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BISHOP IRELAND, of St. Paul, Minnesota, in an admirable discourse of characteristic strength on the educational question, says that we need a body of trained Catholic laymen in this country always ready and able to use their pen in defence of truth. Says the Bishop: "Men who wish to wield influence in this country must be well educated. is the cultured mind that commands respect and directs events. Every Catholic child must have the advantage of a good, practical, school education; but the children of our more wealthy people, after having gone through the course at the parish school, should be sent to some higher school or college to complete their education. It is a common error to suppose that because some men of very little school training have by native shrewdness amassed great wealth, therefore a college education is worthless. If men devoid of education have done so well, what might not the same men accomplish if possessed of superior knowledge? And, after all, money-making is not the great object of life. There are nobler purposes than money-making for Catholics to live for-purposes to the attainment of which superior education is absolutely necessary.

The Meade Family.

A WASHINGTON despatch to a New York paper some days past, announcing the death of Miss Meade, sister of the late Gen. George H. Meade, commander of the army of the Potomac, says her father "was once minister to Spain, and that his family were born there," etc.

The father of Gen. Meade was never minister to Spain, nor did he ever hold any office of honor or emolument under the Government of the United States in that country. He was, I think, a native of Ireland,— but came to this country when a mere lad,—if not, his father was. The name is purely Milesian. It is derived from the drink of the ancient and medieval Irish, honey and water. Some say it is from meadow.

Richard W. Meade was a merchant at Philadelphia at the beginning of this century. He moved to Cadiz, Spain, where he resumed. business, dealing largely in grain, provisions of all kinds. Some of the old residents of Cadiz say that he was in copartnership with the American consul, who was at this time permitted to transact business,— in fact, was a merchant ship-chandler; others say he was not. As veracity is almost an unknown factor in daily life in this charming city, we do not exactly know how this is; but we do know that Mr. Meade was an American merchant at Cadiz for many years, and that his four children were born there in the Calle Baluarte, a street at the end of Calle Aduana, and the fashionable part of the city.

The family born there were, the late Capt. R. W. Meade, U. S. N., and father of the accomplished naval officer of the same name, at present in the service. The late Gen. George H. Meade, Mrs. Col. John D. Graham, U. S. A., and the maiden lady who died the other day at Washington.

Col. Graham was an officer in the engineer corps, and was stationed for many years in charge of the improvement of the harbor of Chicago. His son, Commander John D. Graham, U. S. N., is on the active list, and is, I believe, the only grandson of the Cadiz merchant on the female side.

During the long wars of Napoleon and Spain the victualler of the Spanish armies was Don Ricardo W. Meade, as he was called. American provisions then and now were in great demand, and there were few ports in Europe without an American merchant or two; but the doubtful act of 1856, prohibiting consuls from carrying on business, struck a blow at foreign American merchants all over the world from which they never have recovered, and probably never will.

There is not a port from Havre to Gibraltar but has English and German merchants. All along the Spanish coast to Marseilles, and from there to Palermo, in fact, on each side of the great sea, and of the Italian peninsula, German and English merchants are numerous; Americans were once known in these places, but they are known no more since August, 1856.

The credit of Mr. Meade was always first class; the funds of the

Spanish government were pretty low from 1805 to 1815. The former sent home for cargoes of provisions; the latter took them, and gave promises to pay for them, but the latter were never honored when they became due. This angered the American merchant. He got mad, and went to the gobierno-militar-military governor - and demanded his money. The governor heard him through, and quietly called an attendant, who conducted the American to the guard-house, where he was detained until the papers were made out which confined him in the venerable old fortress Santa Catalina.

To be robbed of all fortune was bad; to be imprisoned for seeking it was worse; but the unkindest cut of all was to be swindled out of it by his own country. The imprisonment didn't last long, but it sufficed to break up the business of Mr. Meade, who returned with his large family and scant means to Philadephia.

Three to

Spain, when the Meade claim was presented by the American minister at the court of Madrid, offered as an excuse her depleted treasury, but that she would pay it as soon as she had funds. four hundred thousand dollars was a large sum of money sixty-six years ago. This was the amount of the Meade claim. At last a way out offered itself: Spain agreed to cede Florida to the United States for and in consideration of a certain sum of money minus the Meade debt of $364,000. The United States agreed to the same under her seal and the signature of her representative in 1819. The balance of the money was paid to Spain; the $364,000, with interest, never left the United States Treasury. It is there to this day, and was when the old Philadelphia merchant died, almost of a broken heart, without a dollar. This is the origin of the Meade claim, that one hears so much about; but it should be called:

The Swindle or Robbery of the Meade Family.

During the war, when the gallant commander of the army of the Potomac, Gen. Meade, was gathering laurels upon every battle-field, the Gaditanos-people of Cadiz—were very proud of him. When Gettysburg's victory became known, there was a little demonstration in his honor. At all times this pretty Spanish city had a leaning towards the cause of the Union, and not the least of the reasons was that Gen. George H. Meade was un hijo de Cadiz - a son of Cadiz.

R. F. FARRELL.

EMBARRASSING MISTAKES.-"I intended to tell Jane to bring a fresh bucket of water," said the wife of Prof. Nottlehead, looking up from her sewing. "You doubtless mean a bucket of fresh water," rejoined her husband. "I wish you would pay a little attention to rhetoric; your mistakes are embarrassing."- Some moments later the professor said: "My dear, that picture would show to better advantage if you were to hang it over the clock."-"Ah!" she replied, "you doubtless mean if I were to hang it above the clock. If I were to hang it over the clock we couldn't tell what time it is. I wish you would pay some little attention to rhetoric; your mistakes are embarrassing.'

A Christmas Rose.

From the French of Marie Franc, by Th. Xr. K.

"NIECE, what kind of order are you giving? It has been raining for a week, the roads are in a dreadful condition, the church an icehouse."

"Uncle, you're perfectly free to remain; but there's no reason to prevent me from hearing midnight Mass at my parish church. I owe good example."

"That's no reason! You are a model Christian, everybody knows that. There is no need of exposing your health. If you want, Clotilde, the abbé will say his Mass for us the minute midnight strikes, and we shall attend High Mass to-morrow."

Madame Ternieres shook her head. She held to traditions; she loved the old church in which she had been baptized, the family pew, where her mother and sisters, dear departed ones, had knelt, and when she was at Sablière she never missed services on Sunday, although she had a chaplain for her own chapel.

Widowed at twenty-three, the young woman never more appeared in the salons where admiration and sympathy had erstwhile hailed her. She did indeed pass the Lenten season at Paris, but it was to hear the course of sermons. Her uncle Valory would have drawn her into the worldly whirlwind; he had his labor for his pains. He was besides obedient to all his niece's wishes, and surrendered without condition, after would-be resistance. This time, too, he gave way, convinced that he would be committing an imprudence, but convinced at the same time of the necessity of going with his dear, stubborn niece, who was always right.

At twenty minutes after eleven he was at the foot of the staircase. Madame Ternieres had not entertained any doubt of his promptness. She gravely thanked him, and remained silent during the short journey that her good trotters made in a few minutes. M. Valory had not exaggerated the condition of the roads, but Mme. Ternieres was not at all worried about jolts..

After Mass the young widow cut her prayers short, on her uncle's account. For all that, they were the last to leave the church. There was not a cloud in the sky. Madame Ternieres thought of the star of the magi, whilst admiring the constellations. M. Valory was saying to himself that the abbé's Mass must have been finished long ago.

"You couldn't think, uncle, what a fancy I have just had?" said Madame Ternieres, as she got into her carriage. "I thought I saw a Christmas rose on a tomb."

"You are very poetic, niece," growled M. Valory, who was getting cross by dint of being sleepy.

The young woman repressed a smile, and leaned out of the carriage to watch again the dazzling fairy host of the stars. A cry of alarm escaped her lips: the carriage had climbed a hill which looked down.

upon the village, and below, amongst the houses on the outskirts, a reddish flame was shooting skywards.

"Fire! fire!" she screamed. "Uncle, it's dreadful! Hurry on, Benoît, let us hasten to the assistance of those unfortunate people!" "Halloo! halloo! up, all of you; the Moisants will be burned alive in their beds."

Benoît's sonorous voice had quickly spread the alarm. M. Valory, thoroughly awakened, took command; Mme. Ternieres fell in line in the improvised bucket brigade.

The Moisants kept the only inn in the village. The old father, a paralytic, the children in their cradle, the eldest son, a consumptive, had been asleep since nightfall; the father and mother, who could not leave their sick, had not prolonged their watch; the only one up was a little servant-girl, who had hardly got back from the Christmas Mass. At the first cries of alarm she opened her window.

"Marinette!" shouted Benoît, "wake the house, girl, and let everybody get out!"

Mme. Ternieres presided at the rescue. The proprietors of the house, paralyzed with fear, let themselves be led by the good lady. With marvellous presence of mind she fought the fire for the slender possessions of these poor people.

"Madame, the stairs are no longer safe," said Benoît to her.

The Moisants had as much as they could do to carry the old father and the children down. The little servant-girl came running up like one demented.

"There was somebody in the big room: a farmer from St. Avil and a child. Lord! they were so tired, they haven't heard a thing." Mme. Ternieres looked at her uncle. "They must be saved," she said. Benoît ran for a ladder. The young woman was trembling. Moisant was tearing his hair. Mme. Ternieres ran up the stairs, while M. Valory was disputing with Benoît. She knew where the large room was, facing on the yard. She returned with the little girl in her arms; her silk dress was dripping with water, but unscorched.

"Clotilde, it was tempting God! You might have died!"

She made no answer: she forgot everything as she pressed to her affection-hungered heart the innocent creature she had snatched from death. The farmer was also rescued by Benoît's generous courage.

The High Mass on Christmas Day was celebrated in thanksgiving.

Mme. Ternieres carried to her home the little girl, whom she covered with kisses and tears. She had so longed for the happiness of being a mother! The sight of this child reawakened her desire. The grandfather could not find words to speak his thanks.

"Give the child to her, my friend," said the kind uncle. "I pledge you my word she will make her happy. Don't I understand your wishes, Clotilde? You were dreaming of flowers that night; you will have a real Christmas rose."

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