as the fastenings could be easily removed from the ground; and, if the panel was left open in the prison-chamber, it might be readily supposed that the prisoner, who had been left unshackled, had by a mere chance hit upon the spring that moved it; and thus effected his escape.

This plan was accordingly put into execution; but conscience, for the first time in his life, made a coward of old Morris; he stood by trembling, while his son removed the crazy fastenings from the window in the lower apartment; and, even after he had dropped from it into the garden below, leaped the low boundary wall, and struck across the park, where he was immediately lost to his father's view, the knowledge that the guilty one was safe for the present, could not restore the hope, or courage, of the old man, who felt that, by aiding in his escape, he had in some sort partaken in his guilt.

(To be continued.)

A CALCULATING BOY.

HE master of a certain school in a village in Spain bore the reputation of being a very clever calculator; but upon one occasion he almost forfeited his

reputation.

The rector of the parish and the alcalde, on a certain occasion paid a visit to the school to inspect the progress of the children. A little rogue of whom no question had been asked, and who had therefore missed the opportunity for distinguishing himself which he greatly desired, made up his mind to question since he was not questioned.

"Master," he said, "will you do me the kindness to answer me something?

Ask whatever you please," replied the master, "you know I always tell you to ask about anything that you do not know. He who asks makes no mistakes."

"My father is three times my age. Will the time ever come when he will be double mine?"

"That is not a question," said the master, "it is a joke. To bring that about the clock must stop for your father and continue to go on for you.' "But it is quite possible," continued the

child.

ATHER O'BRIEN tells us in the

History of the Mass" that on particular occasions of the year there are added immediately after the Gradual certain rhythmical pieces of composition called by the several names of Proses," "Jubilations "Jubilations" and "Sequences." They are denominated "Proses" because, though written like verse, yet they are destitute of the qualifications that are looked for in regular metrical compositions, for they are formed more with a view to accent than quantity-a very striking characteristic of the poetry of the early ages of the Christian Church. The name Jubilations" was given them from their having been for the most part employed on occasions of great solemnity and rejoicing; and that of Sequences,” or Sequels," from their following the Alleluia (Bona, p. 326). Formerly it was customary to prolong the singing after the last note of the Alleluia for quite a considerable time, without using any words whatever, but merely the notes themselves. This was what received the name of the "Pneuma," or breathing; and, strictly speaking, it was the origin of what we now call "Jubilations" or Sequences,"

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For a considerable time every Sunday in the year, except those of the penitential season, had a Sequence of its own, as may be seen from any ancient missal, and the rite observed at Lyons keeps up this custom yet. But as a great deal of abuse crept in on account of having to use such a multiplicity of Sequences, and as many were carelessly written, the Church thought it well to subject the entire number to a rigid examination, and retain only those which were remarkable for their rare excellence. The principal step in this matter was first taken by the Council of Cologne, held in A.D. 1536, and its measures were seconded by that of Rheims in 1564; so that of the entire number which obtained in the Church up to these dates five only were deemed worthy of a place in the Mass, viz. 1, the Victimæ Paschali," proper to Easter; 2, the "Veni Sancte Spiritus,' proper to Pentecost; 3, the Lauda Sion," proper to Corpus Christi; 4, the "Stabat Mater," proper to the Feast of the Seven Dolours of the B.V.M.; 5, the "Dies Iræ," proper to Masses for the dead. In addition to these it may be well to add that which the Friars Minor were allowed to retain on the Feast of the

Holy Name of Jesus, the first lines which begin thus (Gavantus, p. 355):

"Lauda, Sion, Salvatoris Jesu Nomen et Amoris."

Much variety of opinion exists regarding the authors of these Sequences, but, as we are unable to settle the question, we shall simply name those to whom they have been attributed from time to time.

The first, or the "Victimæ Paschali," is, we believe, by the vast majority of critics accredited to a monk, Notker by name, of the celebrated Monastery of S. Gall, in Switzerland, who flourished in the ninth century, and attained to

much renown by his talent for writing sacred poetry. According to some, he is said to have been the first who caused this species of composition to be introduced into the Mass; and, if we are to believe Durandus, he was encouraged in this by Pope Nicholas the Great (858-867). Others ascribe its introduction to Alcuin, the preceptor of Charlemagne. The Victima Paschali" is also sometimes attributed to Robert, King of the Franks.

The beautiful hymn "Veni, Sancte Spiritus," is generally accredited to the Blessd Hermann, usually styled "Contractus," or the "Cripple,' from the deformity of his limbs. As the early history of this remarkable man is very interesting, we presume that the reader will not think it amiss if we give a brief sketch of it, as it bears much upon our subject: "Hermannus Contractus, the son of Count Weringen, in Livonia, was, at the age of fourteen, sent to the Monastery of S. Gall to be educated. He was lame and "contracted in body, and made little progress in learning on account of his slowness of mind. Hilperic, his master, seeing how bitterly he bewailed his misfortunes, pitied him, and advised him to apply himself to prayer, and to implore the assistance of the Immaculate Virgin, Mother of God. Hermannus obeyed his master, and about two years after thought he saw the holy Virgin one night whilst he was asleep, and that she thus addressed him: Oh, good child! I have heard your prayers, and at your request have come to assist you. Now, therefore, choose whichever of these two things you please, and you shall certainly obtain it: either to have your body cured, or to become master of all the science you desire.' Hermannus did not hesitate to prefer the gifts of the mind to those of the body, and such from this period was his progress in human and divine science that he was esteemed the most learned of his contemporaries. He excelled them all in philosophy, rhetoric, astronomy, poetry, music and theology; composed books upon geometry, music and astronomy, the eclipses of the sun and moon, the astrolabe, the quadrant, the horologue and quadrature of the circle; wrote commentaries on Aristotle and Cicero ; translated some Greek and Arabic works into Latin; composed a chronicle from the creation of the world to the year 1052, a treatise on physiognomy, and several hymns, amongst, which the Salve Regina,' Alma Redemptoris' and Veni, Sancte Spiritus enumerated. He died in 1054, aged forty-one years." ("Dublin Review," vol. xxx, June, 1851; Gavantus, ii., p. 166.) The "Veni, Sancte Spiritus " is also ascribed to Pope Innocent III, to S. Bonaventure and to Robert, King of the Franks.

are

All are unanimous in ascribing the "Lauda Sion" to the " 'Angelic Doctor," S. Thomas Aquinas, who, at the request of Pope Urban IV., composed it for the solemnity of Corpus Christi.

A good deal of dispute has arisen regarding the author of this sublime production, the "Stabat Mater," some ascribing it to Pope Innocent III, some to Jacoponi (1306) - sometimes called Jacobus de Benedictis, a Franciscan monkand others to S. Bonaventure. We follow the majority, however, in ascribing it to Pope

Innocent III. To our mind Jacoponi's claims to this hymn are not very strong.

The authorship of the "Dies Ira" seems the most difficult to settle. This much, however, is certain: that he who has the strongest claims to it is Latino Orsini, generally styled Frangipani, whom his maternal uncle, Pope Nicholas III (Gætano Orsini), raised to the cardinalate in 1278. He was more generally known by the name of Cardinal Malabranca, and was at first a member of the Order of S. Dominic. (See "Dublin Review," vol. xx, 1846; Gavantus, "Thesaur., Sacr., Rit.," p. 490.)

As this sacred hymn is conceded to be one of the grandest that has ever been written, it is but natural to expect that the number of authors claiming it would be very large. Some even have attributed it to Pope Gregory the Great, who lived as far back as the year 604. S. Bernard, too, is mentioned in connection with it, and so are several others; but as it is hardly necessary to mention all, we shall only say that, after Cardinal Orsini, the claims to it on the part of Thomas de Celano, of the Order of Franciscans Minor, are the greatest. There is very little reason for attributing it to Father Humbert, the fifth general of the Dominicans, in 1273; and hardly any at all for accrediting it to Augustinus de Biella, of the Order of Augustinian Eremites. A very widely circulated opinion is that the "Dies Ira," as it stands now, is but an improved form of a Sequence which was long in use before the age of any of those authors whom we have cited. Gavantus gives us, at page 490 of his "Thesaurus of Sacred Rites," a few stanzas of this ancient Sequence, which we deem well to place before the reader :

Cum recorder moriturus,

Quid post mortem sim futurus, Terror terret me venturus,

Quem expecto non securus:

Terret dies me terroris.

Dies iæ, ac furoris,

Dies luctus, ac mæroris,

Dies ultrix peccatoris,

Dies ira, dies illa, etc., etc.,

As late as 1576 the "Dies Iræ was forbidden to be said by the Dominicans of Salamanca, in Spain. Maldonatus, also, the great Jesuit commentator objected to its use in Masses for the dead, for the reason that a composition of that kind was unsuited to mournful occasions. To repeat what learned critics of every denomination under heaven have said in praise of this marvellous hymn would indeed be a difficult task. One of its greatest encomiums is that there is hardly a language in Europe into which it has not been translated; it has even found its way into Greek and Hebrew--into the former through an English missionary of Syria named Hildner, and into the latter by Splieth, a celebrated Orientalist.

Mozart avowed his extreme admiration of it and so did Dr. Johnson, Sir Walter Scott and Jeremy Taylor, besides hosts of others. The music of this hymn formed the chief part of the fame of Mozart; and it is said, and not without reason that it contributed in no small degree to haster his death, for so excited did he become over it

MUST WIN.

The allusion to the sibyl in the third line of the first stanza has given rise to a good deal of anxious enquiry; and so very strange did it sound to French ears at its introduction into the sacred hymnology of the Church that the Parisian rituals substituted in its place the line "Crucis expandens vexilla." The difficulty, however, is easily overcome if we bear in mind that many of the early Fathers held that Almighty God made use of these sibyls to promulgate His truths in just the same way as He did of Balaam of old, and many others like him. The great S. Augustine has written much on this subject in his "City of God;" and the reader may form some idea of the estimation in which these sibyls were held, when he is told that the world-renowned Michael Angelo made them the subject of one of his greatest paintings. In the Sistine Chapel at Rome may yet be seen his celebrated delineation of both the sibyl of Erythrea and that of Delphi. In the opinion of the ablest critics it was the first mentioned, or the Erythrean sibyl, that uttered the celebrated prediction about the advent of our Divine Lord, and His final coming at the last day to judge the living and the dead. This prediction, it is said, was given in verse, and written as an acrostic on one of the ancient designations of our Divine Lord in Greek-viz, "ichthus," a fish, referring to our spiritual regeneration through the efficacy of the saving waters of holy Baptism established by our Saviour for our sakes. The letters of this word when taken separately form the initials of the sacred name and official character of our Divine Lord, thus: "I" stands for "Jesus"; "Ch" for "Christ"; "Th" for "Theos," or "God"; "U" for "Uios," or "Son"; and "S" for "Soter," or "Saviourthat is, "Jesus Christ, Son of God, the Saviour." The part of the sibyl's response which referred particularly to the Day of Judgment was written on the letters of "Soter," or Saviour. It is given as follows in the translation of the "City of God" of S. Augustine (edited by Clarke, of Edinburgh, 1871):

"Sounding, the archangel's trumpet shall peal down from heaven

Over the wicked who groan in their guilt and their manifol

sorrows;

Trembling, the earth shall be opened, revealing chaos and hell, Every king before God shall stand on that day to be judged; Rivers of fire and brimstone shall fall from the heavens."

The "Stabat Mater," too, deserves more than a mere passing notice, for, in the estimation of able critics, it is one of the most pathetic hymns ever written. Hogarth called it "a divine emanation of an afflicted and purified spirit," and the encomiums lavished upon it by other men of genius are numberless. Many great musicians from Pergolesi to Rossini have set to music this beautiful hymn.

BY PAUL ASH,

Author of "Vengeance is Mine," etc., etc.

flower.

CHAPTER II.

MASTER AND MAN.

T is the same day about noon, and the June sun is lavish of his warm splendour in and around Sefton Park, dimming with hazy brightness, mansion and spire, fountain and And nowhere, perhaps, amid the handsome villas that sentinel one side of the broad drive which embraces the vast enclosure, could the happy aspect and genial influence of the season be more gratefully perceived and felt, than in the picturesque grounds surrounding yon airy looking residence known as Summerfield. From the pretty porch the interior of which is adorned with flowering plants and statues, the exterior, a pleasing medley of ivy, honeysuckle, and jessamine, to the mimic turrets sleeping in golden sunlight above, the whole forms a rather attractive picture, of which the present owner, Mr. Ernest Blumengarten, gentleman, is not a little secretly proud; for it is the embodiment of his own architectural design. A raised terrace runs along the front of the house, and is dotted, on its outer verge, with marble vases rejoicing in their summer blooms. From this, a pretty bit of lawn, with a snowy fountain in the midst, slopes downwards towards the railings which border on the drive. On either side, and behind the mansion, the garden extends, and is now a blaze of colour that charms the eye in fanciful flower-paintings crosses, hearts and diamonds, and in central guadrangle in the rear, in the somewhat suggestive form of a true-lover's knot. The conservatory, communicating with the house, occupies the garden on two sides, running along the wall which bounds the enclosure except in front. A table-like bowling green, and another area of green velvet which, with its accessories, whispers playfully of lawn tennis, would seem to indicate that the inmates have provided for the gay, let the grave creep in as it might. Turning from the flower-picture, with its rustic benches and overshadowing trees here and there, from the winding walks of white sand-like gravel, and after peeping into that grotto with its murmuring fountain, suggestive of coolness and repose, the contented eye might wander to yon arbour in the furthest corner, mysterious with its overshadowing ivy, and rest there, expectantly, in the hope of rejoicing in the coming forth of the charming mistress of the bower, who might crown by her presence, the artistic beauty of her happy little Eden.

This is the residence-as before hinted at-of Mr. Ernest Blumengarten, who, with his wife and only child-now a bright girl of twenty—and their

domestics constitute the household.

On one side of the porch, and close to a

rockery almost hidden in its Indian cress, two persons may be seen on this bright afternoon about the hour of noon. The shorter of the two is Mr. Blumengarten himself. In a suit of light tweed, as he wipes his warm brow, while holding his broad brimmed straw-hat in his left hand, he affords us a good view of his head and face which is spread out before him like a shield. The eyes are set so far apart as to give, particularly in moments of repose, a somewhat vacant expression to the aspect, which, in this respect, is but a misleading mask betraying nothing of the strong warm heart, and the highly cultivated intellect, of which the massive Teutonic head is not a bad index. He is about five feet low, and probably little less than five feet broad. He is Hercules, in short, physically as well as mentally. But he would never be taken for an Adonis. By those who had merely a nodding acquaintance with him, he was classified as an ogre. But amongst those who did not "take the book by the cover we must mention his gardener and present attendant, Peter O'Fox, who having carried out some direction of his master having reference to the rockery, now arose from his knees and unfolded himself into a normal perpendicular. With his hat in his left hand while his right is engaged in a digital exploration of the brushwood which luxuriantly adorns his upper extremity he presents, at least, a marked contrast to his more lowly superior. Beside Mr. Blumengarten, Peter's height suggests the interminable. He is six feet three inches in his stockings, broad-shouldered, fleet as a greyhound, and ready to take a bull by the horns at any moment, and particularly at the bidding of his kind and indulgent master, who has not had O'Fox in his household for six years without knowing that he possesses a brave, devoted, and skilful servant, in spite of some annoying drawbacks. Peter exhibits a fine ruddy face with a pair of brilliant dark eyes, but roguish looking withal, which are now turned upon his master with an interrogative expression, more suggestive of innocence than shrewdness.

"That sweet-briar needs a little more support, Peter," Mr. Blumengarten is saying, with a purity of accent which indicates that his five and twenty years of exile in England from his native Germany has borne linguistic fruit, at least. "It is drooping over too much."

"I'll see to it, yer honour," returned Peter, in a tone and accent that would be readily recognized on the other side of the channel. "How modestly the sweet craythur binds over, as if it was sayin' it prayers. An' I b'lieve in me conscience it is, too, if we only knew but all, an' cud understand it."

"An excellent example for you in a double sense-modesty and prayer. Try to improve on the hint, my good Peter."

"'Deed I will, sir," returned Peter, earnestly, "if it was only to plaze yer honour.”

"No, sir," said his master, sharply, "but because it is becoming and Christian-like-two respects in which I fear you are still very deficient."

"Shure I know, yer honour, I'm as rough as a hedge-hog," returned Peter with an apologetic

46

"I do not refer to your manner, Peter," observed his master. Still, I am glad to hear you speak as you do about the rough corners. And that reminds me. There is one very rough corner which must be rubbed completely out of your life, beginning with this very day, sir."

"Shure yer honour has only to tell me the corner ye mane," said Peter, humbly. He was taken rather aback by his master's sudden stemness of tone.

"I have not the honour of being personally acquainted with it," observed Mr. Blumengarten, stiffly. "But I have it on good authority, that it is villainously distinguished by a low public house."

By the boot!" muttered Peter, opening his eyes very wide in innocent surprise, apparently. "Your honour surely can't mane the academy in

Lane; although some people do call it a public house, safe enough."

"An academy, Peter," exclaimed his master in surprise. "Á den of drunkenness and vice an academy! I am curious to learn how you can justify the application of such a polite name to a place that is a plague spot in the neighbourhood."

Mr. Blumengarten, although no advocate of the temperance question, turned a cold eye upon the interests of the brewer. He also knew that O'Fox was never short of a reason to support any statement advanced, however imaginary or grotesque.

"Shure is n't it prented in letthers a foot high over the door where the boys goes up stairs to the singin' and dancin' saloon. An is n't there a professor Bungtong that comes from Paris three times a week to give lessons in everything that's high and polite. Oh! bud he's the rale gintleman, an' wears a mustache a yard wide at the very laste. I only wish yer honour seen him."

"I suppose it is to this accomplished professor you owe the polite arts of drinking and head-break. ing," said Mr. Blumengarten, grimly.

Oh! yer honour," said Peter, with his most deprecating air.

"Upon last Saturday night week, you prepared Mr. Lovelady's coachman for the surgeon, in your polite way. I saw the poor fellow myself. His head looked like that of an Egyptian mummy with its bandages. I daresay you will try to find a reason to bear you out in your unlaw. ful, not to say brutal, violence."

During a conversation which had taken place on the evening mentioned between Peter and the coachman just referred to, during which the merits and demerits of their respective masters came to be discussed, the coachman, probably emboldened by a spirit not his own-except in a commercial sense had incautiously ventured to characterise Mr. Blumengarten as nae bayther nor jist a Dutch gorilla." Peter promptly closed the discussion by an argumentum ad hominem, which sometimes stepped in as an auxiliary when yerbal persuasion proved weak or unsatisfactory. The result, as mentioned, was a broken head, of which the German gentleman

had been informed by his butler, who was not amongst Peter's friends. Mr. Blumengarten was curious to hear what complexion his gardener would give the affair, feeling pretty confident that the real casus belli would not be extracted from him at all. But Peter's master wished to see if he could convict his servant of standing sponsor to a direct falsehood, a thing that, so far, was a question of the future. However O'Fox might toy with the verities, he never rudely violated them.

Peter appealed to his head with an active right hand, while balancing himself upon either leg alternately, before replying.

"Shure it was all about the Latin, yer honour," he at length ventured, with an apologetic air. "Do you mean the Latin language, Peter?" asked his master in surprise.

"Purshuin' to the other," replied Peter. “An shure that's the holy an blissid language, as yer honour knows as well as e'er a saint in glory that spakes nothin' else; an I'd lay down me life for it the darkest hour in midnight, a hundherd times over. 'Deed wid I."

"You certainly showed your zeal, upon last Saturday week, to assist at the making of a martyr, "said Blumengarten. Mindful of the merits of the quarrel, he did not feel disposed to be very severe with his reticent champion. But the question of O'Fox's truthfulness had to be further examined. His master continued: "I did not know you were a Latin scholar, Peter."

But he did know that his gardener's Latin floral vocabulary, if once wedded to printer's ink, might command an honoured place among the Curiosities of Literature."

"Is it me, yer honour!" exclaimed Peter, in surprise. "Shure how cud I help it, an' me brother Dan, havin' the siven books in Latin at his finger inds. An' afther that, I'll put it to yer honour, wid all due respect, if it was for the lecks iv Sandy Johnstone to thry to cram his cramp Scotch Latin down my throat?" "Faith," he added to himself, while regarding his master with a hopeful eye, Sandy 'll forget the Inglish for a cudgel before the thries it agin.' "He certainly has reason to regret his rashness, in attempting it," said Mr. Blumengarten, drily. "But repeat this Latin for me, Peter; so that I may be better able to judge of the justice of your quarrel."

At this moment the gate swung open, and a tall young man entered. Mr. Blumengarten, saying to Peter, I shall return presently," proceeded to meet the new comer, by whom he was saluted with an air at once respectful and affec tionate. The visitor was Albert Lovelady whom we have seen in his father's house. That father was Mr. Blumengarten's oldest and probably most valued friend in England. The two gentlemen had been somewhat suddenly and informally introduced to each other in the waters of the Seine near Paris, about twenty five years before, when the Englishman succeeded in saving the German's life by only not losing his own. that hour an intimacy had sprung up between them which soon ripened into a warm and enduring friendship, that the younger members of the families were not disposed to let grow cold. This was particularly true of Albert, who was now making one of his habitual calls where the sun shone most brightly, and the birds sang most sweetly, and where violet eyes beamed most magnetically, in short where Gertrude Blumengarten, the angel of his dreams, resided. But if she regarded Albert Lovelady as the shrewd Peter O'Fox did, then he might dream on for ever.

From

"He's purty enough for a wax doll in undher a glass case," muttered Peter, as he looked with admiration and pity at the young man with whom Mr. Blumengarten was now chatting. "Bud it's not sich dolls they care about wanst they slip out iv thur teens. Sorra fear iv them. Where's the use iv sich buttherflies iv min in the world at all, I'd leck to know? Not bud he has the kind heart an' the open hand-behind his back-they say. Bud it's his tayrin' fine brother, Mr. Arthur, that is a rale man to luck at, and that cud coax the birds iv the bushes. An' I'm thinkin' Miss Gerthrude is a bit iv my mind that way. But for all that, I can't help feelin' at odd times that me gay slewtherin' Mr. Arthur is a wee bit too much a-a-begorra! bud he's as puzzlin' as the wheel iv fortune, itself-my heavy hathred an it. But if all I hear whispered lately is thrue, I'll know me gay buckeen betther wan iv these fine nightswhin I'm afther takin' his mishure wid a black thorn for a three foot rule. As for this purty openeyed girl, a man wid cork eyes cud read him in

half a second."

And he glanced with evident admiration at the young man who stood facing him, and was still speaking to Mr. Blumengarten.

Albert was a tall slender young fellow, tastefully but simply attired in morning dress. A shapely head crowned by clustering yellow hair which curled thickly when visible, a fair oval face of almost feminine delicacy and regularity of feature, and rendered sweetly amiable rather than masculinely bright-much less strong-by a pair of large blue eyes, and fine lithe limbs full of grace, formed a picture that a girl might dream of, but in which a woman of character and intelligence might feel there was a desirable something wanting. A mother's and a sister's darling he well might be; but a man fitted to struggle through life with a high and earnest purpose-to shoulder his way through obstacles to the distant and desired goal, he apparently was not. And yet it is such curled darlings who, when thoroughly