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of the Sacred Heart, 6, Great Denmark Street, Dublin, can be procured in about thirty little penny volumes, the lives of some one hundred and fifty of the best known Irish saints. If these lives are procured, great use can be made of them. Sometimes even outside the schoolroom an apostolate can be exercised through them. Recently a teacher was working in a school where in various classes there were many McCarthys. The teacher bought a penny copy of the life of Blessed Thaddeus (Taog) McCarthy, and drew the attention of one after another of the McCarthys to it, with the result that he was asked to order several copies of the life of Blessed Thaddeus for those families, most of whom had never before heard of that great saint. Consider what a difference that knowledge must have made in the spirit of the families. Thus in countless ways a work is done which cannot be measured, and for which credit may not be got from Chiefs of Inspection, but which, if properly done, will be its own exceeding great reward.

BROTHER FINNBARR.

TO A MINOR POET

THOUGH the song-sparrow cannot sing
As the thrush and mocker do,
Living melodies, a-wing,

Hymning God the woodlands through :

Shall the mocker's cunning flute
Bid the sparrow's pipe be mute?

Though thou canst not sing as they,
Poets of a mightier song,

Skilled to sound their splendid lay

All the wondering years along :-
Shall their grand, harmonious skill
Bid thy lesser praise be still?

EDWARD F. GARESCHÉ, S.J.

HOW ROBIN REDBREAST CAME TO IRELAND

I

T was an Eastern land. The air was full of the scent of flowers and aromatic shrubs, and the bees were humming. There were little butterflies among the anemones, and the tall palm-trees cast short shadows on the grass. The sun shone brilliantly on the Mount of Olives, and the sunbeams danced on the waters of the Cedron. In the streets of Jerusalem an unwonted commotion reigned. Out from the city walls thronged a great multitude, and the low hoarse murmur of many voices filled the air. Angry passions sat on men's faces and distorted them from the likeness of One who moved in their midst and whom they knew not. On His face there was a beauty surpassing that of man, a holiness, a meekness, and a loveliness indescribable by human pen. He bore on His shoulders the heavy weight of the cross, and myriad angels counted each precious drop of blood as it fell unheeded and marked His way to Calvary. Slowly and painfully He toiled up its rough steep. Among the multitude were some whose hearts ached for His sufferings, and who yearned to comfort Him, and He, seeing into their hearts, turned His eyes on them, and as they met those looks of piercing sweetness they bowed lowly and believed, indeed, He was their Lord and God. At a distance followed the Divine Mother, divided from Jesus by the fierce soldiery. Her face reflected the indescribable charm and beauty of His, and it bore the impress of a sorrow that through all the ages was like unto no other human sorrow. At length, Calvary was reached. At each step of the sorrowful journey men's passions had grown fiercer, and now on Calvary's heights they reached their climax. Blasphemies, shouts of scorn and derision were heard on every side, yet the face of Jesus, agonized and suffering on the cross, grew in exceeding beauty.

High in the air, near to the city walls, a white-breasted robin sang. Some strange force drew him thither to Calvary, and he fluttered to the foot of the cross. The thorn-crowned Head drooped lower and fainter, and the agony of Jesus was greater. The bird-heart stirred with pity. With tiny beak

it flew at the hard nails and tried its little best to wrench them forth. In vain! Foiled in its generous attempts, quivering and panting, Robin fell to the ground. The thorn spikes pressed heavily on that sad crowned Head. Again Robin flew upwards, and this time he succeeded in drawing one thorn spike, and in its place a drop of blood came forth and fell on Robin's white breast and dyed its feathers in a crimson glory. He, to whom the least of things created is of account, rewarded Robin. Henceforth he and all his after race will bear on their breasts that red jewel, and Robin will be known as "Robin Redbreast

God's Own Bird."

And now the hour of man's redemption has come. The great sacrifice was consummated, and Jesus died. In that hour darkness spread all over the land; the sea rose; the rocks burst asunder; the earth opened; and the dead arose. The wild beasts rushed affrighted to their lairs. Men trembled with terror, and believed, too late, and recognized in this upheaval of Nature earth's anguish for its Creator.

Robin Redbreast's song was heard no more in Palestine. He sought a land where such things as he had seen on that dread Friday might not be. He looked for the last time on scenes fragrant with consecrated memories. Below the vale of Jehosophat lay in shadow. Bethlehem the favoured was throned among the hills where the angels first sang that hymn now of such variance with men's minds. He flew by corn-swept valleys and fields of waving wheat: the apricot trees and the pomegranate trees were rich in promise of an abundant harvest, and the larks sang over the face of the land. The Dead Sea was beautiful in its arid desolation. The waters of the Jordan were calm and peaceful. In a lovely sunlit glow Robin lingered by the Sea of Galilee, fringed by rosy oleanders and flowering shrubs, and pomegranate trees with scarlet blossoms, whose shores the sacred feet of Jesus had so often trod, and whose waters He stilled to peace. He sipped from the fountain of Cana. Nazareth lay on the slope of the cypress-clad hills, and Magdala, the home of Mary Magdalen, amid oleanders and orange-groves where nightingales sang.

With a great bird-sigh Robin turned his course and travelled a weary space to the sea. He flew over the deep waters of the Adriatic. Now and then he rested his tired wing on some

friendly mast. In the fair Italian cities, in the sunny land of France, he tarried not nor rested until one morning he saw afar in a golden sunrise, like an emerald set in the ocean, an island in a Northern sea. Its rocky coastline repelled not Robin. Subtle instinct drew him thither, and he landed on the shores of Erin. Still the tired wings drooped not. He flew over green fields and meadows of golden promise and north-wards to Ulidia.

A brilliant sunshine lighted up the grey walls of the Palace of Emania, its ramparts, turrets, and domes, famous in song and story the home of the Kings of Ulidia. The banner of Ulidia swung heavily from the barbican touched by the soft breezes. But sorrow and gloom were within the palace. For many years King Conor Mac Nessa had lived a death in life within its regal halls. It was a sorrowful day for Ulidia when Conor Mac Nessa gave battle to the clansmen of Conacia, for he was borne from the field with the ball of Mesgedra buried in his head. The moment the ball came forth, the King would die. Thus spoke Fingen, the Royal Physician :

Yet long 'midst the people who love him King Conor Mac Nessa may reign,

If always the high pulse of passion be kept from his heart and his brain : And for this I lay down his restrictions—no more from this day shall his place

Be with armies, in battles, or hostings, or leading the van of the chase! At night, when the banquet is flashing, his measure of wine must be small, And take heed that the bright eyes of woman be kept from his sight above all;

For if heart-thrilling joyaunce or anger awhile o'er his being have power, The ball will start forth from his forehead and surely he dies in that hour.

Conor Mac Nessa obeyed; but soon he wearied of inaction. He longed again to be foremost in the battle, the strong champion of right and the terror of his foes, the centre of the revel when the wine-cup was pledged by gallant hearts, and the minstrels awakened their harps to give homage to valour and to beauty.

In the King's chamber deep silence reigned and footsteps moved with muffled tread. Without the birds twittered a gay carillon; soft breezes played among the flowers and the grasses; sweet sunshine and the glory of early summer were everywhere.

*T. D. Sullivan.

But the happy sights and sounds of Nature around him only whispered sorrow and despair to Conor Mac Nessa. eastern turret of the palace sly sunbeams stole through the latticed windows of the hall which served as the abode of the princesses of Erin and their attendants. Its walls were hung with silken draperies, and it was furnished with gold-embroidered couches and tables inlaid with silver. The floor was covered with the skins of wolf and otter. The gloom that filled the palace had also found a home here. Seated in the farthest corner of the apartment was a beautiful girl. Her rich auburn tresses were bound by a silver crescent. She wore a flowing robe of mauve satin trimmed with soft down. A silken scarf threaded with gold was held in place on her left shoulder by a gold brooch set in gems. Ear-rings of turquoise and emerald were on her ears, and bands of gold fastened at her wrists; a heavy gold chain hung from her neck, and on her fingers were rings of great value. She sat in a listening attitude, and occasionally glanced with eagerness through the latticed window to the courtyard below. Presently a warder's horn, announcing the arrival of a visitor of note, rang from the tower, and the girl's fair face flushed to the temples, as a young man of noble bearing, driving a magnificent chariot and followed by a small retinue, entered the great portals of the palace. A swift glance shot from his eyes upwards, and a smile, radiant and loving, lighted up the girl's face hid from his observation. Fitting mate for a princess of Erin was Niall! Heir of a princely house, he had been for two years travelling in Eastern countries, and was but now returned. He was clad in a rich mantle trimmed with fur and embroidered with gold and clasped by a massive brooch: in tight-fitting hose and satin kirtle and over tunic of purple cloth of Damascus. A sword with hilt of embossed gold hung from a jewelled belt encrusted with diamonds.

In the great hall of the castle, fully seventy feet in length, its walls decorated with shields and armour and massive furniture and gold-embroidered draperies, were assembled to greet him many of the nobles and chieftains of Ulidia. Clad in the uniform of their orders, their high and haughty bearing proclaimed their station. They gathered round Niall with many cries of welcome.

Later Niall had audience with King Conor. What strange

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