HALF-MAST

HIGH.

His race is run, his voyage done,'
I could not choose but sigh;
Sad tears would flow if some could
know

That flag was half-mast high.'

Shine on, fair moon, and set not soon;
Look down, ye golden stars;
And shed your light on souls to-night
That feel their prison bars.
For that glad soul who sees the goal,
The heavenly haven nigh,
We will not weep, though on the deep
A flag rides half-mast high.
C. A. BARNARD.

FTER ears of failing health, the death of Pius IX., on February 7, 1878, has brought the longest pontificate to a close.

More than eighty-five years ago, in the May of 1792, Giovanni Maria Mastai Ferretti (such was the name of the future Pope) was born in the little town of Singaglia, where the first eleven years of his life were spent under the care of his devout and pious mother, the Countess Catherine. During his school life and early manhood young Mastai Ferretti was far from strong, being subject to epileptic attacks; but as he grew older the fits became less frequent, till at length he was sufficiently free from them to be admitted into the priesthood.

The first charge of the young priest was the care of a hospice for orphans, named after its founder, Tata Giovanni, or 'Daddy John;" and it was in the little church attached to this institution that he celebrated his first mass on the festival of Easter, 1819.

Four years afterwards Mastai Ferretti undertook work of a different kind, being sent on a mission to South America in 1823. Here, however, he did not remain long, and after many perils and hardships, both by sea and land, he returned home to his native Italy.

In 1827 he was made Archbishop of Spoleto, and in 1832 was translated by Pope Gregory XVI. to the Bishopric of Imola, a rich and important see.

Liberal in his ideas and large-hearted in his charity, the new prelate soon made himself conspicuous as a reformer of abuses of every kind, earning thereby the love and respect of the poorer members of his flock, who gave him the title of 'The Good Bishop.'

About this time he was sent on a temporary mission to Naples, where the cholera had broken out and was making frightful ravages. Here truly was ample scope for energy and self-sacrifice, and Ferretti threw himself into his work with promptitude and zeal, 'It was not fitting,' he said, 'that when God's poor were dropping down from sickness in the streets, His ministers should be going about in their carriages;' so, selling his plate and dispensing with every luxury, he spent his wealth in relieving the wants of the masses round him.

In 1840 he was raised to the dignity of a Cardinal, and soon after his elevation a tale is told of him which shows that with the piety of his mother he inherited the bravery of his father's noble line of ancestors. It was the time of the Carnival, and the Cardinal-Bishop was, at the usual hour, engaged in his devotions before the altar of the Blessed Sacrament in the Cathedral. Ere he had finished the sacristan rushed in, breathless, and in an agony of terror, crying out that murder was being done in the sacristy. With a short prayer for Divine help the Cardinal immediately hastened to the chamber, where he found, stretched upon the floor, a poor wounded wretch, who had taken refuge from his pursuers within the sacred precincts.. Close at the door were the murderers, three armed men, who burst into the room to finish their bloody work. But here they were confronted by the Bishop, who stepped forward, crozier in hand, and rebuked them in such stern words that the cowardly ruffians slunk away ashamed.

In the year 1846 Pope Gregory XVI. died, and the Bishop of Imola was elected to fill his vacant place, choosing for his title the name of Pius IX.

Many and various were the reforms, often entailing much personal trouble, that were begun, and in many instances successfully carried out, by the new Pontiff. Some of these, no doubt, originated in his own vanity and ambition; still, many anecdotes, like the following, are related of him, which show that he possessed real charity and kindliness of heart.

One day a little boy, sobbing and tearful, tried to force his way through the ranks of the Swiss Guards, to present a petition to his Holiness. It was in the following words: Most holy Father, my mother is old and infirm; I am too young to support her life and mine; our landlord, a bad man, will turn us out to-morrow if we don't pay the four scudi we owe him. Deign to lend them; I will pay you when I am bigger.' 'How old are you, and what is your name?' inquired the Pope. 'I am Paul, and I am ten years old.' 'What is your father's trade?' 'He is waiting in Paradise for us these ten years,' replied the child, in a tone of loving tenderness. And your mother?' said the Pope. She embroiders and prays from morning to night,' was the reply. Asking the child where he lived, his Holiness told him to come again the next day, and he would send his mother what she wanted. Having ascertained that the pitiful story was true, when the child came again Pius gave him ten scudi. 'I did not ask you for ten,' said the boy, and returned six. Take them again, my good child,' said the Pope, and tell your mother I will look after her for the future.'

But all his liberality of thought and deed was of no avail against the spirit of Republicanism which was growing day by day stronger in Italy. The people rose against their rulers, and at last Pius IX. was obliged, in 1848, to leave Rome in disguise, and take refuge with the King of Naples at Gaeta. By the help of the French, whose army under General Oudinot took Rome after a gallant defence by Garibaldi, the Pope was enabled to return in 1850. From this time the character of Pius completely changed. Through the indignities he had suffered at Republican hands he imbibed a horror of all liberal ideas, and became obstinate and despotic. By degrees his people threw off their allegiance to him as a secular ruler, and went over to the side of Victor Emmanuel, king of Italy, who finally took Rome, and entered the Quirinal on the 31st of December, 1870.

With this date the Pope's temporal power may be said to have ended, though he is still a sovereign prince within the Vatican, and has guards and ambassadors.

In 1877, just fifty years from the time of his appointment to the Archbishopric of Spoleto, Pius IX., now an old man of eighty-five, celebrated his jubilee. Crowds of pilgrims, from every part of the Roman Catholic world, flocked to Rome to see their venerable chief, and to present to him their gifts and congratulations. Most curious was the medley of offerings: costly jewels and splendid ornaments from the rich, homelier articles from the poor, piles of cheeses and sausages, and three bottles of brandy of different ages from the Roman Catholic priests of Cognac. The old Pope, who was always pleasant and Sociable, and fond of making little harmless, almost childish jokes, is said to have remarked to a German princess, that no one had thought of sending him the present he should value most. The princess inquired what it was, no doubt hoping that she might be able to supply the deficiency. No one,' said the Pope, 'has given me a new pair of legs.'

Amid ever increasing infirmity and frequently recurring attacks of illness, the remaining months of the life of Pius IX. passed away, till on the 7th of February, 1878, the man breathed his last, retaining his faculties until within a very short time of his death. He is succeeded by Cardinal Pecci, who ascends the Chair of St. Peter by the title of Leo XIII. C. H. P.

ANNIE PENDREATH.

CHAPTER VI.

BRIGHT, clear, autumnal morning, and the little station at St. Elvyn is crowded with country people, for there is a fair, or feasten day,' at the neighbouring parish of Boscoben. The railway has not long been extended to that distant region, and the St. Elvyn folk seem determined to make the most of it. Everything is new about the place-buildings, paint, station-master, and porters; and as for the poor booking-clerk, he is so bewildered with his new labours-the perplexing calculations of the

various tickets and half-tickets, the distances, and the small changethat it seems very doubtful whether half that patient, good-tempered crowd, will ever get their tickets at all before the train starts.

At the last moment a dog-cart drives rapidly up to the station; a young man jumps down from it, calls a porter to label his portmanteau for London, and in a few minutes more is started on his journey, sole occupant of a first-class railway carriage. It is Robert

Wilson, and though he settles himself comfortably, and leans back in his cushioned corner, his brow is clouded with gloomy thoughts. To look at him, no one would suppose that he was an accepted lover, on his way to town for a marriage license. And yet such is, indeed, the case. He had only been engaged a week, but unforeseen causes had thus hurried on the progress of his brief courtship.

In the first place, there had been poor Mr. Pendreath's sudden and alarming illness, which might be expected to end fatally any day.