called to mind, however, that such was also the condition of the times, and that the events we deplored might have worn a different aspect to those engaged in them. There must have

been intervals of peace, else literature and the arts, nay, life itself, must have ceased to be.

Cornelius was of opinion that the priesthood might devote a portion of time to the diffusion of knowledge, and the inculcation of principles of reason and morality. To them it could prove no disparagement; nay, rather, it would enlarge their thoughts, extend their usefulness, and prevent that continual straining after mere dogmatic theology, which, all must admit, is not the most important, much less the only, branch of human inquiry.

"Unhappily," said he, "the clergy, at least those of your communion, are too much dissociated from human ties. Celibacy, that cruel device, however it may have subserved the

E

policy of Rome, neither identifies the people with the priest, nor the priest with the people. Sad is the alternative, were it but in a single instance, of remediless obligation or secret sin. How greatly are they to be compassionated who groan under a tie that death alone can loosen whose souls are the battle-ground of a combat never ending, always beginning!"

We were to proceed on the morrow. I sat late with my parents. Their hearts were sore; but they exulted in the prospect that one day I should return a healer of souls. All my powers, they thought, were cheaply embarked to ensure a consummation so desirable. What, indeed, were life or sacrifice, so I bore the honoured name of Father. They wot not of drudgery in the pursuit of a knowledge that is not knowledge-vain and narrow dialectics that shrivel up the soul! They gave no heed to the violation of rights that God had given, and which no man was entitled to take away.

Yet was there an alternative: I might be a peasant still! What, if generation through generation seen dimly back, my fore-fathers owned the soil their descendants tilled, it booted not: my zeal for knowledge, my ambition, if it must be so, was too insatiate to suffer me to remain as I was born. To be a priest, indeed, was not my vocation I was not the vocation of a man but it was all that lay open to me; and in due time I became one, became what I am.

THE DREAM.

Ir was past cock-crow, and the stars began to decline as my father gave me his last embrace, and the tears of my aged mother fell fast on the cheek she kissed. Their failing feet dragged heavily on the earthen floor as they retired to a broken rest. I paused by the embers of a decaying turf-fire, which, dimly smouldering,

cast faint gleams round the humble apartment. I thought over my past career, pondered that which was to come. My secluded life, the fewness of my associates, my intended destination, and early intellectual culture, had driven me into myself-created a world within the breast, to which I was constantly resorting for occupation and relief.

I looked out. Worlds above, around, hung countless in the sky; while the multitudinous firmaments that make up the star-stream, glittered gorgeously amid the ether!

Insensibly I found myself outside our dwelling, and had closed the lowly door. Here and there mists filled the hollow of the valley or languidly rolled along the level ground. The odour of hay, for it was spring, came sweetly on the sense; the rail repeated its monotonous chant, and now and then was heard, as one hears on summer nights, the gentle call of the cuckoo.

I was in no humour for repose, so step followed step, and foot-fall foot-fall, along the stony yet grass-bordered causeway that led among the hills. At length I found myself

beside a ruined arch and ivied wall. Those emerald-green, arrowy leaves so beautiful, so bright, quivered in the breath of the fragrant night. Lowly graves were around. It was the burying-place of the sons and daughters of the soil, who, unless hurried off elsewhere,

had there been wont to

thousand years or more.

sleep the great sleep a

Many an exile, when

sick or dying, would have forfeited his chance of recovery for the certainty of reposing at last by that old wall.

I sat by Marion's grave, for she too lay there. Already odorous honeysuckle shed sweetest fragrance on the place of her repose. A holy thrill came over me. I was a solitary living