walls of Fredericksburg, did not flinch from performing the duty imposed upon him; and in unison with his feelings. After a brief and dispassionate condemnation of New York's flunky mayor, and the object of the meeting, he read a set of resolutions which divided the audience, and frustrated the purport of its mission. "England," said he, “has brought this upon her own shoulders. Atonement for the crimes of centuries has not been rendered; and when Heaven in its own good time sees fit, even in this mild form, to appease the vengeance invoked by the stream of martyrs' gore which crimsons every page of Irish history, then, I say, let England do her own felon setting." These words were rendered inaudible by the burst of applause, in which were mingled a few hisses, which shook the building, and drove the promoters of the gathering in disorder from the platform.

Though many of your readers may not endorse the extreme motivepower of the departed soldier, whose figure precedes this humble tribute, I trust they will, however, generously accord him the attributes of sincerity.

In local politics he took little if any interest, and yet in 1874 he was appointed School Trustee, which office he held for eleven years, during which period he was three times elected chairman of that body. On Jan. 30, 1883, he was honorably discharged from the Sixty-Ninth Regi

ment.

For a number of years, until Jan. 11, 1882, when he honorably retired, he was a member of the General Shield's Post, G. A. R., over which he was three times elected commander.

His health having been failing for some time, he decided on a trip to California to see his sister, Mrs. Hannah Connell, whom he had not met in thirty years, in the hope that change of air would build him up; but, alas, death pursued him, and would not now be robbed of its victim. Too often in front of danger he escaped its icy clutch, and evaded it until now, when we can least of all spare him.

At the time of his death he was accompanied by one of his sons, a fine, manly-looking fellow, in whom, with his brothers, let us hope, is transmitted the national spirit of their departed father.

EDWARD O'Donnell,

THE authorities of China have issued proclamations calling on the people to live at peace with Christian missionaries and converts, and explaining that the Christian religion teaches men to do right, and should therefore be respected. The proclamation reminds them that by becoming converts to Christianity they do not cease to be Chinese. "Know, therefore," says one of the proclamations, "all men of whatsoever sort or condition, that the sole object of establishing chapels is to exhort men to do right; those who embrace Christianity do not cease to be Chinese, and both sides, therefore, should continue to live in peace and not let mutual jealousies be the cause of strife between them." The change has been brought about without any outside

pressure.

Thy Will be Done.

I found not there the wished-for flowers,
I found but weeds of pain.

The boon I craved I found not there.
The day I thought would bring
Dear hope and love and sunshine fair
Had brought but sorrow's sting.

And when again night's shadows slept
On darkened hill and plain,
Despair into my bosom crept,
My heart could not sustain

Such weight of woe; and now I prayed
What I forgot before,

My God, "Thy will be done," I said,
I ask for nothing more.

If Thou withholdest aught from me,
Thy purposes are wise,
In their mysterious ministry
Thy love I recognize.

Thou, only, knowest what is best;
To thine, my will I bend,
In Thy dear love content and blest
And safe unto the end.

MARY GRANT O'SHERIDAN,

Teachers, Parents and Children.

THE Catholic Youth, of Brooklyn, N. Y., has these practical thoughts for parents, teachers and children. Too much care cannot be taken of the atmospheric condition of the class rooms in our parochial schools. Too much heat is as bad as too much cold, and in these winter months there is an inclination to sin by the first of these excesses. Sickness may be the result, or, if not, the hot little heads will not do much brain work in such an atmosphere. Proper airing of the class room is of as much importance as the daily lessons children recite or study.

Too much attention cannot be paid by parents to the home study of their children. They should see each day that the studies required for the following school day are faithfully learned, and that no time is wasted in play or unnecessary recreation. Parents, besides, should not require their children to do work around the house, which could be done by careful arrangement at some other time than that which should be occupied by their children in the study of their school lessons.

Constant and steady work in the school-room and at home is what counts in gaining an education. The fits and starts may be of service

for the moment and appear brilliant, but they die out. They are of the same nature as sparks from a fire, and never make a permanent blaze nor throw a steady heat. By constant, steady work a boy or girl, with the smallest talents, can always maintain an honorable place in a class, and sometimes even can surpass brighter pupils not only in the pursuit of knowledge, but also in worldly avocations afterward. They are foolish young people who will neglect the golden moments of their school days, and enter into the business of life ignorant of its impor tance and unprepared to conduct it to a success.

The only pleasure teachers can find in the exercise of their profession is to have classes that will study and obey their commands in the matter of conduct and general deportment. Teaching is a dull, tedious, wearing work, which the world is just beginning to realize and to compensate, yet it is the most important and most necessary of works. Without it the world would lie in ignorance and with it the world is elevated to a plane of light which knows no darkness. Men point with pride to some great structure an architect has built; but the human structure educated and trained to understand the object of its existence, and to live to gain that object, is a work far exceeding the productions of the highest skill or genius.

Famed Fontenoy.

GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF THE BATTLE-FIELD.

As attendants at lyceums and histrionic performances have time and again heard recited this celebrated piece, the annexed account will be of interest to our readers, which we find contributed by Alfred Webb to the Dublin Freeman's Journal:

Ever since I first read Davis' "Fontenoy," and that is a good many years ago, I wished to visit the scene of the battle which he so vividly describes. It was one of those wishes held somewhat indefinitely and impractically. However, this year, travelling on the Continent, I determined to gratify it. My historical studies have not led me to entertain much sympathy for the causes in which the Irish Brigade principally figured, least of all the wars of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. But they were my countrymen, driven into the service of Continental Powers by cruel oppression at home. I can never forget their history or their bravery, how

The land of their hearts' blood they never saw more;
For on far distant fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade,
Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade.

Returning, then, last week from Germany via Cologne, we left the main line at Liege, went on to Namur, and had a delightful run up the valley of the Meuse to Givet. The scenery is pleasing, and we hope some time to explore it, perhaps taking Dinant as a centre. Givet is

a bright little French town, strongly fortified, overlooked by a great citadel, and guarded by outworks on the opposite side of the river. As we rattled over the drawbridge and through the fortifications, we thought of Peter Simple and O'Brien's escape therefrom. [I hope many of your readers have taken as much enjoyment out of Marryat's novel as I have.] Next day we passed through the "forest" of the Ardennes, and reached Tournay in time from dinner. Fontenoy is four miles from Tournay. We drove there. It was a fine afternoon. Tournay is the centre of pottery and tile industry. We passed a number of large manufactories and some fine villas. Crossing the Escaut, up which some of those exquisitely neat and gayly painted Dutch boats were being towed by teams of horses, we entered the small town of St. Antoine. There the Prince de Ligne has a chateau, the tower of which must command a view of the surrounding country. We called on his steward to obtain permission to ascend this tower, but were informed that as the prince was then at home such permission could not be accorded. Half a mile of open cultivated country separates St. Antoine from Fontenoy. There we interviewed sundry of the inhabitants the smith working at his forge, an old man leading a cow drawing a harrow, a plowman, a pleasant girl who kept the neat public house, and who left her sewing-machine to answer our questions. All we could get out of any of them was that a great battle had been fought there that this was Fontenoy, that that was St. Antoine, and that there in the distance was De Barri's wood. We then called on the curé; he was very civil, but could not tell us much more, so we had to fall back on the meagre information afforded in a "Tournay Guide," which we had bought in the town, and on my recollection of Davis' poem.

The battle of Fontenoy was fought on the 11th of May, 1745, between the French and the Irish Brigade under Louis XV. and the combined army of the Austrians, Dutch, and English. The immediate object of the battle was the possession of Tournay. The French army was drawn up behind Fontenoy, with St. Antoine on its right and the wood on its left. We have all read of the amenities with which the contest opened. "Gentlemen of the French Guard," cried Lord Hay to the enemy, "fire!"-"Fire yourselves, we never fire first," rejoined Count Auteroche, commanding the French Grenadiers. The assaults on the French position by the allies were at first unsuccessful. Then the British advancing in a square, carried all before them, and the day would have been lost but for the intrepidity of the Irish Brigade and the French Reserves. In proportion to the number engaged it was one of the most hotly contested and bloodiest battles of the time. It is said to Louis XV.'s credit, that, wishing to inspire the Dauphin with a horror of war, he brought him over the field in the evening and said, "See, my son, what a miserable thing is a victory."

Let us now turn to Davis, and quote such lines from his poem as I can throw light upon :

Thrice at the huts of Fontenoy the English column failed.

Fontenoy is a scattered village of some twenty or thirty for the

most part one-storied cottages, roofed with red tiles. The graveyard in which, probably, most of the dead were buried, stands at the crossroads about the centre of the village. Possibly the church and house are much as they were as the time of the battle. Rows of pollard willows are planted here and there. The inhabitants appeared poor; the insides of the houses were neat.

And thrice the lines of St. Antoine the Dutch in vain assailed.

St. Antoine is a well-built, clean, prosperous place of three thousand inhabitants, the chief town of a small district, and a railway station. Its streets slope somewhat steeply down from the battle-field to the Escaut. I could not perceive any trace of earthworks probably they were only thrown up for the occasion. In the centre of the town, near the chateau before mentioned, are the ruins of what is said to have been the residence of the lords of the district, built in the twelfth century.

For tower and slope were filled with fort and artillery.

The forts consisted doubtless of the old castle, and of a ruined windmill we could perceive on the opposite side of the river. According to my information the French during the battle had a battery of six pieces stationed beside this mill, whence they kept up a galling fire upon the enemy over Fontenoy.

As vainly through De Barri's wood the British soldiers burst.

De Barri's wood consists apparently of pine trees. It is threefourths of a mile from Fontenoy. Probably it has been much cut away within the past one hundred and thirty years.

Steady they step adown the slope, steady they climb the hill.

The "slope" and the "hill" are not much more than the ordinary undulations in a gentle rolling country. There is nothing precipitous or marked about them. But we know how much a very slight elevation or depression counts for in warfare.

And on the open plain above they rose and kept their course.

Across the plain and far away passed on that hideous wrack.

The plain of the battle-field is now bare and under cultivation - no hedges or ditches of any kind. The roads pass over it as a private road passes through a demesne with us. The different properties must be well defined in some way, but there is no appearance of the divisions. This country looked parched and desolate, especially to eyes accustomed to our dear land of "green valley and rushing river." Potatoes and turnips were still in the ground; here and there the eye was somewhat relieved by patches of vetch. For the most part the ground was dry and dusty, and the people were busily engaged in preparing for winter crops, with their wooden harrows and rude plows drawn by cows and horses. From the plain we could see down into St. Antoine, and across the river to the spires and houses of the adjacent city. It was a pleas