Hospital as a brother might foster a sister. If you allow me to express myself fantastically, I will say that the IRISH MONTHLY and the Children's Hospital may be called twins, for they came into the world about the same time and have grown to maturity together. In the magazine appeared every month notes of all that had occurred in the Big House in the preceding month. At intervals a little book was published entitled "Our Tiny Bulletin," and from this I will take a few passages for the children of to-day, who are intending, I hope, to expend their pocket money at the festival of Moy-Mell.

"There is a beautiful movement going on in the children's world around us; petted little ones in snug nurseries have found out an interest which surpasses the delight of dolls, and marbles, and spinning-tops. If Dolly wishes to be loved as of old, she must now lay down her head and pretend to be a sick child in the Hospital; and she must not go and sulk in the cupboard when people are tired of her, but must get tricked out in fresh finery and take herself off to be nursed and petted all over again by our poor little trots in their cribs, most of whom never touched a toy till they came to us. All the pennies are not now spent on sweetmeats; maps and picture-books are not torn to tatters or burnt, but are carefully mended, and get their loose covers sewn on again, that they may make a respectable appearance at the Big House. If one of the 'Ten Little Niggers' has mislaid his head, or if the Fox that sat up in his den one night has lost his tail, these are pasted on again, and the delight of Johnny and Maggie in their cribs is no way spoiled by the patches and stitches," Children are learning to be benefactors of children. Sick children on their own beds of pain are thinking of their fellow-sufferers and sending them loving help. Children who never felt pain or ache are anxious to hear that little broken legs are mended and crooked backs made straight. Children who are now angels in heaven have bequeathed us their little legacies-the hoarded pence, the cherished toy, the garment no longer needed, the love and sympathy that lived in the innocent heart, and which still live pleading with God that men's hearts may be touched by the sufferings of these little brothers and sisters. In children, as the protectors of children, we put our hope and faith. An army of children is fighting for us all over the country, and to this standing

army we look, to keep the wolf from our door and the roof over our heads!

“It is with children we are now going to talk. Go away, big people, and read newspapers, and converse about kings, and wars, and prime ministers, and shake your heads over solemn things with long names! We are going to tell stories about our Big House. "A great many children have lain in our little beda, and got cured and are gone away, since last year; Johnnies and Maggies, Patsies and Annies, and Willies. They were carried in to us out of wretched homes where sometimes they had to be left all day alone, and now and again they were walked over and knocked about, and they were all in a shocking state with sickness, and sores, and broken limbs. They were often so weak that they could not stand on their feet because their parents were so poor that they could not give them food. Before they came to us, some of them had only a little straw to lie on, and not enough covering to keep the cold away, no doctor to cure them, no pleasant drink when they were thirsty, nothing to make it easy for them to bear their pains with patience. A poor mother might take them up on her knee and cry over them for a little while, but she had soon to put them down again and shut them up alone, and go away to her work. There they were when a friend went in, sitting on the earthen floor perhaps or among the cinders by a small spark of fire, or lying on some straw in a corner, all grimy, with their hair matted and rough, and red feverish spots burning on their wasted little cheeks. Sometimes they were coughing and crying for their mothers, sometimes quite quiet and patient, not expecting any. thing good to happen to them, but taking all the pains and loneliness as a matter of course. After our visit the mother would carry the child to the Big House, see it bathed and cleanly nightgowned, and lay it with her own hands in one of our little cribs.

"How delighted these poor mites are to see strong, happy, boys and girls coming in at the door, across the room, bending over their cribs and smiling at them. Never before were they spoken to by a little lady or gentleman. There is not much about lady and gentleman between good-hearted children, and not much time is lost upon introductions. Soon heads are bent together over picture books, and opinions are taken, and notes compared about toys and balls. The small patient is lost in admiration of the superior knowledge of his young visitors and would jump out of bed with

excitement only that he is held fast by the splint or bandage. The sight of the splint causes a new sensation to the healthy children who realize for the first time perhaps that it is splendid to be well and strong and have one's liberty. Their hearts overflow with pity for the little prisoner who bears his pain so quietly and is so delighted with their sympathy. They are ready to be his protectors, his knights, his comforters; the enthusiasm. of charity is enkindled within them, and they will never cease befriending that sick fellow-child till they set him on his feet again and see him run about as they do themselves. They go away and beg pennies for him; they come to him with little gifts. They provide hat and coat and shoes for him against the day when he will be able to get up on both his legs, and walk away back to his home."

Here is a short report of one of the meetings of the Boys' Brigade :

"Our last meeting of the Home Knights of the Brigade was an extremely large one and the lord chaplain of the regiment (Father Naughton S.J.) addressed the corps. He said a great many beautiful and touching, as well as merry and laughable things. Our knights will not easily forget the following. He said:-'One day poor Willie, who is lying upstairs so sick, will open the door of heaven to every one of you. Perhaps you think it will be St. Peter? Oh, and St. Peter will be there, of course.

But it will be Willie who will get leave to open the door for you, and who will lead you in to Jesus.'"

ROSA MULHOLLAND.

(LADY GILBERT.)

SPRING: A VISION.

ONCE more earth rapturously greets the Spring

With mingled melody of happy birds;
Ah! would I too might join their carolling,
And bid her welcome with a poet's words!

But ah! what music can my soul outpour?
How strike on such a fragile lyre one chord
That found not sweeter utterance before

In Lover's rhapsody, in song of Bard?

I know that Spring is come: for lo! I see
Shy daisies blushing where her footsteps pass,
While daffodils are fluttering with glee,

And bluebells nodding in the cool green grass.

The odorous breezes whisper in mine ear :-
"Hear in the rustling of the pines her voice!
"The rills, all laughing, murmur She is here,'
Come, frolic with us, oh, rejoice! rejoice!"

6

A vision fair, I see her onward glide,

A benediction in her radiant smile;

Young lambs leap high and gambol by her side,
Glad swallows circling round her head the while.

Fresh gathered violets her brows adorn,
A coronal of bloom, divinely sweet;
Her robe is opal-hued, like clouds at morn,
The primrose nestles at her dewy feet:-

No shadow of regretting dims her eyes,

But clear prophetic light shines there, and hope;
She sees the roses blow 'neath summer skies,
And harvest ripen on the sunny slope.

O type of youth and its delightful dreams,
Ere yet its joy be dimmed, its ardour chilled,
When e'en its visioned glory sweeter seems
Than all the hopes in happy age fulfilled.

Her balmy breathing softly fans my cheek,
With scent of wallflower and pale lilac rife;
Ah, come with me, and at her bidding seek

Fresh draughts of nectar from the cup of Life!

For though our locks turn grey in wintry gloom,
And though no longer youth's gay songs we sing,
Still may be shrined within our hearts the bloom
And fragrant freshness of perpetual Spring.

M. L. ADDey.

66

YOU

THROUGH THE DARK NIGHT.

or,

THIRTY YEARS AGO.

CHAPTER X.

THE MADAM AND ETHNA PAY THE VISIT.

"The fog

OU are a god-send, Philip," said the Madam.
has made us as dull as possible, but I suppose no weather

affects you."

They sat about the fire.

Philip managed to touch Ethna's hand, and give other small indications of affection when the Madam was not looking. He said he came over to propose that he should bring his horse and trap on the morrow and drive them to the Lodge to pay a formal visit. He was prompted to this course by his love for Ethna. he did not wish her surroundings to excite ridicule, and visions of the rough steed and the driver's broadcloth coat and jerry hat, were well calculated, he knew, to draw forth comments from those who were particular as to the dimensions of their footmen's calves.

Ethna was delighted; it was just what she would have desired. Philip's driving them would put them on a firm and easy footing at

once.

"What shall I wear? That is the great question," she said, laughingly.

"Oh, dress, dress," replied Philip, "women's favourite theme. I left the ladies over the way arguing over patterns of every hue and shade. I told them women looked offensively obtrusive in anything but black."

"You like black. I'll wear my black silk."

"Black by all means, it will tone down those red cheeks of yours."

"She was pale a while ago," said the Madam, "and cross, too, all the evening. Wasn't she naughty, Nora?"

"She beat poor Kitty," replied Nora, giving an additional squeeze to the cat.

VOL. XXV.

No. 287.

19