GOD'S WILL BE DONE! O my dear, When twilight falls on the mountains grey And the bees no more through the garden swing- My folded hands Cling to the book that forgotten rests, O love, for thee. Evermore Through the still, strange hours of the mournful night, But we miss thy smile, and thy cheering word God's will be done! In Memory of June 16th, 1896. M. E. CONNOLLY. THOUGHTS FROM CARDINAL NEWMAN. THERE HERE are few books to which I turn more eagerly, in the hope of receiving a useful fillip or home-thrust in a few minutes' reading, than a very small book called "Maxims and Sayings of the Rev. F. W. Faber D.D." They were chosen with admirable judgment out of the writings of the brilliant Oratorian by some one whose name is not given. The writings of a still more illustrious Oratorian would perhaps, from their greater loftiness of thought and greater austerity of style, afford less facilities to the compiler of a similar selection. But evidently some one had formed the design of making such a collection of thoughts from Cardinal Newman, for he wrote thus to Messrs. M. H. Gill and Son of Dublin on St. Patrick's Day exactly twenty years ago. "Dr. Newman presents his compliments to Messrs. Gill and Son, and thanks them for the compliment they pay him in their proposal of this morning. He is sorry, however, that he must decline it, as he cannot feel that anything which he has written comes under so high a name as that of maxims or deserves to be so presented to the public." We may seem to be running counter to the wish here expressed: but the holy Cardinal would now approve of such a selection, made at least in this transient and informal way, if an elevating thought should but thus be planted in a few minds, raising them over the vulgarities of this sinful world. 1. True faith does not covet comforts; they who realise that awful day when they shall see Him face to face whose eyes are as a flame of fire, will as little bargain to pray pleasantly now as they will think of doing so then. 2. The Eternal God deals with us one by one, each in his own way and the bystanders may pity and compassionate the long throes of our travail, but they cannot aid us except by their prayers. 3. After the fever of life, after weariness and sickness, fightings and despondings, languor and fretfulness, struggling and succeeding, after all the changes and chances of this troubled, unhealthy state, at length comes death, at length the white throne of God, at length the beatific vision. 4. He knows thy weakness; He foresees thy errors; but He holds thee by thy right hand, and thou shalt not, canst not, escape Him.-Callista. 5. A man's moral being is concentrated in every action of his life; it lives in the tips of his fingers, and the spring of his instep. A very little thing tries what a man is made of. 6. The power to hate truly what is evil must be involved in the power to love truly what is good, and must, indeed, usually precede the growth of the highest kind of love. 7. One secret act of self-denial, one sacrifice of inclination to duty, is worth all the mere good thoughts, warm feelings, passionate prayers, in which idle people indulge themselves. 8. It is the boast of the Catholic religion that it has the gift of making the young heart chaste; and why is this but that it gives us Jesus for our food, and Mary for our nursing Mother ?Discourses to Mixed Congregations. 9. No one ever did a great thing without suffering.-Letters, II. 335. 10. Let me begin by wishing you and all your professors and students a happy new year. Every day indeed is the beginning of a new and endless term of days; but that does not make the 1st January less awful in its associations.-Unpublished letter to Dr. C. W. Russell, Jan. 1st, 1868. 11. Good comes even from our errors, if they are merely the effects of human frailty and made in a docile spirit. On the other hand if points were never discussed, much knowledge would be missed which by discussion is attained.-Ibid. 12. One only both began and consummated the work with which He was charged. We, His followers, are abundantly blessed, if we are allowed to lay any portion whether of the foundation or of the superstructure. 13. All who take part with Peter are on the winning side. A THE GOOD OLD DOCTOR. LITTLE more than two years ago, in a quiet corner up in the north of Ireland, one might see almost every day an old, white-haired man with a beautiful face, driving along the country roads and lanes. He is dead now, and lies in that quiet churchyard where every day the people passing up and down see his grave and remember. It is a sweet old-world spot, and once you are there the hum of busy life grows faint and the sound of the river is in your ears instead. There is a little cluster of cottages, and beside them the large rambling house that used to be his home, with its delightful garden full of old-fashioned sweet-smelling flowers. I remember the rockery was half-covered with splendid blue harebells that looked like a bit of cool evening sky; and there were blue and white clusters of clematis clinging together all through the summertime, while further down the red and yellow roses had climbed up and met and broke into exquisite blossom over the trellised arch. When one left the roses and lilies behind, and followed the sloping path, one came on the wide lawn rimmed round with shady trees. Down below there stretched the broad meadow, and beyond it the river whose keen music echoed up among the garden paths. This was his home; and every morning the villagers could see the pony-chaise being led round to the door by the old coachman who had served his master for almost a lifetime. And then the master would come out and drive away to someone who required his medical skill, or who needed the wisdom of his wise and tender heart. At some time or other that kindly and noble vision had brought healing and comfort to every heart in the country-side. My own childish recollections of him are all clustered in little acts of kindness. His heart was very ready to respond to a child's touch, for he had still kept some of his own child-nature in that simplicity which seems to be the dower of great spirits. I remember the summer afternoons we used to spend with him in the garden, wandering among the brilliant flower beds, or sitting in the shade of his favourite chestnut, while he told us stories of the old coaching days and of highwaymen, and his own |