been unknown in our city until thought was taken to rent and furnish the Big House, and to gather into it the little patients out of their holes and corners in the lanes and alleys.

The person who took thought was a woman who in her time started some good works that have gone on, though her name seems to be now forgotton in connection with them, and others that have developed into something even more useful than they were in their first state. Mrs. Ellen Woodlock seemed to breathe only with the desire of setting helpful works on foot, and she began to strive with this object at a time when it was difficult to make any way, before the passing of the Industrial Schools Act, a consummation which she had longed for, and helped with all the energies of her active body and vigorous mind. It is unnecessary here to dwell on all she accomplished or attempted before she bethought her of grappling with the large undertaking of the foundation of a hospital for children, to remain in perpetuity as a blessing to our city. Much courage and selfdenial were needed to carry out the idea, but Mrs. Woodlock had the faith which moves mountains. A large old house, once a grand house, left behind in a neighbourhood that had seen better days, a house which had a story of its own by the way, was rented, repaired, cleaned up, and stocked with cribs. In the main ward, once the drawingroom of distinguished persons, a tall statue of the Sacred Heart occupied the place of honour at the foot of the The walls, of a pleasant tint, were hung with pictures of sacred subjects particularly interesting to children. The beds had white coverlets trimmed with a strip of bright red. Everything was clean and cheerful, and the light from the three great windows came freely from the sky across an open airy space. The first patient will be remembered by all the young enthusiasts who came in bands to sympathize with the sad condition of the boy who was known as "little Willie." I have his portrait before

room.

me now, a brave intelligent face; he was photographed in his bed as the very first patient and for some time monarch of all he surveyed in the ward. He suffered from spinal disease and was found to be incurable. His gentle, grateful nature, his simple piety and long patience, made him beloved by all who came near him; and, when Willie died, a heavy blow seemed to have fallen on the community.

It was this atmosphere of tender sentiment which made the early movements of the work begun in the Big House so charming and so original. There was nothing of the Institution about our homely sick-nursery. It was a work of the family. The management was carried on by women who were mothers in their own homes, and girls with the glamour of youth irradiating whatever offices of love they undertook. Foremost of all, captain of the good ship, keeping all things in order by her presence for many hours daily, was Mrs. Sarah Atkinson of blessed memory. Her prudence, her punctuality, her clearness of brain as to detail, her fidelity to anything she consented to engage in, carried on the work inaugurated by Mrs. Woodlock's daring enthusiasm of charity. Under them came the ardent young girls, and the gleeful children delighted to feel that they were supporting this great nursery for their suffering fellow-children. On great meeting days of the Boys' Brigade, and the Busy Bees, the little money-boxes were emptied on the table, and Father Naughton, S.J., talked to the boys and girls as only he can talk religion to children, making use of his inimitable gift to inspire the little knights and dames of this crusade with increase of zeal in the cause they had undertaken. After the lecture we had Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, and a beautiful strong prayer was made, not only for the saving of the children's lives, but for their rescue from a fate more sad than death, the lot of the hopelessly and helplessly diseased, of the crippled, the maimed and the disfigured, who are too often objects of disgust to the unkind and uncharitable who may surround them.

I hope the children of the present day are also all alive to sympathy with the poor mites tended now by the kind Sisters of Charity. If they are, they will like to hear something of the doings of their young mothers and uncles and aunts in the days of the Big House in Buckingham Street. I turn to the pages of the early numbers of the IRISH MONTHLY, which fostered the Children's