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THE CATHOLIC HERALD,
Vol. x Xx V.—No
Philadelphia, T Thursday, June 3, 184
Whole Number | 751.
THE CATHOLIC HERALD
18 PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY
M. FITHIAN,
No. 82 South Third Street, Philadelphia,
HENRY MAJOR, Epitor.
Terms.—T wo Dollars and Fifty Cents, if paid
inadvance, or Three Dollars,payable hal fyearly.
No paper discontinued until all arrearagesare
settled.
All Communications, except from Agents or
Subscribers enclosing remittances, must be post
paid, and addressed ‘+ To the Editor of the Ca-
tholic ‘lerald, Philadelphia, Pa.’”
ST. GODRIC OF FINCHALE;* OR THE
ANCHORITE.
. BY JAMES HENRY DIXON, ESQ.
When the curfew’s toll is stealing
Slowly o’er the dew-beat lea,
When the matio chimes are pealing,
Ever, ever, prayeth he.
Peasant to his day work wending,
Sees him on his pillar bending ;
Evening pilgrim, sad and weary,
Listen to his Miserere,
Miserere Domine!
‘Thirty summer suns have fouad him
Bowing in the day star’s glow—
Thirty wiaters dealt around him
Storm aod tempest, hail and ssow—
On his pillar still he kneeleth,
Fervently to heaveo appealeth,
“ Blessed Mary, Iam weary,
Pie Jesu! Miserere,
Miserere Domine.”
Hark! the Abbey bells are ringing,
Joyous is the holy day!
Peasant girls are garlands flinging,
Flowerets deck their queen of May.
Lo, to village green repairing,
Age, the sports of childhood shariog :
Yet his mood of mind is dreary,
Suil Ae chaunts his Miserere,
Miserere Domine !
Hark! the organ loudly swelling,
Sacred, soleina rites are said ;
Sool bath left its earthly dwelling,
Goudrie slumbers with the dead !
Morning's glance no more shall greet him,
Evening’s kindred shadows: meet bim;
Ile hath rest where rest the weary,
Sileat is hiv Miserere,
Miserere Domine! .
. The Abbey of Finchale, rendered famous by
the austerities of S Uric, was situated ina
secluded spot, in the ‘parish of St, Oswald, on
the bauks of the Wear, three wiles distant from
Durham. Its stately ruins are yet the favourite
resort of the antiquary aad the lover of Nature's
beauties; aud, unlike the curious visitur, many
also are attracted thither through reverence fur
the sacred spot, where, iu the days of England's
Catholicity, so mauy of her saintliest oruaments
spent their canihly exile. For further ioforma
tion on the of St. Godric, See Butler's
Lives of the aims, Vol. V. May 2ist
RELICS,
To the sentiments of the following extract
we cheerfully subscribe ;—but then how can
Protestants vo so, with any consistency ? Are
men of genius to be prized more highly than
our Saviour, or those whose virtues and supe-
rior excellence in following {lis footsteps have
entitled them to be considered as the ‘chosen
of God?” Every attack upon us, because we
revere the relics of Saints, or are proud of the
erogs, 18 unwillingly an affirmative answer to
the question, We leave, then, to those who
think Mizron’s house a sacred object, and yet
denounce the respect paid by Catholies to the
crucifix as superstitious, the difficult task of
clearing up the blasphemy which would be a
fair inference from their conduct,—They can-
Not escape, as they sumetines attempt to do,
by asserting that we worship such ubjecis, for
this they know to be a falsehood, as we do
not worship, but merely respect relics. —St.
Louis News Letter.
LITERARY RELICS.
‘The universal. reverence entertained for
men of genius, causes their residences and
every line ‘wing belonging to them, to be re-
garded with an unusual degree of interest.
Hence it is that relics of them—their auto-
graphs, pens, snuff-boxes, ard other articles
—are so eagerly sought after, and so highly
prized. The neighborhoods in which they
dwelt are wandered throngh with greater de-
light than others more beaatiful gr striking,
ut not so renowned. ** There is a charm,”
as Washington Irving observes, * about the
spot that has been printed by the footsteps of
departed beauty, and consecrated by the in-
spirations of the poet, which is heightened
rather than impaired by the lapse of ages.
It is inteed the gift of poetry to hallow every
place in which it moves—to breathe around
nature an odor more exquisite than the perfume
of the rose, and to shed over it a tint more
magical than the blush of morning.”
‘The house in which Milton resided between
the years 1651 and 1659, still exists at 18
York stree:, Westminster, Jeremy Bentham,
to whom the house Jately belonged, put a
tablet on the back wall, (believed to have
been the front in the poet's time) inscribed
“Sacred to Milton, Prince of Poeis.” ‘The
habitation wherein part of ** Paradise Lost”
was uniloubtedly composed, is now let ont to
two or three poor families, the ground floor
being converted into a chandler’s shop.
the parlor windows the poet could have com-
manded a view of St. James’ Park, more
Picturesque, then, than at present. At Chal-
font, in Buckinghamshire, is another resi-
dence of Milton’s, in which he composed
‘Paradise Regained.” ‘Though the pear
tree said to have been planted by his illus-
trious Latin secretary, Milion, has been more
fortunate, still flourishing in the pleasant gar-
dea of Christ’s College, where it was plante
by the youthful student.
Some years ago it suffered considerably
from a violent gale of wind, which sadly
shattered it; but its aged boughs are now
carefully propped up, and its trunk protected
by partial covering of lead. With these aids
it promises to look green for many years to
come. Its ferulity appears to have under-
gone no change; in the summer it is laden
with fruits, of which more than two bushels
of the finest flavor were gathered in the sea-
son of 1835. The smallest fragments from
this tree are religiously cherished by the
poet's numerous admirers, In August, 1790,
when Milton's coffin was discovered buried
under the desk in the chancel of the church
of St. Giles, Cripplegate, some friends of the
overseer contrived, at night time, to possess
themselves of the hair and some of the teeth
of the immortal poet. .
In the park of Peushert eastle, Kent, stands
a famous oak, said to have been planted at the
birth ot Sir Philip Sidney.
“What genius points to yonder oak ?
hat raptur © does my sou! provoke?
‘There let me hang a garland high,
‘There let my muse her accents try;
Bo there my earliest homage paid,
Be there my latest vigils mad
For thou wast plinted in the earth
The day that shone on Sidney's birth.”
In the grounds of Abbington Abbey, North-
amptonshire, stands Garrick's mulberry tree,
with this inscription upon copper attached to
one of its limbs: ** This tree was planted
by David Garrick, Esq., at the request of Ano
Thursby, a8 a growing testimony of their
friendship, 1778.”
Henry Kirk White's favorite tree, whereon
he had cut EH. K. W., 1805,” stood on the
sands at Whitton, in Northumberland, ull it
was. cut down by the woodman’s axe; batio
veneration for the poet's memory, the portion
bearing his initials was carefully preserved
in an elegant gilt frame.
An English traveller, desirous of possess-
ing a memorial of Madame de’ Seveigne,
purchased for the sum of eighteen thousand
francs the staircaise of her chateau at Prov-
nee,
Sir Isaac Newton's solar dial, which was
cutin stone, and attached to the manor house
at Woolsthorp, Lincolnshire, is now placed
in the Royal Society’s collection,
vars ago, a curious arm chair, which
had belonged to Gay, the poet, was sold at
public auetion at Barnstable, his native place,
Lt contained a drawer underneath the seal, at
the extremity of which was a smaller drawer.
connected with a rod ia front, by which it
was drawn out,
Benjamin Franklin's * fine erab tree walk:
ing stick, with a gold head curiously wrought
10 the form of the cap of liberty,”" is bequeath:
ed in a codicil to bis will, **40 the friend of
3
wankind, George Washington; adding,
“that if it had been a scepire, he has merited
it, and would become it,”
Thorpe’s **Catalogue of Autographs’
(1843) includes a letter from a Miss Smith,
of Arundale, forwarding to the Earl of Buchan
a chip taken from the coffin of the poet Burns,
when his body was removed from his first
grave to the mausoleum erected to his memory
in St. Michael’s church yard, Dumfries.
‘The tower of Montford, in Burgundy, was
Buffon’s study, and together with the gardens
in which the great naturalist used to recreate
himself, is religiously kept up by the inhabi-
tants,
Pope's house at Binfield has been pulled
down, but the poet's parlor still exists as a
part of the present mansion erected on the
spot. A paich of the great forest near Bin-
field has been honorably preserved, under the
name of Pope's wood, Lis houve at Twick-
enham is gone, the garden is bare, but the
celebrated grotto remains, stript, however, of
all that gave it picturesqueness, grace, and
beauty.
Cowper's house at Olney, is still standing
in the rvinous state so humorously described
by the poet; his parlor is occupied as a girl's
school. ‘he summer house in the garden
in which he used to sit conning his verses,
also remains, its walls covered with visitors
names, is residence in the neighboring
village of Weston has been much altered, but
is sull beautiful, with a profusion of roses in
fron
Goldsmith's cottage at Kilburn, wherein
he wrote the Viear of Wakefield, and the De-
serted Village, was taken duwn a few years
since to make way for new buildings.
——+02—__
From the Weekly Catholic Instructor.
A DREAMS
As | sat the other night, in the enjoyment
of reflection, among other objects which pre-
sented temselves to my mind, was, the con-
sideration of the greatness and diversity of the
number of religious sects in the Christian
world. On reviewing them, I silently wish
ed, as I had often done before, that I could
distingwish which was the true Church of
I could not let the thought pass, with=
out once more endeavoring to discover it; but
[ dwelt upon the subject as fruitlessly as ever.
I searched in vain: among the different sects,
I found some principles which I admired:
and bad they been collected in any one
Church, to that Chureh [ could willingly have
attached myself: but such a faith I could not
“Thus meditating, but unable to obtain my
wish, | continued musing, till, growing some-
what weary, 1 reclined myself to rest, and
soon | was overpowered with sleep, ‘The
subject of my waking thoughts still continued
present to my mind, which produced the fol-
lowing dream.
I appeared to be just commencing my
earthly pilgrimage to heaven, in the miust of
an immense mulutude of peuple, who seemed
bent upon the same journey. Before me lay
a broad open road, from which deviated a
number of other, though less inviting paths,
at the commencement ul which I porceived all
had set up a sign-post, severally directing all
passengers to pursue ils respective path, ani
announcing the name of its discoverer ; one
bearing the name of Arius, another Luther,
another Calvin, another Wesley, &c.; but 1
was particularly attracied by one universal
warning, which was (though all advised a
different way) not to pursue the ancient road
which lay straight before me, describing it as
extremely dangerous, and full of every evil
which could obstruct the pilgrim in his path,
which (though nove of these dangers were
visible) caused vast numbers immediately to
turn into one or the other of the side paths.
Atthe outset of the great road stood a vene-
rable‘old man, pious and dignified in his ap-
pearance,’ He beld in his hand an open book,
which, Iwas informed, was the exclusive
guide of the pilgrim's course; and which 1
perceived the generality of those around me,
read with various attention; and each, imme-
diately from the conclusion he formed, direct-
ed his steps down some one of the by-paths,
It was evident, this volume was regarded by
all as the guide to heaven, Ase I stood ob-
serving the multitude gradually disappearing.
and preparing myself for my turn to read and
choose my course, I could not help remark-
ing the disagreement in every one’s steps, one
to theother; and I was astonished to perceive
none ever asked the opinion of the sage who
held the book, and who, I could not hesitate
in supposing, was placed there to be the ex-
plainer of its contents.” It seemed to me,
from the moltitude of paths, and from their
diametrical disagreement, that the book was
nota sufficient guide. I oubted not the old
man could direct me in my choice ; | deter-
mined therefore to ask his counsel ¢ and im=
mediately walking up to him, I addressed
him in the following words:
Reverend Father, I am desirous, with the
multitade who are journeying onwards, to
discover the true way to heaven. Seeing all
those before me pursuing different paths, all
contrary in their course to one another; Lam
not so confident in my own opinion, as to
run a risk of following the wrong road, which, ¢
instead of terminating in the wished-for des-
tination, may lead into the territory of the
opposite country ; therefore, I beg, Reverend
Father, to be led by your advice.
Right, right, my son, (answered the vene~
rable sage) to heaven there is certainly but
one sure road; all others are uncertain: but,
I know the one I shall point out, is sure to
conduet you to the great Author who founded
i.—Here he showed me, from the book he
held, that the broad road before me, was the
one in which all the first Christian travellers
had walked, and that Jesus himself, the Son
of God, had with thousands of martyrs, mark-
ed it out with his blood.
He now called my attention, to observe
large clouds of mist, which enveloped a great
number of the by-ways, from their first set~
ting out. Upon my asking the cause of such
an appearance, he told me they were the
clouds of ignorance, doubt, and unbelief,
which those who were in them could not
see, so long as they continued to press for-
ward, but if ever they looked back, they then
became visible to them; and many, in conse+
quence, turned their backs on these paths,
and retraced their steps as fast as they
could,
1 was desirous to know how it was, that
the book which he held, should so mislead,
instead of guide, the pilgrim in his path? No
wonder, replied he, you ask that question:
our King knew the book itself was not suffi-
cient for his people, and therefore appointed
an interpreter, a living guide ; but fate has so
decreed it that many now prefer their own
jodgmentto that of heaven. You see in me,
continued he, the descendant of him who
first pointed out to your fathers, from this
hook, their course to heaven. [lim they
obeyed ; and when he pointed out this broad
flowery path, their steps followed his direc-
tion, But, alas! their sons have now stopt
their ears to the counsel of those who are
placed here to guide them in the right con-
ception of the book, which would direct them
to the one path; e.ch reading, misconceives,
and immediately wanders forth in an uncer-
tain course. (n the contrary, | point you to
the straight way which conducted your faih-
ers to the heavenly paradise; and 1 would
also lead yquito them, Thave in my wallet
the hand-writing of my ancestors, to prove it
has never been altered; therefore, my son,
pursue the read which God has founded.
I immediately bowed to the old man, in
token of thanks and acquiescence, and was
proceeding forward ; bat he desired me first
to follow him to the side of the road where
stood an ancient temple. First, says he,
receive the grace of the Holy King, by which
you are enutled to. walk in the path leading
to his city; and which shall preserve you
from all dangers, as long as you are untemit-
ung in your journeying forwards. Coming
up toa font, which stood in the centre of the
edifice, he. waa proceeding fo sprinkle me
with the blessed water, but, at that instant,
my dream dissolved—my sleep was disturbed
with the agitation of my mind—and I awoke.
J.V.R.
——
Sratistics or Ustrartanism.—There are
now in Boston twenty-five regularly-ordained ©
Unisarian ministers, settled over a8 many re-
ligious societies, and one unsettled clergyman
who ministers to another congregation—mak- .
ing twenty-six in all. Five of these are con-
nected with the ministry at large. The whole’
number receive salaries to the amount of
$42,000 annually, The houses in which’
they preach, and the sites on which the chureh-
es stand, are estimated tu be worth $800,000.
How many members belong to these so valled
churches, or whether there are any, itis diffi.