on the unhappy part, and dwelling upon the delicious change to the quiet sunny house of the artist; the light tasks performed to help Monica; the good-natured notice from Monica's master, and afterwards the instructions from kind Paul, and her quiet, dreamy days of study, in the well-remembered studio. Then her friend's death, her plan of going to England, her wonder and distress at her own ignorance of her parents, Monica's silence, and dread of the proposed journey. Then the wreck, and Dunmara, and Dr. Drummond. All the history was told. Ellen spoke gently of the Aungiers. She dwelt upon their charity, by impulse forbearing to distinguish Egbert very much in her recital, merely speaking of him as a good man, the preserver of her life. She made no complaint of Elswitha, --she spoke lovingly of Rowena, and praised Mrs. Kirker. And all this in consideration for her father, that his heart might be eased about her past, that the bitterness of his associations with Dunmara might be broken. She spoke of Mrs. McDawdle's story told at Dunsurf, she described the discovery of the will and her mother's letters, resolving the while that the bitterest of those letters her father should never see. She mentioned as a matter of course, that she had destroyed the will, and spoke of her leaving Dunmara as a natural event, consequent on Rowena's death, and the desire of the Drummonds that she should come amongst them. Then the doctor's death, her desire to be independent, her coming to London, her efforts since then, and her late despondency and fears.

When she had finished, she was folded in her father's arms. "My child!" he said, he said, "and all this time God has been bringing you nearer to me day by day! Oh, if I had known this, how much less faithless, how much less sour, how much more grateful should I have been! Ah! dear, I have been punished for giving up my life to bitterness. I am an old man, and I am a frail man. I shall not be allowed to stay with you a great while. It is wicked to talk so, but it is hard, and I cannot leave off grumbling all at once. I have grumbled for so long. Well! the old father has gold for you, my darling, he will leave you wealth when he must go. Where is your hat, my dear? and get a coat or something.

cold. Tell your landlady to pack up your little things, and if you have anything to pay it shall be settled then, too. Come, dear, make haste. Ring for Marco, and tie up that portfolio and let him bring it. It will please me to look over my child's drawings again."

Ellen did as he bade her, wondering all the while why this day was not turning out to be a dream. It had been so like one all through, and it was surely time to wake up now. Or it was like one of her old romances which always finished with a sigh or a laugh at her own folly? But there was no time to think about it now. She hastily put on her hat and coat, gathered together a few necessaries in a bag, gave the portfolio to Marco, and followed Mr. Waldron downstairs, and into the carriage. Coming out of the room, she picked up that yellow volume with its title of glory, and carried it away in her hand. It had somehow got mixed up with the wonderful events of the day.

(To be continued.)

THE WOUNDS OF LOVE

I TOUCH Thy wounds, and, lo, they bleed amain
For us who murdered Thee but yesterday;

And every drop is mercy's tender rain

To fructify our hardened hearts of clay.

O Victim of Thy love, transpierced and bound,
Thou liest still upon our altar-stone,

Thorn-crowned and scourged, with foes encompassed round,
Yet speakest no reproach, nor makest moan.

And we who love Thee, here, on Calvary
Thy daily sacrifice behold with tears.

Oh, wilt Thou ever bleed unceasingly

For us who wound Thee through the years and years?

R. M. G.

EDWARD KELLY, S.J.

A FEW NOTES IN REMEMBRANCE

III

ΤΗ

"HESE notes ended last month with an affectionate allusion to the first and best of Dickens's Christmas books. The allusion was more to the point than I imagined; for one of the most distinguished of Father Kelly's pupils, Sir Francis Cruise, so long prominent in the front rank of the Medical profession in Dublin, attributes his life-long relish for Dickens to his Clongowes master, who used to share with him the shilling monthly parts in which Dombey, and David Copperfield, and Mrs. Gamp, and the rest of them, were gradually introduced to a delighted world. Sir Francis has preserved for more than half a century the Latin elegy which his young professor wrote on little Paul Dombey's death, as described in the sixteenth chapter of Dombey and Son-" What the waves were always saying "-which inspired at least one popular song.

In the telling, however, of our story, we had not only left Clongowes behind, but had come to the end of Father Kelly's Limerick life.

uses

John Conybeare, an old schoolmaster of the days of bold Queen Bess, made a collection of proverbia et adagia, one of which he expounds thus. “De calcaria in carbonar am: oute of the lyme kill into the coale pitte: a proverb whereby is signified from one mischief to another.'" The modern equivalent also alliteration's artful aid: "From the frying pan into the fire." Though it goes beyond the exigencies of the case, this old saw has occurred to me in chronicling the next change in Father Kelly's circumstances. He was no sooner released from his responsibilities as the founder and first rector of the college of the Society of Jesus in Limerick, than he was placed in a similar position of authority over St. Francis Xavier's College, Belvedere House, Dublin. The habitation and the name recall the grand old days of the Irish capital before the Union; for this stately mansion, 6 Great Denmark Street, facing North Great George's Street, had been the residence of

46

Lord Belvedere, one of the peers in the old Parliament house in College Green, of which the money-changers have now possession. Here Father Kelly fulfilled his duties with the same even, quiet efficiency, that marked all his work. After another lustrum or so of Rectorship, he found it a relief to become a member of the community among whom the rest of his life with a break of a few years, was to be spent.

His term of office in Belvedere College lasted from 1864 to 1872. He probably thought himself to be more or less in termino, when he took up his abode in the presbytery of St. Francis Xavier's, Upper Gardiner Street, Dublin, where he at once devoted himself, heart and soul, to the duties of the pulpit and the confessional, and to all the labours that they involve by way of preparation and consequences. I will venture to let

one of his penitents describe his mode of action in the sacred tribunal of penance :—

"At the time I was under dear Father Edward Kelly's direction, his confessional was daily thronged by numberless penitents of every age and condition. On each he bestowed the most minute care and attention, as if he had only that one soul to look after. He was never in the least hurry, no matter how great the crowd awaiting confession. He sat on quietly, hour after hour, devoting his whole attention to each of them, as they presented themselves, and sending no one away unheard or dissatisfied. His penitents had to practise considerable patience, waiting two, three, or sometimes even more hours for their turn, but they persevered bravely, being well convinced it was worth waiting for.

"He possessed, I think, in a high degree the qualities of a wise and enlightened director. In the first place, he took each soul under his care into his very heart. Everything connected with his penitents was of deep interest to him. He made himself acquainted with all their surroundings, their joys and sorrows, their hopes and fears, their interests and tastes, and above all, their family anxieties and trials, from which so few even of the young, are exempt. When all these were known to him, he gave warm sympathy, wise counsel, and a spiritual uplifting in all things.

"In his first dealings with a soul he was slow and reserved, seeming to wait for light and guidance, but once he had received

the full confidence of his penitent he was remarkably clearsighted, firm, and decided in his direction. He was kindness and tenderness personified, yet most plain-spoken, strict, sometimes even exacting. He soon found out the weak point in a character, and bore down on it relentlessly! No half measures would do with him; there must be an earnest, constant striving for the higher ways. Yet his humiliating and almost severe reprehensions were given with such sweetness and true charity that they never wounded or irritated, but rather encouraged to a better effort in future.

"He was large and wide in his direction, leaving each soul free to follow its particular attraction of grace, nor did he press for confidence unless it was freely offered; yet his particularly simple and fatherly manner made even the naturally reserved open and candid in their communications with him. He was a declared enemy to all scruples, and most skilful in their removal, his knowledge of human nature, experience of life, and clear good sense, helping him much in this.

"He was regarded almost as a specialist' for deciding religious vocations,* and those needing advice in this important matter flocked to his confessional. Every year several of his spiritual children entered religious houses of all Orders and Congregations, and in nearly all cases happily persevered.

"In those thus called to religious life, besides inspiring them with a high appreciation of the favour granted to them, he endeavoured to excite a great spirit of piety, and a strong personal love of our Lord. For the different feasts he would sometimes suggest points for a meditation, and these points, even for the feast of a saint, would be always referred directly to our Lord. As, for instance, for the Feast of St. John the Evangelist, a consideration on the three gifts he received from his Divine Master, viz., His Sacred Heart, His Blessed Mother, and His Chalice of suffering. For the Feast of St. Mary Magdalen, he asked his penitent to consider her in the three scenes in which she appears as typifying the three stages of the spiritual life—namely, the purgative way, when weeping at our Lord's feet, at the Pharisee's supper-table; the illuminative way, when seated listening to Him at Bethany; and the unitive way at the foot of the Cross on Calvary.

*Father Carbery, S.J., took his sister all the way to Limerick that she might consult Father Kelly on this crisis of her life.