who maintain that Christianity is compatible in Catholic Europe only the alternatives of with any form of material civilization. To abject obedience or hostility, and Europe, such men, the only men who stand between unable to obey without discretion, accepts them and the materialists, and the only the alternative. It is not with pleasure but teachers who might in the last resort teach with pain that we record a growing doubt the masses that no dogma can produce hun- whether M. de Montalembert is not in the ger, that freedom is consistent with belief in the Real Presence, and that the unity of the Church does not increase the conscription, the Ultramontanes, constrained by Rome, impelled by fear for themselves, driven by terror for the future of mankind, offer the Syllabus, under penalty of being considered foes like the Voltairians and the Materialists. Naturally, the intellectual Catholics and the laity refuse, being unable to deny what they see-that civilization is good; and the Church is really reduced to what its enemies call it, a corporation hostile to society, and as such, in the judgment of those enemies, to be écrasée, razed off the ground it cumbers. The Church offers

right, whether, if Rome does not change her policy, Europe may not see an explosion of irreligion, or fanatical hatred to religion of every kind, false and true alike, which will make the last quarter of this century the darkest through which modern man has passed. We like not Catholicism, with its sarcerdotal claims, or Ultramontanism, with its machine-like obedience; but either is better, Hindooism is better, we had almost written Fetichism is better, than the foul creed which Papal madness is establishing, the creed which has for soliitary profession the dogma, "Sugar is sweet.

MR. HENRY C. WILLISTON, connected with | liston met with an accident by which he became the staff of this paper, died yesterday, in Brook-partially paralyzed, and from which he had been lyn, at the age of forty years. Mr. Williston a great but an uncomplaining sufferer to the day was a native of Syracuse, and when a child of his death. A few years since he received a came to this city with his father, who was pro- minor appointment in the Custom House of this prietor of the Merchants' Hotel, in Pearl street, city, where he won the esteem of all his assoand subsequently of the York House, in Cort- ciates by his assiduity, kindness of heart, and landt street, and of a hotel at Shrewsbury. Mr. fidelity. A year ago he was engaged upon the Williston was educated at Professor Anthon's staff of this paper as the writer of "Timely school, where he was a thoughtful and careful Themes," a department which he sustained with student. He early turned his attention to jour- much quiet humor, frequent flashes of rare wit, nalism, and was not only a writer, but a practi- conscientious criticism, versatile knowledge, accal printer, having been a compositor in the curate thought, and elegance of style. He was Tribune office. the most amiable and equably poised of men, of a sensitive nature, patient, and thoughtful. He won the warm affection of all his associates, and the regard of all who knew him. Living with a married sister, he had a pleasant home, in which his kindly nature had full exercise, and which his departure has shrouded with profoundest sorrow.

Some years ago he traveled extensively in Mexico, California, and on the Pacific Coast. He was the actual working editor of the paper in San Francisco conducted by James King, of William, whose death at the hands of ruffians resulted in the Vigilance Committee, the execution and expulsion of much of the rascality in California, and the consequent purification of the State. While living in California Mr. Wil

Com. Adv., 18 June.

From The London Times, July 3.

WELCOME to England, thou whose strains prolong
The glorious bede-roll of our Saxon song;
Ambassador and Pilgrim-Bard in one,
Fresh from thy home-the home of Washington,
On hearths as sacred as thine own, here stands
The loving welcome that thy name commands;
Hearths swept for thee and garnished as a shrine
By trailing garments of thy Muse divine.
Poet of Nature and of Nations, know
Thy fair fame spans the ocean like a bow,
Born from the rain that falls into each life,
Kindled by dreams with loveliest fancies rife;
A radiant arch that with prismatic dyes
Links the two worlds, its keystone in the skies.
The noblest creatures of those dreams of thine,
From Hiawatha to Evangeline,

Here thou wilt find, where'er thy footsteps roam,

Loved as the cherished Lares of each home.
What prouder refrain heartens to the core
Than thou hast sung in brave Excelsior?
Where sounds more gladdening 'mid this earthly


Than the sweet clarion of thy Psalm of Life?
None but the rarest raconteur may grace
The mimic contest where most yield thee place.
Say which, for either, fairer wreaths produce,
Irving's Astoria or thy Flower de Luce?

Which haunted hostel lures more guests within,
Hawthorne's Seven Gables or the Wayside Inn?
Turning thy pictured page, what varying dyes
Shine through each latticed margin's new sur-

Here the swart Blacksmith, smirched with grime and tan,

Tears in his eyes, yet every inch a man.
Here, 'mid the rice-field, heaving his last breath,
The poor Slave-monarch dreams himself to death.
Here, while without loud raves the tempest's


Here, while around the revelers brawl within, The dying Baron through the grave's dark goal Seeks Christ's redeeming passport for his soul. Who hears not now, stormed down among thy leaves,

The rain that poured like cataracts from the


Roared through the kennels, lashed the streaming panes,

Flooded the squares, the streets, the courts, the lanes,

Raging like seas that o'er some foundering wreck

Swill thro' the scuppers from the swimming deck?

Cool, teeming, plenteous, soul-refreshing show


Quaffed by parched earth and by the thirsting


Nor less by those who listened to thy song
As, like Lodore's, thy deluge dashed along.
Where subtler solace than thy gentle voice
From riven hearts can draw till griefs rejoice?
Answer, what oft-repining woe o'erpowers
That lay serene, the Reaper and the Flowers?

So large thy sympathies, thy hand can trace
Charms in each clime and glory in each race.
God in the flower, His breathings in the wind;
So penetrant thy love, its gaze can find
Mesh with mere hempen coil in Rope-walk spun
Wake with grand echoes of responsive rhymes
All human joys and ills beneath the sun;
Long silent notes of medieval chimes;
Nay, hear in hush of serried arms arrayed
"The diapason of the cannonade."
'Mid purgatorial fires, in heaven, in hell,
Thy dauntless soul hath lately dared to dwell,
Passing o'er burning marl, where Dante trod
With Virgil's ghost, to Beatrice and God.
Yet, rarely gifted Nature to translate,
Reflect not others thus: thyself create.
Life's inner meaning, not the Florentine's-
Ring out once more in thy own golden lines
Thou who hast given thy dreamings to our sight
And syllabled the Voices of the Night:

Thou who hast sung, as none but thou couldst sing,

The tender legend of the Angel-King:
Thou who around with affluent hand hast

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And the voices that bid you welcome

Are many, and tender, and trueThey'd not shout for the best of the poets As loud as they're hailing you!

Come to the homes of the people,

Where your household words are dear; There's seldom a poet has sung them Such lyrics of courage and cheer.

The poet who taught "Resignation,"
Who sang us the "Psalm of Life"
You are dear to them all, Professor,
Child, parent, husband, and wife!

Aye, let Universities seat you

In Temples of Honours and Arts:The people of England, Sir, greet you, And open the doors of their hearts.


From The Christian Remembrancer.

|thriftless, he lives happy in the midst of a poverty which would urge the English settler on to redoubled labour, and is content if he can have his Sunday dance, and his nightly carouse. The French colonist in Canada presented a sharp contrast to the stern Puritan settler in New England. The latter bent over his spade and plough, with gloomy brow and dogged determination. England was no land for which he could sigh; the wilderness was to be his home, and he resolved to cut and trim the wilderness to suit his quaker tastes. The Canadian, on the other hand, cared little for the soil. He roved the forests after game; consorting with Indians, learning their arts, forgetting his own; acquiring their barba

The Jesuits in North America in the Seventeenth Century. By FRANCIS PARKMAN. Boston: Little, Brown and Co. 1867. THE contrast between English and French colonization is striking. The English settler applies himself to toil with a consciousness that it is the lot of Adam's sons to eat their bread in the sweat of their brow, and with a love of the toil which is his heritage. He has no liking for idleness, no passion for pleasure; his object in life is subsistence, and, if he can fill his mouth, and support a family, he cares not what labour it may cost him. He applies himself at once to till the ground; agriculture is at once his labour and his delight. The never ungrateful earth becomes more productive the longer rism, shaking off his own civilization; dartit is tilled. The settler's cabin is replaced by a substantial farm, round which cluster cottages, and stores are opened for trade. The hamlet becomes a village, and the village grows into a town. From each small centre fresh germs of civilization are cast forth, and the work of advance progresses neither slowly nor insecurely. It is like the march of a disciplined army through a hostile country. It has its basis of operations; it sends out skirmishers, it levels obstacles, cuts down forests, fills ravines which may harbour foes, then throws forward a wing to occupy some advantageous point, without breaking the chain of interconnexion with the centre of the force. Presently the whole body is brought up in line with the wing, again to throw out feelers, and grasp vantage grounds, and again, having cleared the area before it, to move bodily forward.

It was thus that England colonized North America. There was no one directing genius to regulate and systematize the movement, but Englishmen learn by experience, and are guided by their apprehension of what is reasonable.

The French settler is a man of different calibre; he is not fond of toil: if he labours, it is that he may enjoy himself afterwards; he does not resolve to make his home in the new land which he treads, but regards himself as an exile, and sighs over his toil for the charms of la belle France. His tastes are not for tillage; the chase and war are more congenial pursuits. Careless and

ing with them in canoes over the milky foam
of the rapid; stalking the moose with them
on mocassined feet amongst the snows of
winter, trapping the wolverine; spreading
his bearskin in a lodge of an Indian vil-
lage; flinging himself into the habits, pur-
suits, superstitions and license of his savage
companions. Thus the Frenchman failed
to establish himself on the continent of
America, whilst the English Puritan was
rooting himself ineradicably in the new soil.
Canada was the true child of France and
the Church. The Cross of Christ and the
lilies of the Bourbon were planted there
side by side. The priest and the soldier,
the settler and the nun, went forth together
to the wilderness. Feebly rooted in the
soil, she thrust out branches which over-
shadowed half America; a magnificent ob-
ject to the eye, but one which the first
whirlwind would prostrate in the dust.'
Canada offered no inducement to French
colonists of energy. The Huguenots would
gladly have hurried there to exercise their
religion in freedom, but the ports were
closed to them. It was only offered to the
Catholic and the Royalist, and for such
there was many an opening in the mother
country. Consequently, those who went
forth to the new world were those who had
wasted their substance in the old land, thrift-
less and improvident, and most unlikely to
effect a permanent settlement in another,
or they were soldiers sent to guard the
forts, and priests to convert the heathen.
So thoroughly had the task of coloniza-


tion failed, that it would probably have been abandoned, had not the hope of dispelling the darkness of heathendom in those trackless forests, by the pure light of the Faith, taken possession of the imagination and religious enthusiasm of France.

Champlain, the founder of Quebec, a brave soldier, a statesman, and a devout Christian, had said: The saving of one soul is worth more than the conquest of an empire;' and, to forward the work of conversion, he brought with him from France four monks of the order of St. Francis.

sailed together on the 18th of April. The vessel encountered many storms, and the missionaries were very sea-sick. At length they came in sight of that miserable country,' as Le Jeune calls the scene of his future labours. It was in the harbour of Tadoussac that he first saw the objects of his apostolic cares; for, as he sat in the ship's cabin with the master, it was suddenly invaded by a dozen Indians, whom he compares to maskers at the Carnival. Some had their cheeks painted black, their noses blue, and the rest of their faces red. Others were decorated with a broad band of black across the eyes; and others, again, with diverging rays of black, blue, and red on both cheeks.

On the 5th of July, Le Jeune reached Quebec, and settled himself and his companions in two hovels on the S. Charles. The Jesuit at once set himself to learn the In

It was with the Jesuits that the glory of the conversion of the Indians of Canada rests. The history of their mission is strange, instructive, and interesting. It presents to us a picture of the wondrous power of faith, impelling men to endure all, renounce all, in the ardour of their devotion to a cause. But above all is it marvellous, as exhibiting an instance of the mysterious dian language. Winter closed in. The ways of Providence, which are past man's finding out. The Jesuit scheme, had it succeeded, would have rescued the North American Indian from annihilation. It aimed at distributing communities of Christianized natives through the valleys of the Great Lakes and the Mississippi, ruled by priests in the interest of Catholicity and of France; it desired to break them of their nomadic habits and their instincts of mutual slaughter, and to develop their habits of agriculture and trade. The decline of Indian population would have been arrested; undecimated by internecine war it would have put forth a vigorous growth, and Canada would have been the seat of a great native Christian people in close alliance with France, whilst as yet the colonies of England were but a weak and broken line along the shore of the Atlantic. Great and noble as was this scheme, not from a Christian point of view alone, but from a philanthropic point as well, it was destined to failure, and that from an unforeseen cause.

S. Lawrence was hard frozen. Rivers, forests, and rocks were mantled alike in dazzling sheets of snow. The humble mission house of Notre-Dame des Anges was half buried in the drifts, which rose two feet above the low eaves. The priests, sitting by night before the blazing logs of their wide, throated chimney, heard the trees in the neighbouring forest cracking with frost, with a sound like the report of a pistol. Le Jeune's ink froze, and his fingers were benumbed, as he toiled at his declensions and conjugations, and translated the Lord's Prayer into blundering Algonquin. An Indian made the missionary a present of two small children, and he at once set himself to teach them Christian doctrine. As the season grew milder, the number of his scholars increased, for Le Jeune would stand in his door and ring a bell, a signal to all children that after a lesson in the Creed, the Pater, and the sign of the Cross, they were to be rewarded with a porringer of peas.

In 1632, Paul Le Jeune, a Jesuit father, In May, Champlain arrived to take the received the command to embark for the command of Quebec, bringing with him New World. He was in his convent at four more Jesuits, Brébeuf, Masse, Daniel, Dieppe when the order reached him, and he and Davost. In October, Le Jeune, deterstarted, filled, as he assures us, with inex-mined to obtain proficiency in the Algonpressible joy at the prospect of a living or a quin tongue, started with a band of Indians dying martyrdom. At Rouen he was joined to spend the winter with them in the forest. by De Noue and by a lay brother, and they Without following his adventures with the

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