fested from time to time in an exceptionally marked way. Thus, to quote Archbishop Moran, six hundred years after the entombment of our saint, St. Louis, King of France, solemnized his return to his kingdom, after six years' absence, by the gift to the church of Peronne, of another rich shrine for the relics of St. Fursey. It was of gilt metal, enriched with precious stones, and adorned with statues of the twelve Apostles; and the king himself, with several bishops, assisted at the translation of the sacred relics, on the 17th of September, 1256. Again the small portion of the relics saved from profanation amid the demoniac scenes of 1793, was placed in the Church of St. John the Baptist, where they are now preserved. Lastly: on the 12th of January, 1853, the bishops of the ecclesiastical province of Rheims, then assembled in Provincial Synod at Amiens, proceeded to Peronne, and once more enshrined in a rich case the relics of its great patron saint.* During far more than a thousand years, therefore, this sainted exile of Erin has been an object of extraordinary veneration in the place where his relics are laid, and of honour throughout France generally. He is usually regarded as a French saint, and is far better known abroad than in the land of his birth. In fact, his insular fame has been absorbed in the superior splendour of his continental renown. The personality of the Milesian Furseus is not always recognised in that of "St. Farcy of France," or "St. Furse of Peronne." That his name is now more frequently heard amongst us than it was for generations past, is due to the extension in these our days of the study of Dante. After a laborious and reverential study of the great Florentine, extending over six hundred years, Dantean scholars have reached the poetic sources of the Divine Comedy; and at the fountainhead they find the Celtic spring-the Vision of St. Fursey. MY LADY: A PORTRAIT. BY KATHARINE TYNAN. SEF, my sweet pale lady, goeth do wicked town, And her steadfast face a shadow hath "Irish Saints in Great Britain," chap. xii. By the side of her go angels three, Her soft golden hair is streaked with gray, For the dear Lord her true lover is. Her small hands have healing in their touch; Oft a fevered child hath found sweet rest, And she kneels beside a dying bed, While the wan lips "babble of green fields," Down she bends, and murmurs tenderly The dear blessed Jesus comes apace, So she speaks, till enters the dark room He shall stoop, and to the sick one say: Sometimes for a baby, soft and cold, Still small face 'neath clinging rings of gold, Whose sweet song shall never more be heard. She hath wept her heart out wearily, Closed the dead blue eyes that understand, Where the ways of sin are dark and dim, Little children hail her coming sweet, As she goes, she sets no hearts astir, PIGEONHOLE PARAGRAPHS. THE chronic rush of articles to the head has left no opportunity for continuing the rather useful and convenient series which began, under the above heading, in the middle of our sixth volume. Looking back now from the middle of our twelfth tome, we find that only in one year was room found for more than one or two sets of these snippets of articles. They are supposed to differ from the "Winged Words," which many seem to relish, in this respect that they are supposed to be more or less original, unless when expressly marked as borrowed. For instance, the next pigeonhole contains a recent utterance of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, too long for a "winged word," and perhaps not without its utility for writers and readers. Any article that seems particularly insipid to me may suit some other palate admirably. VOL. XII., No. 137. 45 "Nobody is interesting to all the world. An author who is spoken of as universally admired will find, if he is foolish enough to inquire, that there are not wanting intelligent persons who are indifferent to him, nor yet those who have a special and emphatic dislike to him. If there were another Homer, there would be another Homeromastix. An author should know that the very characteristics which make him the object of admiration to many, and endear him to some among them, will render him an object of dislike to a certain number of individuals of equal, it may be of superior intelligence. Doubtless, God never made a better berry than the strawberry, yet it is a poison to a considerable number of persons. There are those who dislike the fragrance of the water-lily and those in whom the smell of the rose produces a series of those convulsions known as sneezes. He (or she) who ventures into authorship must expect to encounter occasional instances of just such antipathy, of which he and all that he does are the subjects. Let him take it patiently. What is thus out of accord with the temperament or the mood of his critic may not be blamable; nay, it may excellent. But Zoilus does not like it or the writer-the reason why he can't tell, perhaps, but he does not like either; and he is in his rights, and the author must sit still and let the critic play off his idiosyncrasies against his own." * be As we have begun with a quotation, let quotations form the staple of this present batch of pigeonhole paragraphs. Here is Swinburne's sonnet to the memory of Richard Doyle. Would that the poet had as pure a conscience as the artist, and as firm a faith! A light of blameless laughter, Fancy bred, Soft-souled and glad and kind as love or sleep, Fades, and sweet Mirth's own eyes are fain to weep Weep, elves and fairies all, that never shed Tear yet for mortal mourning; you that keep The doors of dreams whence nought of ill may creep, Let waters of the Golden River steep The rose roots whence his grave blooms rosy red, About the summer silence of its bed; And nought less gracious than a violet peep Between the grass grown greener round his head. Gladstone ended his Rectorial Address at the University of Glas gow, in 1879, with these words of warning to the students :-" Do not believe those who too lightly say that nothing succeeds like success; effort, gentlemen,-honest, manful, humble effort-succeeds by its reflected action upon character, especially in youth, better than success. Success indeed too easily and too early gained, not seldom serves, like winning the first throw of the dice, to blind and stupefy. Get knowledge all you can; and the more you get, the more you breathe upon its nearer (sic ? clearer) heights their invigorating air, and enjoy the widening prospects, the more you will know and feel how small is the elevation you have reached in comparison with the immeasurable altitudes that yet remain unscaled. Be thorough in all you do, and remember that, though ignorance often may be innocent, pretension is always despicable. Quit you like men, be strong, and the exercise of your strength to-day will give you more strength to-morrow. Work onwards and work upwards; and may the blessing of the Most High soothe your cares, clear your vision, and crown your vision with reward.” * There has been lately opened, says the Dublin correspondent of the Weekly Register, a new and interesting branch of the National Gallery of Ireland-an Historical Portrait Gallery of " eminent men and women, statesmen and others, who were politically or socially connected with Ireland, or whose lives serve in any way to illustrate her history or throw light on her literary and artistic records." These words, quoted from the catalogue issued by Mr. Henry Doyle, R.H.A., the accomplished Curator of the Gallery, so exactly define the objects and intentions of the new branch that no others are necessary. A large hall of the building has been specially allocated to this collection, which embraces not only a number of pictures which had been previously distributed amongst the general collection, but also a number of items new to the public. A glance at the catalogue will show that a large amount of historical and literary ground has been already covered; but, should conspicuous characters of Ireland's past be missed, visitors will be pleased to remember that "Rome was not built in a day," and that the collection must be made, not according to the order of time, interest, and importance, but according to that of possibility. More than enough, however, there is already to move the patriotic beholder, to stimulate the industry of the student of history, and to excite the imaginations of the poetical. At one end of the room is a large picture of the meeting of the Volunteers of 1779, in College-green, painted by Wheatley, and deposited by the Duke of Leinster in the gallery. There are several likenesses of O'Connell, most of them taken at a period in the life of the great Tribune when his features are only remembered by the oldest now living of those who saw him. One is an oil picture by George Mulvany, R.H.A. Another is an original sketch by "H.B.," in which the Liberator and two other eminent men of the day are shown in a group. There is |