"Out of every contested verse," says satirical Voltaire, "there issued a fury armed with a quibble and a poniard, who inspired mankind at once with folly and cruelty."

The same Demon that poured the poisonous cup over the kingdoms and provinces of Europe, took his flight over the Atlantic, and spread his baneful influence amongst colonists who had themselves fled from the scourge. Their new-built cities, like so many Jerusalems, were purified from idolatry. There no Popish priest dared to bend his knee to "his idols, or transfer to stock or stone the worship due to the God of Israel." There the Quaker woman's silent groans were raised to the high key of loud shrieks, when the Lord's deputy ordered her profane breasts to be whipped off by the Gospel scourge, that whipped the profaners out of the temple. There the Quaker was seen suspended by the neck on high, for daring to pollute the sacred streets with his profane feet moved by Baal's spirit. The holy city thus purged from the Jebuseans and Pheriseans, was split soon after into two factions. The two famous covenants, the covenant of grace and covenant of works, soon divided the spiritual militants. The jarring of divinity caused such dissensions, that in the presence of sixty thousand savages, headed by their warriors, giving the signal for scaling the walls to bury the contending parties under their ruins, grace would not permit works to lend the least assistance for repelling the common foe. It became victorious over the Indians and Christians. It drove the first from its walls, and banished the latter from the city into savannahs and deserts to procure themselves subsistence by the work of their hands.

In a word, persecution on the score of our conscience has thinned the world of fifty millions of human beings by fire and sword. Thousands who have escaped the sword and fagot have perished, and are daily perishing with hunger and want for their mode of worship. The London riots, occasioned by a pretext of religion, have added about four hundred more, deluded by religious frenzy, to the enormous number, and although they suf fered as plunderers and incendiaries, yet religious intolerance in their leaders occasioned the deluded people's destruction.

The history of the calamities occasioned by the Gospel

of peace could be concluded with the poet's epiphonema, Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum—“Such devilish acts religion could persuade."

SOME ANCEDOTES OF FATHER O'LEARY.

REASON FOR ACCEPTING THE DOCTRINE OF PURGATORY.

Father O'Leary had once a polemical contest with a Protestant Bishop of Cloyne. The prelate, in a pamphlet, inveighed with great acrimony against the superstitions of Popery, and particularly against the doctrine of purgatory. Father O'Leary, in his reply, slily observed, "that, much as the bishop disliked purgatory, he might go farther and fare worse."

A FRIEND IN COURT.

Once in their unconstrained, after-dinner chat, Curran exclaimed to the Friar, "Reverend Father, I wish you were St. Peter."-" And why so, Counselor?"-" Because, being master of the keys, you might let me in."—" I declare to you, that it were better for you if I had the keys of the other place in my possession, for then I could let you out."

OUT OF ORDER.

At one of the meetings of the English Catholic Board, whilst O'Leary was addressing the chairman, the late Lord Petre, it was suggested by the noble president that the speaker was entering on topics not calculated to promote the unanimity of the assembly. O'Leary, however, persevered: on which Lord Petre interrupted him, adding, "Mr. O'Leary, I regret much to see that you are out of order." The reply was equally quick and characteristic "I thank you for your anxiety, my lord; but I assure you I never was in better health in my life." The archness of manner with which these words were uttered was triumphant, and every unpleasant feeling was lost in the mirth which was necessarily excited.

A NOLLE PROSEQUI.

At the time that Barry Yelverton was Attorney-General, himself and O'Leary, while enjoying the beauties of Killarney, had the rare fortune to witness a stag hunt. The hunted animal ran towards the spot where the Attorney-General and O'Leary stood. "Ah!" said Father Arthur, with genuine wit, how naturally instinct leads him to come to you, that you may deliver him a nolle prosequi!”

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LOTS DRAWN TO HAVE HIM AT DINNER.

In 1779 O'Leary visited Dublin. He accidentally met, in the lobby of the House of Commons, the late Lord Avonmore, then Mr. Yelverton, and two gentlemen, members of the legislature. All three wished to invite him to dinner and the question was decided by lot. O'Leary was an amused and silent spectator. When the hour of dinner was come, O'Leary forgot which of his three friends was to be his host.

In this difficulty, his ready imagination suggested an expedient. His friends, he recollected, lived in the same square, and he therefore, some short time after the usual dinner hour, sent a servant to inquire at each of the houses-" if Father O'Leary was there?" At the two first, where application was made, the reply was in the negative; but at the last, the porter answered, that "he was not there; but that dinner was ordered to be kept back, as he was every moment expected." Thus directed, "Father Arthur's apology for delay was a humorous and detailed account of his expedient-the evening flew quickly away on the wings of eloquence and wit, and the laughable incident was long remembered and frequently repeated."

AN IRISH BEAR.

Coming from St. Omer, Father O'Leary stopped a few days to visit a brother priest in the town of Boulogne-sur-Mer. Here he heard of a great curiosity, which all people were running to see a curious bear that some fishermen had taken at sea out of a wreck; it had sense, and attempted to utter a sort of lingo, which they called patois, but which nobody understood.

O'Leary gave his six sous to see the wonder, which was shown at the port by candle-light, and was a very odd kind of animal, no doubt. The bear had been taught a hundred tricks, all to be performed at the keeper's word of command. It was late in the evening when O'Leary saw him, and the bear seemed sulky; the keeper however, with a short spike fixed at the end of a pole, made him move about briskly. He marked on sand what o'clock it was, with his paw; and distinguished the men and women in a very comical way. The beast at length grew tired -the keeper hit him with the pole-he stirred a little, but continued quite sullen; his master coaxed him-no! he would not work! At length, the brute of a keeper gave him two or three sharp pricks with the goad, when he roared out most tremendously, and, rising on his hind-legs, swore at his tormentors in very good native Irish. O'Leary waited no longer, but went immediately to the mayor, whom he informed that the blackguard fishermen had sewed up a poor Irishman in a bear's-skin, and were showing him about for six sous! The civic dignitary,

who had himself seen the bear, would not believe our friend. At last, O'Leary prevailed on him to accompany him to the room. On their arrival, the bear was still on duty, and O'Leary stepping up to him says:-"Cianos tha'n thu, a Phadhrig?" (How d'ye do, Pat?) "Slan, go raimh math agut!" (Pretty well, thank you) says the bear.

The people were surprised to hear how plainly he spokebut the mayor ordered him directly to be ripped up; and after some opposition, and a good deal of difficulty, Pat stepped forth stark naked out of the bear's-skin wherein he had been fourteen or fifteen days most cleverly stitched. The women made off-the men stood astonished-and the mayor ordered his keepers to be put in jail unless they satisfied him; but that was presently done.

The bear afterwards told O'Leary that he was very well fed, and did not care much about the clothing; only they worked him too hard: the fishermen had found him at sea on a hencoop, which had saved him from going to the bottom, with a ship wherein he had a little venture of dried cod from Dungarvan, and which was bound from Waterford to Bilboa. He could not speak a word of any language but Irish, and had never been at sea before: the fisherman had brought him in, fed him well, and endeavored to repay themselves by showing him as a curiosity.

ELLEN O'LEARY.

(1831-1889.)

ELLEN O'LEARY was born in Tipperary, 1831. She was the sister of Mr. John O'Leary, the well known Fenian leader, to whom she was most tenderly and unselfishly devoted. She took an active part in the Fenian conspiracy after the arrest of Stephens, and materially assisted his escape. Her brother John, for his part in the conspiracy, was sentenced in 1865 to twenty years' penal servitude, and returned to Ireland after an absence of fourteen years. During all this time she stayed quietly in Tipperary, living for the hour of his return.

In 1887, when his period of banishment expired, they resided in Dublin most happily for a little while. She died at Cork in 1889. A little volume of her poems was published after her death, entitled 'Lays of Country, Home, and Friends,' edited by T. W. Rolleston, with a portrait and memoir, and an introduction by Sir Charles Gavan Duffy. It consisted for the most part of her contributions to The Irish People, The Irish Monthly, The Boston Pilot, etc., which were aptly described as "simple field flowers which blossomed above the subterraneous workings of a grim conspiracy."

TO GOD AND IRELAND TRUE.

I sit beside my darling's grave,
Who in the prison died,

And tho' my tears fall thick and fast,
I think of him with pride:

Ay, softly fall my tears like dew,
For one to God and Ireland true.

"I love my God o'er all," he said,
"And then I love my land,
And next I love my Lily sweet,

Who pledged me her white hand:
To each to all-I'm ever true;
To God-to Ireland-and to you."

No tender nurse his hard bed smoothed
Or softly raised his head;

He fell asleep and woke in heaven
Ere I knew he was dead;

Yet why should I my darling rue?
He was to God and Ireland true.