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The places where St. Paul was beheaded and St. Peter crucified are distinctly marked, while their bodies repose beneath the great basilicas erected to their names.

It is impossible to stand where a Lawrence was roasted, an Agnes and a Cecilia beheaded, or a Praxedes gathered up the blood of the martyrs, or kneel at the tombs of a Sebastian and Helena, and not be moved. Nor can any man of honest historic mind stand by the tombs of a Benedict, Francis, Dominic, Ignatius, and not acknowledge the mighty work done by those whom they commemorate. No part of the world but has felt their influence.

Christianity is crystallized in the Coliseum and St. Peter's. In the former, by the triumphs of the martyrs; in the latter, by the dedication of art to the worship of God.

Come with me along the Via Sacra, past the Forum and the Arch of Titus. But a step, and we are at the Coliseum pressed in between the Coelian and Palatine hills, the Arch of Constantine and the Temple of Venus.

As we enter, the moon has risen, giving a weird appearance to the scene, as we see its shadows flit, dissolve and lose themselves amid the arches of this mighty ruin. Amid broken arch and column, and vaulted corridor, terrace rises upon terrace, till the blood curdles and the hair stands on end. Memory is busy, and hurries us back to the days when Christian martyr and gentle maid stood within this vast arena to die for Christ.

The emperor is there; the nobility of Rome is there

tier upon tier is densely packed; the wild beasts paw their cages, impatient for the feast; one hundred thousand voices shout, "The Christians to the lions!" A spring, a growl, a quiver, and another hero has gone to God. Every brick, and stone, and grain of sand in this mighty ruin has been sanctified by the blood shed there. Here a Felicitas and Perpetua, a Cyriacus and Pancras died; here Rome brutalized herself, and within these walls strove to crush out truth.

Here Pagan Rome fell, and Christian Rome rose. The blood of the martyrs was the seed of the Church.


Right Rev. Richard Gilmour, D.D., second bishop of Cleveland, was born in Glasgow, Scotland, September 28, 1824. His parents were strict Covenanters, but by the grace of God, the future bishop became a Catholic in his eighteenth year. A few years later he entered the seminary, made his studies, was ordained a priest, and on April 14, 1872, was consecrated bishop. Bishop Gilmour was a man of strong individuality, firm, bold, and fearless. His charity was boundless. He died, after thirty-nine years of hard work in prominent positions, as priests are proud to die, penniless.

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waned declined. - - immortalize: cause to live forever. -sacked: plundered. regeneration: reformation. - essentially really. dogma: doctrine. caldron large metal kettle. commemorate: celebrate with honor. crystallized brought together. weird: unearthly.flit: fly away with a rapid motion.

Catholicity the Safety of the Republic.

With Catholicity the republic may be sustained, not because the Catholic Church enjoins this form of government or that, but because she nourishes in the hearts of her children the virtues which render popular liberty both desirable and practicable. The Catholic Church meddles directly with no form of government. She leaves each people free to adopt such form of government as seems to themselves good, and to administer it in their own way. Her chief concern is to fit men for beatitude, and this she can do under any or all forms of government.

The spirit she breathes into men, the graces she communicates, the dispositions she cultivates, and the virtues she produces, are such that, while they render even arbitrary forms of government tolerable, fit a people for asserting and maintaining freedom. In countries where there are no constitutional checks on power, she remedies the evil by imposing moral restraints on its exercise, by inspiring rulers with a sense of justice and the public good. Where such checks do exist, she hallows them and renders them inviolable.

In a republic, she restrains the passions of the people, teaches them obedience to the laws of God, moderates their desires, weans their affections from the world, frees

them from the dominion of their own lusts, and, by the meekness, humility, loyalty of heart which she cherishes, disposes them to the practice of those public virtues which render a republic secure.

She also creates, by her divine charity, a true equality. No republic can stand where the dominant feeling is pride, which finds its expression in the assertion, "I am as good as you." It must be based on love; not on the determination to defend our own rights and interests, but on the fear to encroach on the rights and interests of others. But this love must be more than the mere sentiment of philanthropy. This sentiment of philanthropy is a very unsubstantial affair. Talk as we will about its excellence, it never goes beyond love to those who love us. We love our friends and neighbors, but hate our enemies. This is all we do as philanthropists. All the fine speeches we make beyond-about the love of hu manity and all that are fine speeches.

Philanthropy must be exalted into the supernatural virtue of charity before it can become that love which leads us to honor all men and makes us shrink from encroaching upon the interests of any man, no matter how low or how vile. We must love our neighbor, not for his own sake, but for God's sake the child, for the sake of the Father; then we can love all and joyfully make the most painful sacrifices for them. It is only

in the bosom of the Catholic Church that this sublime charity has ever been found or can be found.

The Catholic Church also cherishes a spirit of independence, a loftiness and dignity of soul, favorable to the maintenance of popular freedom. It ennobles every one of its members.

The lowest, the humblest Catholic, is a member of that Church which was founded by Jesus Christ Himself; which has subsisted for eighteen hundred years; which has in every age been blessed with signal tokens of the Redeemer's love; which counts its saints by millions; and the blood of whose martyrs has made all earth hallowed ground.

He is admitted into the goodly fellowship of the faithful of all ages and climes, and every day, throughout all the earth, the universal Church sends up her prayers for him, and all the Church above receives them, and, with her own, bears them as sweet incense up before the throne of the almighty and eternal God.

He is a true nobleman, more than the peer of kings or Cæsars; for he is a child of the King of kings, and, if faithful unto death, heir of a crown of life, eternal in the heavens that fadeth not away. Such a man is no slave. His soul is free; he looks into the perfect law of liberty. Can tyrants enslave him? No, indeed; not because he will turn on the tyrant and kill, but because he can die

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