Then the crowd stood back and greeted with hearty shouts every fresh outburst of the fire, while the flame, growing in height and volume, mounted higher and higher, threatening the clouds above and filling the lads below with merriment.

Meanwhile the sturdy farmers lighted the torches and distributed them among their boys, assigning to each one his portion of the harvest. They in their turn dashed off at full speed into the gardens and fields, waving the torches over their heads, and casting the fire among the green corn and yellow wheat. They kept this up as long as the torches lasted, and did not return until they had thus visited every sown field, and burned some of the first fruits of the harvest, as a sweet-smelling sacrifice to God.

All this, however, was but the beginning. After supper, the whole village, young and old, married and single, the old grandfather and grandmother even, came out to see the fire. The boys had meanwhile put off their working dress and put on their best Sunday clothes, and the girls flitted about like fairies in their bright mantles and kirtles of green. Then appeared Mike, the fiddler, greeted with three cheers as he drew his ancient Cremona from its green bag. Reels and quadrilles were arranged, and soon the night air vibrated in unison with the merry music, and the nimble motions of the dancers. From the hill-top on which I was standing, I could see that our fire was only part of a great chain which spread itself along the Glen and up the mountain side. As the night darkened I could see the movements of the torches and catch the strains of distant music, which told of other social gatherings like

our own.

I was struck with the grandeur of this scene, and wished to know something of the origin of these bonfires. I was putting questions to those nearest at hand, when the village schoolmaster came forward and gave me some interesting explanations. "You see, sir," he said, "when St. Patrick came amongst us, he was so pleased with our island that he converted not only the people, but the hills and the groves, and the holy wells and sacred fires of the Druids also. He hallowed the hills of Ireland by erecting churches where the Crom-cruach or Sunpillar once stood. He built monasteries in the sacred groves. The mountain springs' worshipped by the Druid he turned into baptismal fonts for the regeneration of his numerous converts, and they remain to us as places of pilgrimage down to the present day. He hallowed even the green sod by referring the little shamrock that grows at the Irishman's foot to the first mystery of our religion -Father, Son, and Holy Ghost existing in one Divine Nature, as the three leaves of the shamrock exist on one stem.

"The conversion of the Sacred Fires took place in this way. A short time after St. Patrick's arrival, he heard that the great feast of Beal-tine, that is, the Beal-fire, which took place annually about the time of the vernal equinox, was to be celebrated that year with great pomp at Tara. He thought this a fitting occasion to announce the Gospel to the assembled nobles. Breaking off, therefore, his labors in Down, he journeyed up towards the Irish capital. On reaching Slane, in the present county Meath and only a short distance from Tara, he

paused to celebrate the feast of Easter, which this year coincided with Beal-tine. Pitching his tent, he lighted a fire in the open air, according to the custom of the Church on Holy Saturday, and proceeded with the usual ceremonies.

"Meanwhile the Druids at Tara, perceiving the fire, brought word to King Leogaire that strangers had landed, and contrary to law had lighted a fire in advance of the royal signal, and that unless this fire was put out theirs would be forever extinguished, and his kingdom thrown into confusion. The king, thinking that an enemy was coming. upon him, placed himself at the head of his forces, and marched out to do battle with the audacious foe. But on coming near Slane, he found that the imaginary host had reduced itself to a few peaceful-looking men praying in a tent. He halted in his march, and sent some of his guards to bring the strangers to him.

"So well did St. Patrick apologize for his intrusion that the king invited him to come up to court next day, and explain his mission before the Druids, the bards, and the assembled chieftains. Preceded by his little band of clergy, attired in his episcopal robes, and chanting a Christian hymn, the Saint on the following day, which was Easter Sunday, entered Tara, and was received by the high king of Ireland and his court in solemn assembly. In this event, sir, I have always been at a loss which to admire more, the Christian intrepidity of St. Patrick, or the simple and ready disposition of the Irish king to hear the truth. We have on the one hand an unknown stranger, coming up into the Irish capital at a time when the minds of the people were inflamed by the performance of their own religious rites, and penetrating through files of mail-clad warriors into the presence of a pagan king, to unfold a new doctrine, and maintain it against the sages and heathen priests by whom he was surrounded. And on the other we have a king, the head of a pagan people, contrary to his country's customs and against the wishes. of the Druids, in the midst of great national festivity, suspending all other business, to give welcome and a ready hearing to the humble stranger, who had come to announce Christ to him and to his subjects.

"The discourse of the Saint was violently opposed by the Druids; but before its close he succeeded in reducing them to silence, and won for himself the favor of the assembly. The king gave him permission to teach Christianity throughout the kingdom. The royal poet, Dubtach, was converted on that day, and ever after cherished the Saint with the warmest affection, and dedicated his talents henceforth to Christianity. Erc, the young noble, who rose up to give his seat to St. Patrick at his entrance, was received among the clergy who accompanied the Saint on his missions, and we afterwards hear of him as bishop of Slane. It is needless to add that the fire that was destined henceforth to light up the hills of Erin, was not the fire of the Druids but the fire of St. Patrick, no longer the fire of Beal but the fire of Christ. The fire that burned at the return of spring no longer represented the material sun returning from the southern hemisphere, but Christ, the Sun of Justice, rising glorious from the dead. And the fire of the summer solstice, on the 21st of June, no longer blazed in honor of the material sun, standing on the tropic, but to the one true God, who from His throne in heaven fills the world with light and love.

"For this sun which we see,' says St. Patrick in the book of his Confessions, 'ises daily in our behalf at the command of God. But it will never reign, nor shall its splendor remain always; and all who adore it shall fall into punishment with the wicked. We, however, believe and adore the true Sun, who is Christ.'

"The Irish youth, therefore," the schoolmaster went on to say, "whilst lighting his bonfire, and scattering embers among the wheat on St. John's eve, thinks no more of Beal or fire-worship, but of the one true God, who has strengthened his arm and made fruitful his fields. The name of John, too, brings to his mind the apostle of love, who above all others shared the sacred flame of charity that burns in the heart of Christ, and verified in his life that saying of his master: 'I come to cast fire on the earth and what will I but that it be kindled."

While the schoolmaster was speaking, I noticed that the fire had burned low, the music had ceased; the heads of families were now going silently around the fire, the beads were in their hands, and their lips were moving. And as the young persons began modestly following their example, I too joined in this pious procession, thanking Christ, through the intercession of St. John and the Blessed Mother Mary, for the great gift of faith and charity which He had bestowed on these good people, and asking that it might spread until the whole world should be enlivened by its light and heat. C. in Messenger of Sacred Heart.

A Baby's Trouble.

WE say that the promiscuous kissing of children in general is to be deprecated. The mildest sort of harm resulting from compulsory kissing is the nauseating of the child. Many persons in their zeal to kiss a child do not stop to consider whether they are themselves pleasant persons to kiss; they assume it. The poor child often has a most unsavory experience, we need not go into details, and all this in the name of affection. A child too young to express its dislike in words is often not only heartily kissed but violently hugged and tossed, and not seldom inverted in the enthusiasm of the visitor; and it is a stout baby whose breath is not taken away, and whose stomach stands it all. There are, however, more distinct and serious troubles that may arise from the custom of kissing children. The contagious disorders of mouth and throat can be communicated in this way, and probably often are. They certainly are in adults. The breath of persons suffering from whooping-cough, measles, and scarlatina is universally dreaded; but, except in the first-named, owing to the isolation of the patients, these diseases are probably rarely spread in this way. The danger, we believe, is especially great in connection with the various kinds of sore throat. No one with a sore throat, however slight, should kiss a child. A hundred times it will do no harm, perhaps, and the next time it may do irreparable injury. In the practice of many physicians these things

are well understood. When little ones rush at the welcome visitor, each with his kiss ready for delivery, it is self-denial not to accept it; but usually a word of explanation relieves the child of any sense of slight. It is easy enough to express our tenderness by some caress which cannot harm.

One Name Sufficient.

"GIVE your daughters but one name in baptism," cried out a thoughtful clergyman once, "and she ought to be perfectly content with that."

This brings us to speak of a custom coming only too much into vogue, of dropping the good, old-fashioned English terminations of female Christian names, and adopting the "ie" termination, in imitation, probably of the French. Hence our Julie, Sallie, Caddie, Mattie, Pollie, Lucie, Mamie, Nellie, Katie, and most to be deplored of all, Marie.

This "Marie" is a corruption of Mary, the sweetest of all female names. It is derived from the Hebrew, and signifies "exalted." The Magnificat will show the great exaltation of Mary, the Blessed Virgin, who was Mother of the Son of God made man. In all ages since her time the name Mary has been conceded to be the most exalted, and in pious Catholic families it is almost always perferred for a daughter.

Let the great name of Mary, therefore, continue to be preferred. It is not only endeared to us by religion; it has ever been a favorite name with the poets.

But we return to the "ie" movement. We hope our fair friends will be content with the actual, plain, old-fashioned names given them at the sacred font. And let them not only eschew modern innovation, or rather affectation, in their names, but let them also learn to love the old, robust habits and trains of thought, taste and feeling prevalent in the days of their mothers and grandmothers. Let each be content with one name; and the best of all is the name of Mary.

Catholic Columbian.

THE FIRST DRINK.- Charles Lamb, one of the brightest spirits. ever extinguished by drink, wrote mournfully, looking back upon his childhood: "Could the youth to whom the flavor of the first glass was delicious look into my desolation, and be made to understand what a dreary thing it is when a man feels himself going down a precipice. with open eye and passive will; to see his destruction, and not have the power of will to stop it; and yet to feel it all the way emanating from himself; to perceive all goodness emptied out of him, and yet not be able to forget the time when it was otherwise, how he would avoid the first temptation to drink!"

JUVENILE DEPARTMENT.

OUR LADY'S SHRINE.

'Twas a lonely spot in the forest,
Where that simple shrine was placed,
Yet the brow of the dear Madonna
With sweet wild flowers was graced.

And the hand of the Infant Jesus

Was filled with the forest fern,
And below, in a niche quite sheltered,
A taper was placed to burn.

I was weary from hours of travel,
But I knelt me down to pray,
When I heard a light footstep coming,
The step of a child, that way.

I had thought, while my prayers I whis-
pered

To the Mother and the Child,

If men or the angels tended

That shrine in the forest wild.

So I watched, as the steps drew nearer,
And waited what might be done,
And sheltered myself in the shadows,
For even had almost come.

'Twas a child that I saw approaching,
And her eye was full of love
As she gazed at the dear Madonna,
And the Infant Child above.

In her arms she carried some flowers
The sweet wild flowers of the wood
And stooping, she rolled to the altar
A stone, upon which she stood.

And around the dear Child and Mother,
Wherever a flower could rest,

She scattered her wildwood treasures,
Then strewed on the ground the rest.

THE PEASANT MAID OF DOMREMY.

JOAN of Arc was born on the 6th of January, 1412, at a village called Domremy, in the west of France. Her father and mother were hard-working people; they had no riches, only a small cottage with a garden; but they brought up their five children to be good and Godfearing Catholics.

Joan was the elder of two daughters, and was a good, simple, and sweet girl; never idle, she worked with all her heart, spinning and helping her mother in the household work, or going into the fields with her father and brothers, while her favorite occupation was to take charge of the village flocks, and drive them out to the green pastures. With all her work she still found time to go to Mass every morning, and while she was watching her flocks she would often kneel down and pray, and every Saturday she loved to go with other young girls to a hermitage dedicated to Our Lady of Bermont, and there burn a candle in honor of the Blessed Mother. Sometimes her young companions would laugh at her and say she was too pious, and although these remarks would cause her to blush, she continued her way of life in spite