such a perverse generation. I see it is all the same, whether a man wants one thing, every thing, or nothing. Let us go home and sleep." 150. VESUVIUS AND THE BAY OF NAPLES. HASKINS. REV. GEORGE FOXCROFT HASKINS, Rector of the House of the Angel Guar dian, Boston. Mr. Haskins is a native of New England, and a convert to the Catholic faith. To his piety and zeal the Catholics of Boston are indebted for that truly valuable asylum for boys, the House of the Angel Guardian. His "Travels in England, France, Italy, and Ireland," is a pleasing and well-written volume, furnishing some interesting views of men and things in the countries visited by him. 1. ONE of our first promenades, after our arrival in Naples, was along the quay, in order to catch a distant view of Mount Vesuvius. There it was in all its grandeur, vomiting forth that eternal column of smoke; and as I stood contemplating it, I remembered well the feelings with which, many and many a time while I was a boy, I had read and heard of that same Vesuvius, and of its dreadful eruptions, and of the destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum, and had in imagination seen the fiery floods, and the ashes, and the darkness, and felt the trembling of the earth, and fled with the terrified inhabitants. 2. Little did I then think that these eyes would ever behold that mount, or these feet stand on flags of that lava that had buried Herculaneum; yet here I was, traversing streets entirely paved with that same lava, and there, directly before me, in solemn grandeur, stood that same mountain caldron that had boiled over and ejected it. The evening was warm, and the sky serene and almost cloudless; and desirous of seeing the bay and mountain to greater advantage, we stepped intc a boat, and bade the boatman row us off for one hour. 3. We glided softly over the glassy surface of the bay for that space of time, and then, having turned our boat's head towards Naples, we contemplated the scene before us with sentiments of admiration altogether indescribable. The sun was just setting in all that blaze of splendor so peculiar to an Italian sunset. There were a few long, narrow strips of cloud above the horizon, just sufficient to catch and retain the rich est of his tints. 4. The deep colorings and changing hues that melted one into the other, and cast their declining radiance on the bosom of the waters, and the peculiar transparency of the deep blue vault above, convinced me of that which before I never be lieved that in an Italian sky and sunset there is something surpassingly beautiful, and such as is never witnessed elsewhere. The sunset, however, was not all. We were in the Bay of Naples, the most magnificent in the world. Before us was that vast and beautiful city itself, numbering four hundred thousand inhabitants, forming a splendid amphitheatre. Its elegant quay, its castles, its palaces, its domes and minarets, fringed with sunset hues, afforded a spectacle of extraordinary beauty. 5. On the right, at the distance of about six miles, rose Vesuvius, the sun shining on its summit, and reddening with a fiery glow the volumes of smoke that were rolling perpendicularly from its mysterious crater. On the wide-extended plain at its foot, and within sight, lay those hapless cities that have so often and so fatally witnessed its terrible and devastating eruptions. There was Torre del Greco, that about fifty years since was completely buried with lava, and Portici, and Resini, and Torre del Annunciata. There also were Herculaneum and Pompeii, whose sad history is but too well known to all. 6. On the left rose the craggy promontory of Pausilippo, and farther distant that of Miseno, and the towns of Pozzuoli and Baia. There were also in view the islands of Ischia and Procida, and Capri and Nisida. All was classic ground, and each spot remarkable for some heroic achievement, or venerable association of a people long since extinct. We glided homeward in silence, and the regular stroke of the oars beat time to our meditations. About an hour after sunset we landed on the quay. : 151. IRELAND. HASKINS. 1. On the evening of the 24th day of July, we took passage at Liverpool, in the steamer "Iron Duke," for Dublin, where we arrived on the morning of the 25th. It was a lovely mornng the sun was shining brightly, illumining with pencil of fire the turrets, cottages, and princely mansions on either shore, and gilding with its mysterious tints the hill of Howth on one side, and the mountains of Wicklow on the other. There is not perhaps a bay in the world, if we except that of Naples, that is so beautiful, and altogether lovely, as the bay of Dublin. It is, moreover, vast, commodious, and perfectly safe. Frigates and merchantmen of the largest size, and yachts beautiful and buoyant as swans, may ride securely on the bosom of its waters. 2. As I stood on the deck of the Iron Duke, inhaling the fragrant land-breeze that rippled the glassy surface of the bay, thoughts kept crowding and crowding upon me-thoughts which I could not banish if I would, and would not if I could. Not so much the surpassing beauties of Dublin Bay; not the lordly hill of Howth, and the glens and mountains of Wicklow, and the distant hills and verdant vales of Meath; not the islands, and bluffs, and friendly lighthouses along the coast; not the villas and gardens, that grew every instant more distinct and beautiful as we bowled along; not the sandy beach, hard and clean as tidy housewife's floor; nor steep banks and stately promontories; not these, I say, so much engrossed my mind, as the single, solitary fact, that I was now at last, in good glorious old Ireland. 3. Ireland, all hail! Thou art to me no stranger Full well I know thee. I have known and honored the from my earliest childhood. Well do I remember the de light with which I read, and the ardor with which I learned, the speeches of thy orators, statesmen, and patriots-of Burke, and Grattan, and Curran, and Sheridan, and Emmet, and Rus sell, and Phillips; and how afterwards, a student in a Protes tant college, I gloated over the works of Dean Swift, and Sterne, and Tom Moore; and sympathized with thy bravest sons, in their repeated struggles for freedom; and admired the exploits of thy warriors and men-at-arms-thy Brian Boroimhes, and Malachys, and O'Briens, and O'Neils, and Sarsfields, and McCarthys, and Fitzgeralds, and O'Reillys. 4. Never can I forget the little Irish boy, my own pupil, who, in exchange for the letters I taught him, first taught me Christianity; nor the Irish servant in my paternal mansion, who first made me acquainted with a Catholic priest-the Rev. Mr. Taylor, whose memory is venerated in Boston; nor the Irishman in my father's employ, who lent me Catholic books, and a Catholic paper, printed in Hartford, and in whose house I made the acquaintance of the late William Wiley, who afterwards became my spiritual counsellor and father, and received me into the bosom of the Catholic Church, saying to me, as the. Son of God said to the paralytic, "My child, be of good cheer; thy sins are forgiven thee." 5. Solomon says, "One may be rich, though he have nothing." This is true of thee, land of Erin. Outwardly thou art in rags, poverty-stricken, famine-stricken, and bleeding under blows inflicted by legal persecutors and unfeeling butchers; but within all bright and glorious, true as the needle to the pole, faithful even unto death, awaiting the crown of life. Truly thou art a land of saints; for I do believe that no nation on earth hath sent, and doth yearly send, so many saints to heaven. 6. Thou art a vast seminary for the education of bishops, priests, and apostolic men, who go forth into all the world and proclaim the gospel to every creature. Thou art a golden immortal flower, blooming amid thorns, and sending forth thy winged seeds, on every breeze, to gladden other nations, and to plant the faith in other lands. 152. THE AMERICAN FLAG. DRAKE. JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE, born in New York city in 1795; died, in 1820. His longest poem, "The Culprit Fay," was not published till after his death • 1. WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurl'd her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there! 2. Majestic monarch of the cloud! Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, When strive the warriors of the storm, To guard the banner of the free, 8. Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, |