O'Hagan's dear friend, Denis Florence MacCarthy, also published several "Hymns of the Church in the original metres." Yet some ten years later the translator of "The Song of Roland" did not observe this fidelity as to form in translating a poem which links the canonical hours of the Divine Office with the successive mysteries of the Passion. The Latin, with the Judge's version, will be found at page 212 of our thirteenth volume (1885). We may repeat, as a specimen, the quatrain for Tierce as it was written in Latin six hundred years ago by some unknown saint, and then as it was turned into English twelve years ago by the first Head of the Irish Land Commission.

Horâ vero tertiâ diré flagellatur,
Purpurâ induitur, spinis coronatur,
Crucifigi petitur, quod mox demandatur ;
Crux ad locum Golgotha sibi ferri datur.

At the hour of Tierce they scourge Him, clothe Him in a purple vest,
While a crown of woven thorn is on his sacred forehead pressed.
"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" is the cry that fills the air;

Then they lay the Cross upon Him unto Golgotha to bear.

It will be noticed, as we have said, that the dissyllabic endings of the Latin are not reproduced here. But by a curious accident we have discovered a version in which this peculiarity is preserved. These Hours of the Passion are given in a devout book of Litanies taken from Catholic sources by that strangely Catholic "Anglican clergyman, the Rev. John Mason Neale, once Warden of Sack ville College, East Grinstead. Judge O'Hagan had already warned us in a note to the page of this magazine that we have referred to, that in Mone's great collection this hymn is given in several different forms; and this accounts for the discrepancies between the two English versions. The Anglican translator also omits Lauds, and what Judge O'Hagan assigns to Lauds is set down for Prime.

At Matins.

Circled by His enemies, by His own forsaken,

CHRIST, the LORD, at Matin hour, for our sakes was taken :-
Very Wisdom, very Light, Monarch long expected,

In the garden, by the Jews, bound, reviled, rejected.

At Prime.

At the hour of Prime the LORD entered on His Passion,
And blasphemers, standing round, railed in bitter fashion;
There with spitting, and with shame, ill for good they render.
Marring of that Face, which gives Heaven eternal splendour,

At Tierce.

"Crucify Him!"-for His love is their bitter payment,
When they lead Him forth at Tierce, clad in purple raiment ;
He a crown of woven thorns, King of glory, weareth,
And a Cross to Calvary on His shoulder beareth.

At Sext.

He upon that Cross at Sext for our sake was mounted;
By the passers-by reviled, with transgressors counted:
Vinegar and gall they gave to His thirst to slake it,
Which when He had tasted of He refused to take it.

At None.

At the hour of None, the strife, long and.sharp, was ended;
Gently to His FATHER's hands He His soul commended;
And a soldier pierced His Side, whence is our salvation;
And the Water and the Blood heal'd our condemnation.

At Vespers.

When it came to Vesper time, from the Cross they take Him,
Whose great love to bear such woes for our sake could make him.
Such a death He underwent, sin's alone Physician,

That of everlasting life we might have fruition.

At Compline.

At the holy Compline-hour holy hands array Him

In the garments of the grave, where the mourners lay Him;
Myrrh and spices have they brought-Scripture is completed-
And by Death the Prince of Life death and hell defeated.

Wherefore these Canonical Hours my tongue shall ever
In thy praise, O CHRIST, recite, with my heart's endeavour;
That the Love which, for my sake, bare such tribulation,
In mine own death-agony may be my salvation,

Shame upon us the children of the Kingdom if we do not avail ourselves of the treasures of holiness that are at our disposal, while many earnest souls who seem to be without strive earnestly for mere fragments of what we possess in its fulness. O Priest of God, discharge with reverence and delight that daily duty which is truly called a divine duty, "Divinum Officium.”

M. R.

THROUGH THE DARK NIGHT.

or,

THIRTY YEARS AGO.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MADAM AND MR. TAYLOR HAVE A SERIOUS CONVERSATION,

T

THE evening shadows gathered softly in the lowlands; the lake was turned into a pool of golden light in the declining rays of the sun; the clouds in the distant horizon, that seemed beneath the level of the watcher's feet, melted and changed into a thousand shapes and colours. Now, a gorgeous city of supernatural beauty, with a thousand burnished spires and minarets, and great gates of pearl, sails over an illimitable azure sea; it dissolves, and a mighty bridge is flung across a shining river; ships glide over sunlit oceans; horsemen gallop over smiling plains; beasts of preadamite proportions open their gigantic mouths, and softly fall away into fragments that float out on amber, purple, and crimson

seas.

It was time to depart, the Moores said, the ponies were ordered, and soon the tinkle of their bells gave notice that they were in waiting. Henry Moore asked Mr. Taylor and Vincent to join them on the hills next day, and dine with him afterwards, but much to Vincent's regret, he declined the invitation; they should be in town before court hour to-morrow. The parting ceremonies were performed, Miss Butler and Philip sat in front of the phaeton; Henry Moore and his wife behind. Philip carefully wrapped a soft white shawl round the neck of his companion, out of whose cloudlike folds her fair face and laughing, dark eyes looked very attractive. He shook hands with Ethna after that indifferent fashion as if he was not quite conscious of her personality, and took his seat beside the heiress, and the party drove away.

"It is all over," said Ethna mechanically.

"By Jove it was a delightful day," replied Vincent. "That officer fellow is a snob, and he is no end of spoons on the heiress; didn't give me a chance."

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"Which accounts for opinion number one," said Mr. Taylor. Spite never spoke well," answered Vincent. "Listen how those ponies trot; well-bred looking ones, and matched like twins."

"Let us come in," said Ethna. "It must be almost six o'clock. I suppose mother is looking after dinner."

That evening the Madam had the unwonted pleasure of an undisturbed conversation with her son-in-law, in whom she had the most entire confidence. They sat before a very cheerful fire in the dining-room. Mr. Taylor was taking his glass of punch; the silver sugar-bowl, glasses, and water-jug were reflected in the polished table on which the attorney had his elbow; a sedate and well-to-do looking cat rested on the hearth-rug, bearing with calm indifferance the assaults of Nora's kitten, who would make its advances with the most appalling caution and circumspection, and then suddenly pounce upon the enemy's tail fling itself on its back and work its paws with the most creditable energy.

Its attention was occasionally distracted by Nora, who was running in and out, getting a sip of punch from her father, or a tiny lump of sugar out of the bowl. Ethna and Vincent were at the piano in the drawing-room, a fact proved by the volume of sweet sound issuing from it,

The Madam was speaking to Mr. Taylor about some money she wished to invest.

"Well," said he, after a pause, " perhaps it would be as well to leave it where it is for the present. You will be thinking of settling Ethna, and the ready money comes handy. She will have no bad fortune in this place when it comes to her. Ethna ought to do well."

"Yes, thank God, she won't be badly off," answered the Madam. "And she need be in no hurry to marry."

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Why, no, of course. But as a rule, girls like to get married," said Mr. Taylor, smiling.

"Ethna is an exception, I think," replied the Madam. "I doubt if she ever had a preference for any one. I often laugh at her for her great notions about love and marriage,"

"Do you know, I did not like to have that Moore hanging about the Lodge all the summer," said Mr. Taylor. "Girls take fancies in lonely places to good-looking fellows that pay them compliments, and Ethna is a very fine girl. Might tempt a man to talk nonsense."

"Ah, no. I don't think Philip Moore is that sort of man," answered the Madam. "And, as for anything like a flirtation, I was civiler to him myself than Ethna was. They did not seem to agree at all."

"Well, perhaps so; but you can never be sure. Mary some time ago were full of him."

Her letters to

"Ah, yes, of course. A strange young man is an object of interest to a girl for a while. The only one she seems to care about is Vincent, and they are more like brother and sister."

"Well they say the strongest and most enduring feeling is where love rushes in after friendship," said Mr. Taylor. "I would not be sorry if it happened in this case. Old Talbot's child is no bad match, I can tell you, and he is anxious to have Vincent settled down; he thinks it would steady him."

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Why, he is not unsteady, is he?" she asked.

"No, not what we call unsteady. He is a little too fond of horses, and that sort of thing. Being an only son, perhaps he got more of his way than was good for him; but there is not a more upright or honest fellow breathing. No one can assail his moral character, and he is as temperate as Father Matthew."

"I feel for Vincent almost as if he were my son," said the Madam, "and no wonder, I have known him since he was a baby."

"A good friend you were to him, poor motherless child,” answered Mr. Taylor; "but I don't see why he shouldn't be your son, and that is what I am coming at, not to be beating about the bush. I may as well tell you at once, that old Taylor is anxious that we should arrange matters and make a match of it between him and Ethna."

"Does Vincent know anything about it?" she asked.

"No, not a word; but that will be all right. He will be glad enough to get a hansdome wife and an establishment of his own. Tolbot has an idea of setting him up in the Dublin office; he doesn't care te be running up there now himself. Time tells on us all, dear madam; but likely if he do not marry things will go on as they are."

"I could have no objection," said the Madam thoughtfully, "only she is my last child."

"She will continue more yours if she marry the boy you knew all his life than if she were taken away by a stranger. I think